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Chapter Text

Fayrl Indoril, scion of House Indoril, and unfortunate disappointment to most of his family, wiped his brow. It was unseasonably hot in Stonefalls, despite the usual Midyear weather, and Fayrl was eager to get his task over with. He heaved the burden he carried higher, and headed down the short path to the decrepit Daedric shrine.

Not quite six feet tall, the mer’s fine, but relatively unassuming clothing was compensated for by his elaborate makeup and overly complex hairstyle. Bard, devotee of Mephala, kinsmer of House Indoril, father, lover, husband twice over, spy and assassin, and sometimes working-mer-of-the-night; Fayrl was a complicated mer of many qualities, as many faults, and few scruples. He was currently in the process of disposing of the inevitable results of his own devotion to the Daedric Prince of Sex and Murder. He opened the door of the Daedric shrine, and heaved the body he carried within, closing the door afterwards and dusting off his hands.

He turned back to the road where his guar waited for him. He paused as something caught his eye. Why there would be a fork lying on the ground just outside a ruined Daedric shrine Fayrl did not know, but he was intrigued. The midday sunlight glinted off the iron metal. On a whim, Fayrl bent to pick the thing up.

Fayrl suddenly felt as though the ground had dropped out from under him. He flailed as he found himself hurtled through a seemingly bottomless abyss devoid of stars.

Just as quickly as the sensation began, it stopped again. Fayrl gasped as though he had just surfaced from a sudden dunk in a pool of freezing water. He glanced around himself, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword. He was no longer in Stonefalls.

He was, apparently, atop a small stone platform with a flight of stairs leading down to a path lined with brightly colored mushrooms. Fayrl stood very still, watching and listening to discover if he was in any immediate danger. He relaxed slightly as the moments ticked by and no danger made itself known.

He glanced down at the fork in his hand. He was not sure what had brought him to this place, but the fork seemed to be the catalyst. He tucked it into the satchel at his hip, and took a more thorough stock of his surroundings.

The place seemed peaceful enough. The sides of the path were overgrown with enormous yellow mushrooms that reminded him of the Emperor Parasol mushrooms of Morrowind. The mushroom thicket was interspersed with huge vines and smaller mushrooms of bright purple and teal in every shape and size imaginable. He glanced at the sky and his eyes widened. The midday sun filtered through a fantastic array of yellow clouds that might have been at home in a whimsical painting by the more famous of the impressionistic artists of Tamriel. He had never seen the like before. The clouds seemed to sparkle at him crazily. He shook his head in bewilderment and cautiously started down the stone steps.

The path wound down, around, over, and under, according to the whims of nothing that Fayrl could discern. The brightly colored mushrooms towered over the path like trees. The air made the walk oddly pleasant, but Fayrl remained tense and watchful. He followed the path up a steep hill where the vegetation thinned, and paused to get his bearings. In the distance to his right, buried in the midst of the mushroom thicket, Fayrl could see a crumbling ruin overgrown with vines and moss. Ahead, down the path, he thought he could see wood and stone structures in somewhat better repair. He faded into the shadows and made his way towards them.

Approaching the structures, he saw that they were actually part of a small village comprised of about four or five buildings. There were people moving between the buildings, but they didn't seem to be moving quickly. Fayrl made his way towards the nearest wall, keeping himself out of the line of sight of anyone observing. He wanted to see if he could overhear any information before he made himself known. He wasn’t even sure if these people spoke any of the languages he knew.

A Redguard with an affable face and a massive head of frizzy hair strolled between the buildings near Fayrl. He was dressed in bright purple finery that seems to be made of leather, and was studded all over with flat, round metal buttons. It looked, well, frankly, ridiculous.

Fayrl cloaked himself in shadow and followed the Redguard. He didn’t know enough about his new location to want to speak to anyone just yet. He had to learn more.

A door in the wall of the building closest to Fayrl opened, and a dour looking Dunmer emerged, dressed in what appeared to be an exact replica of the Redguard's outfit, except in a hideous brownish-green color that did not complement the Dunmer's skintone at all. Upon spotting the Dunmer, the Redguard sprinted to catch up to him and put an arm around his shoulders. The Dunmer recoiled.

"Felas! My friend!” the Redguard boomed in a loud, friendly voice. “I have an excellent idea for improvements to Passwall! What do you think of the idea of putting up a grand welcoming sign for new visitors!" The Redguard swept an arm out in front of him as though to illustrate his new idea. The Dunmer's face became impossibly more sour than before.

That answered at least one of Fayrl's questions. Cyrodiilic common was a language he was fluent in, so that much was good. He slipped around the building, to gather more information.

Around the corner Fayrl heard the unamused tones of the dour Dunmer arguing with the obliviously cheerful voice of the Redguard. Suddenly, another door opened, this time a doorway on the second floor of the building across the street from Fayrl with a wooden set of stairs winding around the building. A human woman with bright orange hair poked her head out and calls "Somebody stop that awful racket! Doesn't that noise bother anybody else?"

Glancing around, Fayrl couldn't see what she could possibly be referring to. It was sunny and calm, and other than the two conversing around the corner it was otherwise quiet. The door slammed closed, and the red haired woman came stomping down the creaky wooden stairs in a purple dress with absolutely ridiculous bustled skirts, apparently made of the same leather material as the Redguard's outfit.

Something was definitely wrong about this place, although Fayrl couldn't quite put his finger on what it might be.

The woman stopped at the foot of the stairs, and, before Fayrl could completely duck out of the way, she pinned him with an inquisitive stare. "What was that? Did you hear that?" Fayrl couldn't quite tell if she was addressing him, invisible as he was.

Suddenly the Dunmer from before came barreling around the building in a tremendous hurry, shouting. "No! No! Absolutely not! Nobody move! I need a bath immediately!" The Dunmer tripped over Fayrl’s retreating form and landed in the dirt.

Fayrl froze, still invisible, watching the scene as it unfolded around him.

Yes, something was truly wrong with these people and this place. It made his skin prickle and the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. The people had a strange aura about them that made him question their sanity. He needed to get himself out of here as quickly as possible.

The red-haired woman rushed forward to help the Dunmer to his feet making noises of sympathy. The Dunmer appeared completely horrified to find himself on the ground and started flailing in a frantic attempt to get up. He knocked the woman backwards into Fayrl. Fayrl steadied her out of reflex, then slowly began to back away from the pair. Things were escalating quickly and he had a bad feeling about it.

Suddenly finding herself next to a strange mer, the woman turned to Fayrl with a broad smile. "Oh! Hello! I'm so sorry! I didn't see you there! Are you new? I'm Nanette Don!" She paused and cocked her head. "Do you hear that sound? It's like a horse dying..." The Dunmer finally succeeded in scrambling to his feet.

Fayrl nodded to the woman. He grappled with the urge to bolt. His nerves, which he usually had under strict control, were fraying. He took a deep breath and decided to be cordial.

He gave the woman a polite smile.

The Dunmer caught his breath and began shrieking and trying to brush off his outfit, then ran into the house across the street and slammed the door. The Redguard man, upon hearing the racket began strolling around the corner, and, catching sight of Fayrl, he sprinted toward him and shook his hand heartily. "Hello! Hello! Greetings! Goodness it has been awhile since we had our last newcomer! I'm Shelden! I've been here the longest, that's why I'm the Mayor!"

Fayrl cleared his throat nervously. "Hello," he said politely. "Nice to meet you, Mayor."

The woman leaned forward and looked Fayrl in the face. "My, are you feeling okay? Would you like a drink?"

The self-proclaimed Mayor immediately seized upon this idea and looped his arm through Fayrl's, happily exclaiming "That's a wonderful idea! You simply must! Come I'll show you to the Wastrel's Purse! They have the most wonderful local brew there! I'll buy you one! I insist!"

Fayrl nodded again, and swallowed. "That would be very kind of you, thank you."

Every part of him was screaming that something was wrong. He needed to find a way out of here. Now. This was clearly some sort of prison. He had to get out soon, or he might end up like them!

He didn’t know how they would react if he tried to make a break for it though.

The two strolled on either side of Fayrl, chatting amiably about the lovely weather they'd been having lately, and how that was definitely a good sign, until they reached a tall stone structure on the other side of the small village. A sign over the door read "The Wastrel's Purse" in Cyrodiilic lettering. The woman smiled and opened the door for Fayrl, and the Mayor tugged him forward.

Fayrl looked inside. He could see a bar across from the door and a couple of tables. A depressed looking Altmer lady stood hunched behind the bar, wearing a lovely pale blue and white dress with lace on it.

Fayrl stepped into the room, looking for exit points, and counting the number of people present. Already, he was trying to formulate the best plan of escape. Just where was he, and what was wrong with these people? It set his teeth on edge.

The Mayor released Fayrl and ambled up to the bar. The woman, Nanette, sat down at a table and looked at Fayrl, smiling expectantly. Fayrl sat down next to her automatically. In his survey of the room, Fayrl noticed that the windows all seemed to be too small for him to squeeze through. The only exits were the front door behind him, and a set of stairs leading upward from the corner. Movement from another corner of the room previously not visible caught Fayrl's attention. A black and white tiger-striped Khajiit sat in the corner sipping a drink with her feet propped up on the table. She waved at him.

Fayrl examined the Khajiit. Her mer-like ears, still softly covered in striped fur, protruded from the sides of her head of wavy, silver hair. Thick though it was, her hair reminded him far more of the hair of other mer than it did most Khajiit he had met. Certainly, it was far finer than that of his own Khajiiti husband.

Her face was less feline than he had ever seen on a Khajiit that was not Ohmes before as well; it contained a mix of the features he associated with her kin and those of his own, though the stripes and short fur marked her as distinctively Khajiit. The pink of the tip of her nose and the blue of her eyes stood out from the white and black of her face vibrantly. She had a certain striking beauty to her.

She wore a set of pale earth-toned trousers and a vested shirt, with a scarf and an open robe over the top. Her feet--paws actually--were wrapped in thick canvas. Her clothing reminded him far more of that of the Ashlander tribes he had visited many times with his mother than it did of the usual budi garments of the Khajiit he had observed in the past, whether merchant, servant, or visitor. It was all a most unusual puzzle. Was she a Khajiit raised by mer? Or was it simply that she was some other type of Khajiit he had never encountered before, with traditions different from those he was used to seeing? The possibilities were too numerous to spend any longer contemplating. He would have to learn more by speaking to her. At the very least, she was in a more defensible position, and she did not seem to have the same bizarre aura about her that the others did.

Fayrl smiled at Nanette and politely rose. "Excuse me a moment, I need to speak with my friend." Nanette waved him away distractedly, apparently listening to some sound Fayrl could not hear.

Fayrl shook his head and approached the Khajiit cautiously. He gave her a polite nod of greeting. "Hello. Might I sit with you?"

"Certainly!” she chirped in a pleasant, but heavily accented voice. “This one is named Ma'zurah." She flashed him a cheerful grin, and removed her feet from the table to pull out a chair for him.

"Thank you," he said, taking the seat beside her. "I'm Fayrl."

He leaned closer to her, his voice hardly above a whisper. "What is this place? You don't seem like the others here. They are... off."

The Khajiit gave Fayrl a sharp look and leaned back in her chair, studying him. "You do not know? This is the Fringe of the Shivering Isles. How did Fayrl come to be here?"

Fayrl stiffened in his seat. He had heard rumors of this place and knowing where he was only made him more uncomfortable.

"I was in Stonefalls, I had just broken camp when I saw… this piece of cutlery." He fished the fork out of his satchel and held it lightly out before him.

Clearly it had something to do with his predicament, but he had no idea of how it might have caused it. Not that he was well versed in the inner-workings of most magical items. He had watched his brother Avon enchant items, but that was not the same as understanding the mechanics behind it.

The Khajiit did a double take upon seeing the fork, and then rested her forehead in one hand. "Oh sweet Mother Mara, Ma'zurah thought she had returned that to Big Head... She has no idea how it could have ended up in Stonefalls..."

"I am willing to let you have it if you can help me to return back to Nirn. I have little else of value on me right now, but my guar has many treasures in the saddle bags with which I can easily pay you for guiding me back," pleaded Fayrl, looking earnestly into her eyes.

Of course, that was an exaggeration. But he was willing to do whatever it took to get himself out of this particular pocket of Oblivion

The Khajiit’s whiskers twitched. "Ma'zurah might consider it. Then again, she might consider it anyway. Ma'zurah can get you to Tel Fyr, but the method requires Ma'zurah to trust Fayrl first." She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Why should Ma'zurah trust Fayrl?"

Just then Shelden the Mayor sauntered over. "I see you've met our esteemed visitor! I personally showed her around the Fringe when she first arrived!" The Khajiit gave Fayrl a wry nod, confirming that she had, in fact, had this dubious honor. Shelden plunked down a bottle of an unlabeled brew in front of Fayrl, and proceeded to drink from a bottle of his own.

"Yes, thank you, Mayor,” Fayrl told him. “And thank you for the drink. I actually came here to meet my friend, Ma'zurah. She has told me of your lovely town. I was just thanking her for her recommendation."

Fayrl turned away from the Mayor as though to take a sip of his drink, though he did not let any of the liquid touch his lips. Instead, he smeared a bit of his lipstick onto his hand and let a drop of the liquid fall onto it. If the smear changed from blue to purple, it was poisoned.

He set the bottle back onto the table and slid a hand under it to find the Khajiit’s hand. He drew with his finger upon her palm the question, "Is it safe to eat and drink here?" She clearly knew far more than he did about this place.

Ma'zurah raised her eyebrow at the unexpected touch, and nearly pulled away, but stopped and allowed Fayrl to finish his question. "Shelden, if you would not mind..."

"Oh! Certainly!" Shelden looked startled, but regained his composure quickly. "I'll just be out of your way then!" He flashed them a huge grin, and escorted Nanette out of the tavern. The Altmer barkeep hung listlessly behind the bar, not even looking at them.

"Alright." Ma'zurah turned to Fayrl, her manner businesslike. "That's probably safe to drink, since they drink it too. Ma'zurah will take a sip if you do not believe her.”

Fayrl glanced down at the smudge on his hand. It hadn't changed color. But he had nothing to test against magical effects right now; all that stuff was back at his camp in Stonefalls.

"Thank you," Fayrl said, relieved. He eyed the bottle.

He still didn’t trust it. It would be rude to ask her to drink when he was already asking so much from her. And even if she did show no ill effects, there was always the chance she was immune to whatever it was. Or perhaps she was the reason behind everyone's strange behavior, they were being deferential towards her, after all.

No no, he couldn’t be paranoid forever, even here, and she seemed like the best chance he had of escape. "I would certainly breathe a little easier if you had the first sip," he admitted with a small, self deprecating smile. He didn't want to give a bad impression so soon.

The Khajiit laughed and grabbed the bottle. "Whatever you like, sera." She took a drink and handed the bottle back. Fayrl took it and eyed her for signs of poison. The drink was very tempting. After the day he’d been having, he could use a good, stiff drink.

"Now,” the Khajiit continued, “you obviously do not belong here. Ma'zurah wonders why..." Fayrl laughed softly to himself. She wasn’t wrong. He took a deep breath and took a long drink from the bottle. It wasn’t a great beverage, but the alcohol burned on its way down his throat, and that was enough to calm his anxiety a bit.

He looked up, and caught the Khajiit looking at him. Her eyes glowed briefly and he held his breath, waiting to see if she was casting a spell on him. He let his fingers lightly brush the hilt of his blades.

"Ah. Mafala.” The Khajiit appeared perplexed. “Well that is not precisely helpful, and it is certainly nothing to connect Fayrl to Sheggorath..."

Hearing the name of his patron god did not help to relax Fayrl. Worship of the True Tribunal was still technically illegal. "I don't like to meddle with the House of Troubles,” he told her testily. “I can get myself into enough trouble without their help."

The Khajiit gave an easy laugh and offered him a seated bow. "Ma'zurah understands. This one does not trouble the House of Troubles either if she can help it. But Fayrl can relax. Ma'zurah is sworn to Azurah, if the name was not clear."

Fayrl gave a relieved smile, suddenly drawing the connection between Ma’zurah’s name and the goddess. "My mother and brother are sworn the same,” he told her. “It is nice to meet someone else enlightened, though I do wish it were under slightly better circumstances, of course. Please forgive me for my hesitation thus far. It was rather a shock to go from finishing my day's work to being thrown into another plane of existence. Please forgive me if I’ve offered any offence. Such a beautiful lady as yourself should hardly have to put up with such behavior." He gave a seated approximation of a Dunmeri formal bow.

Ma'zurah snorted and waved a hand in Fayrl’s direction. "Hardly. Ma'zurah has had to put up with too much simpering behavior recently.”

“In that case, it is my pleasure to be of service.” Fayrl paused in thought. “I am not sure what I can do to earn your trust in so short a time, but I will do my best to assure you that I will do you no harm, nor will I try to take advantage of one so kind as to help me. Besides, I should not wish to suffer Azura’s wrath for doing anything harmful to one of her precious children.”

Ma’zurah smiled. “Very well. Ma'zurah has a ring that should return the wearer to Tel Fyr. It is a valuable ring to Ma'zurah, and she hesitates to part with it, even for a moment. How would Fayrl suggest we solve this conundrum?"

"Is there no other way? Can I not return to where I left?" He couldn't say he felt great about ending up so far from where he had been. His poor guar would probably be panicking as it was. Hopefully it wouldn't get attacked or stolen before he could make his way back there.

He was also not pleased at the prospect of being sent somewhere else without the company of the one sending him. He had no idea what to expect. And he didn't expect that he, an Indoril, would get the most favorable reaction upon suddenly appearing in a Telvanni tower.

"Ma'zurah knows of no other way unless Fayrl has a recall spell close to the point of entry. Ma'zurah's closest recall is set to Balmora, which is hardly close to Tel Fyr either."

"I must admit,” said Fayrl reluctantly, “despite my heritage, I am disappointingly lacking in magical abilities."

He tried to think of anything he could do that might be of use to their current predicament.

"Could we not travel together somehow? There must be a way."

"Of course. If Fayrl wishes to take the gamble, Ma'zurah should be able to transport him with the ring. She has never tried it before. Fayrl will have to hold tight."

Fayrl flashed her a wicked grin. "What's life without a risk or two? Everything in our dangerous world is a gamble, if you think about it, wouldn't you say?"

He let his eyes go to her hands then her waist. "Where exactly shall I be holding on tightly? I don't want to make my generous host uncomfortable."

She grinned back, flashing sharp teeth. "Ma'zurah expects a Dunmer such as yourself would hardly be the type to make this one uncomfortable. Come." She stood, grabbed up a pack behind her chair, and held out an arm to him.

Fayrl laughed. "Twas mostly a joke," he replied. He took the offered arm in his own, firmly, but not so much as to hurt her. "Is there anything else I should do or be prepared for?"

"Probably not." Ma'zurah wrapped her arm around Fayrl's waist and fished a thick chain from under her collar. The chain held several rings and amulets. She slipped her finger through one of the rings, and the world became a whirling abyss.

Chapter Text

The pair was suddenly intercepted by a bright light, bright as sunlight, and both of them appeared on the edge of a forest path overlooking a field. Fayrl gasped, unused to such sudden methods of transport. A skirmish unfolded in front of the disoriented pair, and soldiers dressed in blue fought soldiers in red and gold armor of a style similar to that of the Empire.

Ma'zurah looked around with wild eyes. This place smelled wrong. It did not have the same faint hint of of alien-other that the realms of Oblivion had, and it did not have any of the ashy scent of Vvardenfell. Instead it smelled like pine and fresh water. "By the maddened mane of Sheggorath! Where in the Four Hells are we?!"

Fayrl was beginning to think maybe he had made a poor choice in this gamble. At least before Ma'zurah knew where they were. Now? Now they both were unsure. "I have to admit, your words don't offer much comfort."

Ma'zurah ignored him and tried and failed to cast an intervention spell. She thrust her finger through a different ring on her necklace and closed her eyes, attempting to activate the telepathy enchantment imbedded in it. Finding no result, she tried a second. Desperate, she put both on at once. "Julan? Shani? Where are you? Please!"

That was somehow far more disconcerting to Fayrl than simple ignorance of their current location. He glanced around. He thought perhaps he could get close enough to one of the soldiers find out what language they were speaking. It should certainly help. He looked around until he spotted a soldier nearing them. Perhaps he could ask the man. The man was in armor, and there were only a few places in Nirn he expected to see armored men like this. He was surprised not to recognize the armor, but it seemed a little like something an Imperial might make. Perhaps it belonged to a mercenary group.

The battle was apparently going poorly for the soldiers in blue. Many of them had fallen, and the rest were surrendering on their knees to a man in a high gold helmet with a bright red crest of plumes.

Ma’zurah ignored her surroundings, nearly hyperventilating as she tried on ring after ring, hoping to contact someone, anyone! Her eyes started to glaze over.

The soldier that Fayrl had been contemplating spotted the two newcomers and shouted alarm and moved to restrain Ma’zurah. Ma’zurah barely struggled, already beginning to withdraw into herself. Everything was wrong, and she was all alone! Nobody was answering her, and she just couldn't function!

The soldier’s warning brought eight more soldiers running in their direction. Fayrl cursed his luck and disappeared in a cloud of smoke. He was suddenly behind the solder attempting to restrain Ma’zurah, dagger at his throat.

"If you value your comrade's life, you will let me and my companion go!" he called to the oncoming soldiers. His demeanor and tone of voice were suddenly deeper, commanding; there was a pull to his words that was filled with enchantment.

The soldiers closing in on them paused, but two soldiers in much lighter armor rushed forward from the group clustered around the surrendering soldiers in blue. They wove a green spell in their hands and shot it off toward the pair.

Fayrl reeled backward, pulling his hostage off balance and using him as a shield to cover the both of them from fire. The man slumped.

"By Boethiah's left tit!” Fayrl cursed, “That usually works! Fetching hot-heads!" He laid a hand on Ma’zurah’s shoulder. "If you can use magic to shield yourself, I can draw them off."

Ma'zurah's glazed eyes snapped into focus and she took a defensive stance, drawing a summoned mace from seemingly nowhere. She took a step backward to stand next to Fayrl and spoke in fluent, if archaic Dunmeris, "I'm sorry, I don't think I will be of much help against this many opponents, and I think my other half might be in shock. Perhaps we can reason with them."

Fayrl had no time to worry about what sort of possession or whatever strange mage phenomena had just occurred before him. He had a limp man in his arms and a group coming his way, two of them mages.

"Well, I tried using persuasion and all I managed was this limp human shield,” Fayrl explained, “So if you have an idea, I'm listening."

Fayrl surveyed the formation of the men. The man he had was a decent enough shield for now and he could make the man take on one, maybe two of his fellow warriors if need be. But that still left three quarters for the two of them to fight. And there was not good enough cover to get close to another without giving his enemies an opening to attack him. "I don't know how much they will listen," he muttered.

The commanding officer strode forward. "What in the blazes is going on here? Everyone. Stand down." He turned to the pair. "Who are you people?" he demanded.

Fayrl let go of his hold of the man and whispered in his ear for him to stand up proper for his commanding officer. The man did so, staying close beside Fayrl.

"My dear sera," Fayrl began with a flourished bow, "we are but two travelers who got lost on our way through the mountains. If you would be so good as to tell us where we have managed to wind up, we are more than happy to change our course and head towards our destination without any further incident."

"The border crossing has been closed for the time being," the commander barked. "I don't know how you managed to get past my garrison, but I'm afraid you're going to have to come with us for questioning. If you come quietly we will allow you to keep your gear, but you will need to surrender your weapons. Is that clear?"

Faryl looked to Ma'zurah to see if he should obey or if they were going to run. Ma'zurah met Fayrl’s gaze and let go of her mace. It disappeared into the aether. "This one does not know where we are, we need more information. If Fayrl thinks he has a better plan, this one is open to suggestions."

Fayrl considered this and removed his sword and dagger. "You seem a man of your word. I submit," he told the commander, handing over the weapons to the soldier beside him, and then putting an arm around him. "Lead the way."

Ma'zurah removed an ebony dagger from her cloak and also surrendered it. She walked up next to Fayrl and asked in a low voice, "What did Fayrl do to the soldier? If he is hurt, we may have trouble."

Fayrl grinned and shook his head. "I merely persuaded him to do as I wish. He's kind of handsome under that mask, don't you think?"

The man beside him smiled.

Ma'zurah raised her eyebrow, but said nothing and followed the soldier to an empty cart.

The newly captured prisoners in blue were also escorted over with their hands tied and seated in the various carts. After much delay, the field had been cleared, and the carts were prepared to leave. Fayrl gave the man besides him a parting kiss on the cheek and whispered something in his ear before he moved into the cart with Ma'zurah.

Once in the cart, he slid himself between two Nords, practically sitting upon both of their laps at once. "Oh, pardon me, my friends. I suppose I did get a touch of that spell after all." He made himself comfortable between the two of them.

Ma'zurah snorted at her companion’s antics and continued to fiddle with her necklace of rings, slipping on each of them in turn.

The Nord man besides Fayl began grumbling about randy grey-skins. This did not dissuade Fayrl; in fact, it only made the man his new target.

Fayrl leaned over and began to tell the man exactly all the sorts of things he could in fact do to the man, if he were so inclined. A flush rose to the man's cheeks as Fayrl's voice dropped even lower. His hand landed on the man's thigh, making the Nord squirm.

Ma'zurah's ears twitched forward slightly and she laughed and glanced around. To her right was a mountain of a man, gagged and dressed in fine steel armor and bear skins. Across from her, Fayrl was practically sitting in the young Nord's lap. On Fayrl's left was a Nord who looked somewhat out of place among the armored prisoners in the other carts. He was leaning away from Fayrl.

Ma'zurah's eyes glowed briefly as she took in each person. The gagged man next to her grunted and glared.

The commanding officer rode past the cart behind Ma'zurah, shooting Fayrl a sharp look in the process. Fayrl smiled at the officer and gave him a look promising him an opportunity if he should want a turn himself.

Up ahead, another rider called, "General Tullius, sir! The Thalmor wish to speak with you!" The General grumbled and and urged his horse forward.

Fayrl bristled at the mention of the Thalmor. All the sour memories of decades of espionage, close misses, and on one occasion a three day capture and torture rose to the surface. The Thalmor were a particularly annoying variety of Altmer, even more self-aggrandizing than normal Altmer.

He shook the thoughts from his mind and concentrated on his entertainment for the ride. He scanned the faces in the cart. He noticed the gagged man. Something about the features of his face looked familiar. It took him a moment. Then he realized why. The Thane in Windhelm, what was her name?

Mera. Mera... Stormhelm? Something like that. It was the eyes. Maybe this was a sibling? Perhaps cousin? He lay partially across the man on his other side so that he could get a closer look at the man with the gag.

"What happened to you, my friend?” Fayrl asked. “I suppose you said something you should not have. Perhaps you have a particularly skilled tongue? Or do you simply speak only of dirty, naughty things?" The gagged man seemed even more upset by Fayrl's closeness than by Ma'zurah's eyes.

The Nord across from Ma'zurah had apparently had enough harassment. "Watch your tongue!” he snapped. “You’re speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King of Skyrim!”

Fayrl laughed. "As far as I know, your hold has pledged to follow the Skald King. Have you decided to forsake Joruhnn?" He turned towards the supposed king. "Thane Mera would not be pleased if she found out. I take it you are related."

He noticed the strange looks from those around him. Deciding to ignore the stares, he rolled onto his back on the floorboards of the cart and began to sing. It was a popular Pact song, "Three Hearts as One". It was one of the few songs that was always a hit no matter where he performed.

Ma'zurah turned to the Nord across from her. "This one was unaware that there was tension in Skyrim. Where exactly are we?"

The Nord gave her an anxious smile and glanced around. Spotting the stone walls of a fort ahead, he craned his neck to get a better look. "That is Helgen..." He turned back to her, apparently determined to deter more unwanted advances by appearing occupied. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if Velod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in... Funny, when I was a boy Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

Fayrl listened in as he continued to sing. Juniper mead sounded very nice. Having another drink would certainly make him feel better about the ridiculous situation he was in now.

Ma'zurah nodded to the young Nord. "This one lived in the Imperial City for six years. Then she got arrested for a crime she did not do and was deported to Morrowind." She made a face. "This one does not trust the Empire so much after that."

As Fayrl sung, those listening to him seemed to relax slightly. The soothing sound of his voice felt like a caress. Though the song was hardly lewd or romantic, Fayrl’s voice lent a quality to it that alleviated tension.

The young Nord nodded absently, still staring ahead. He caught sight of the General conversing with a pair of Altmer dressed in black and gold robes. "Look at him! General Tullius, the Military Governor! And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves, I bet they had something to do with this." He shot a glare at Fayrl.

The cart rolled through the gate and an officer walked up next to it. "Get these prisoners out of the cart!" she barked.

The ragged prisoner who had thus far been silent stood, and hesitated. "Why are we stopping?"

The young Nord gave him a scathing look. "Why do you think? End of the line." He stood and urged the other man forward. "Let’s go, we shouldn’t keep the gods waiting for us."

That seemed to send the ragged prisoner into a panic. "No! Wait! I'm not a rebel!" He turned desperately back and gave the other Nord a pleading look. "You’ve got to tell them I'm not with you! This is a mistake!"

The larger man pressed his lips together and continued trying to move forward. "Face your death with some courage, thief."

Ma'zurah blinked at his apparent stoicism. She hadn’t realized that the Empire executed their surrendered captives.

The Captain moved to address the other carts. "Step towards the block when we call your name, one at a time!"

Fayrl did not like the sound of this. These men were going to the gallows or some similar fate. He started to worry about his own fate.

Ma'zurah shared a glance with Fayrl and stood to get off the cart after the gagged man. Ahead of her the young Nord grumbled. "Empire loves their damned lists..."

His grumbling was cut off by a young officer with a sheet of parchment calling, "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm." The gagged man glared at the officer and stepped forward.

Fayrl shifted and listened to the various exchanges in turn, as he fell to the back of the group. Ulfric was Jarl of Windhelm? No, that wasn't right. Did Mera's family member seize power with this band of rebels? Was that why he did not know about this?

"You don't think we are to join these men, do you?" Fayrl asked Ma'zurah quietly in Dunmeris.

Ma'zurah gave a hesitant glance back at Fayrl. "Ma'zurah hopes not,” she replied in the same language. She stepped back to lean closer to Fayrl. "If it starts to turn that direction, Ma'zurah can cast invisibility on Fayrl."

"I would be grateful, my friend. I pray to the Three we will have no need to make use of your skill." Fayrl slipped a vial into her hand. “In case we are separated and you need it, this is a potion that will put others to sleep. Don't let it get on you."

"Thank you." Ma’zurah tucked the vial into a pocket.

Fayrl glanced around, taking an assessment of their surroundings. "And I assume you can summon a blade? If not, I have several knives I can offer you."

"Ma'zurah has a mace always at her disposal, and they can never disarm this one fully." She unsheathed one claw in demonstration.

There was a sudden shout from the front of the group. "No! I’m not a rebel! You can’t do this!" The ragged prisoner made a break for the gate.

"Halt!" the Captain called after him.

"You’re not going to kill me!" The ragged prisoner ignored the Captain and kept running, but underestimated how difficult it would be to run with bound hands. When the Captain called for archers, he fell not even halfway to the gate.

Fayrl took a deep breath and hoped that wherever the dead man's soul went, he was more at peace there.

The Captain gave the rest of the prisoners a searing glare. "Anyone else feel like running?"

The young officer with the list noticed the pair at the back of the group. "Wait, you there... You're unbound? Step forward. Who are you?"

Fayrl heard the call towards them, but pretended that there must be someone else and turned to glance towards one of the other prisoners. He was certainly not going to acknowledge that it was directed at him. He did not like the energy here. He did not trust what might be in store for them.

Ma'zurah looked at Fayrl and stuffed her fist over her mouth to stifle a laugh. The young officer glared. "No, you! The Dark Elf and the cat!"

Fayrl continued to look around. "A Dark Elf with a cat? Where might this good fellow be?" he muttered under his breath for Ma’zurah’s benefit.

Ma'zurah sighed and stepped forward. "This one is Ma'zurah. We were told that we were here for questioning by the General there." She nodded at General Tullius near the gate, still arguing with a Thalmor officer.

The bound soldiers seemed very nervous about the situation taking place. If they were meant to go to their execution, Fayrl realized, this disruption could mean the wavering of their courage in the face of death. Noting Ma’zurah’s compliance with the officer, he decided to drop his own act.

"Oh, I see, you meant us. Please forgive me, my good sir." Stepping towards the man, Fayrl gave a deep and formal bow. "My name is Fayrl Indoril of House Indoril. My companion and I were lost while making our way through the mountains. My husband is currently working in Whiterun for a small shop. I am afraid we made a wrong turn somewhere and ended up in the middle of some sort of conflict. I assure you, we bear no grudge for the violence directed towards us. But your superior officer thought it best that we explain our situation in a more formal manner. I expect there is a room for this purpose?" Fayrl looked towards the stone buildings nearby.

The bound soldiers murmured among themselves. They seemed to be very interested in this story. The young officer looked taken aback. "Captain, what do we do? They're not on the list, and the Dark Elf sounds somewhat important."

The Captain motioned the pair forward. "Let me get a look at the two of you. Step forward!"

Fayrl gladly slid up to the woman and gave a large but less formal bow. "Hello, Captain. I am Fayrl Indoril, of House Indoril. I don't believe I caught your name, however."

The Captain made a sour expression. "Captain is fine enough for our purposes, elf."

Fayrl played light annoyance. "That hardly seems proper, but if you insist, Captain, then I shall address you by your title alone."

Ma'zurah rolled her eyes and stood a half step behind Fayrl, keeping an eye on General Tullius.

"You," The Captain said, pointing to Fayrl, "have rank which I would like to verify in a moment. But first, your cat companion, what is her relation to you?"

Fayrl looked to Ma’zurah and smiled. "She is my sister-in-law." He stepped closer to the Captain. "I love my dear husband, he is certainly handsome, but I must admit, I was sorry to see that I choose the less attractive sibling," he said with a sly smile and straightened back up.

The Captain only appeared more confused.

Ma'zurah gave Fayrl a piercing look. "Fayrl had better watch himself or he might offend this one's dear 'brother'."

Fayrl winked at her before turning his attention back to the Captain. "Now, my dear Captain, I believe you had some pressing questions for me?"

The Captain leaned in close to Fayrl's face, scrutinizing it while trying to appear intimidating. It didn’t work; even if Fayrl had not been a master of spinning stories and creating disguises, he was telling the truth about his identity--a rare enough occurrence--so there was nothing to cause him worry.

The Captain cleared her throat. "First, tell me, who is the head of your House?"

Fayrl laughed. "As if I would not know my uncle Tanval's name!"

The Captain leaned in closer still, their faces nearly touching as she tried to make Fayrl uncomfortable.

"My good sera,” Fayrl said with a wicked grin, “if you are looking for that sort of 'proof' I am happy to comply if it will speed things along, but I hardly think these games are necessary."

The Captain withdrew immediately. "Second question," she said brusquely, and stopped.

Fayrl motioned for her to continue.

The Captain thought for a bit. "When was the last diplomatic meeting between Morrowind and the Empire?"

Fayrl tilted his head. "I'm a man of the Temple, not of politics. Honestly, I was surprised to find such a large group of Imperials so far north-east. I had not thought there was enough armed men to spare in the war for this. But again, I am not a man of politics, I leave such matters to the Grand Council."

Ma'zurah looked alarmed and stepped forward. "Erm... What war is Fayrl talking about? The last Ma'zurah heard, the Emperor's health was failing and there was some sort of question over succession, but certainly no war! Has something happened?"

Fayrl raised an eyebrow. "He has passed. Further, he had no heir and the country has been at civil war for many years over the succession."

The Captain took a step backwards. "Are you both insane? The Emperor is alive and well, and long may he reign!"

Fayrl turned to her in shock. Something was very, very wrong with all of this.

Ma’zurah’s brow furrowed in confusion. "Wait... but... the Emperor had two heirs... Was their association with Jagar Tharn ever proven?"

The Captain bristled. "I see what is happening here. Using the history books to put a little joke over on the Imperial Captain, hm? Well, we don't take too kindly to this. Drop the act or you go to the block."

Fayrl took a step backwards. "I don't understand."

"I think you do," replied the Captain. “Truth, or the block. Now.”

Ma'zurah's tail puffed and her eyes narrowed. "No,” she told the Captain. “You do not get to threaten this one. This one did not defeat Dagoth Ur and kill her own gods-damned wife to avenge Sotha Sil only to die in a miserable cold stone keep in the arse end of Skyrim! Ma'zurah is getting someone who has some authority here!"

Ma'zurah stomped in the direction of General Tullius, placing a bubble ward around herself in case the Captain decided to try to have her shot like the thief.

Fayrl’s head spun. Some of the names that were being spouted Fayrl had never heard of, those he did know, he could not understand the relationship of the names and the events. What he did understand was that Ma'zurah was angry and walking away, leaving him to defend himself against the Captain and any soldiers she summoned. He needed to think fast.

The Captain called for guards to intercept Ma'zurah. Three men rushed between her and the General, their weapons drawn. "Stay back, mage!" one of them yelled at her.

Fayrl didn't know what was happening. It was as logical as a dream to him. He couldn't concentrate so he acted on instinct and threw his arms around the Captain's neck, bringing their lips together and using the Lover’s Kiss, one of the powers of his birth sign to paralyze the Captain.

The Captain did not move. He had prevented her from calling for any more guards at least. The ability always left him dizzy and exhausted. It was always a struggle not to pass out afterwards. He willed himself to stay conscious as he looked back to see how Ma'zurah was doing.

Ma'zurah made it most of the way to the General before the three soldiers intercepted her and stood between her and her destination. "Move! Ma'zurah is getting someone with authority!" The soldiers merely brandished their weapons. She bared her teeth at them and shouted over their heads. "General! Is this the kind of hospitality we can expect from the Empire? This one thought that we were to be questioned! Not executed!"

The commotion and raised voices drew the General's attention. He stepped forward. "What's all this then? Captain, what is the cause of all of this chaos?"

Fayrl smiled sheepishly as he held onto the paralyzed Captain.

Ma'zurah made a sweeping gesture behind her and lashed her tail. "This wafiit of a Captain here decided to threaten us with execution!"

Fayrl steadied himself as best as he could and stepped forward. "I must apologize for the state of your Captain, General. She threatened us and I... well, I am sure you can see for yourself. Fear not, she will be back to her usual self in just a few minutes."

The General pinched the bridge of his nose. "Men, stand down." He appeared burdened enough without this newest interruption. "Does anyone know the story about how these two ended up here?"

The Thalmor woman behind the General stepped forward with hands clasped behind her back and a smug look on her face. "Well well, Tullius, It seems you don't have this situation quite as under control as you had thought,” she gloated. “It would simply be in the Empire's best interest that you comply, and allow the Thalmor to deal with Ulfric."

The General did not even turn to meet her look. "Oh yes, Elenwen, I am sure that would not turn Ulfric into a bloody martyr. This here is the best way to get the Nords to accept his honorable execution."

Ma'zurah threw her hands in the air in frustration and walked back in Fayrl's direction.

Fayrl was not sure where they might be that the Thalmor and the Imperials would be working together against the Nords, let alone to try and get their compliance in some matter. This whole day just continued to get stranger and more confusing. He was beginning to believe that his body was somewhere in Sheogorath's Tongue and that all of this was a Daedric illusion. Nothing here made any sense. Clearly he was hallucinating.

"Oh, certainly not.” The Altmer continued smoothly. “The Thalmor know how to deal with Talos worshipers, and we have the prerogative. The White Gold Concordat clearly states such." the Altmer towered over Tullius, practically leering.

"Yes, you Thalmor and your precious Concordat,” the General sighed. “Can we set this aside so I might take care of the matter at hand?"

Fayrl turned to Ma’zurah. "Are we still in the Shivering Isles?" he asked, as he watched the bickering between the Altmer and the Imperial General.

"Ma'zurah does not think so, it smells much different there. This smells like Mundus. Ma'zurah is worried though..." Ma'zurah stood next to Fayrl and watched the proceedings with furrowed brow.

"Oh certainly! By all means!" said the Thalmor. “You won't mind if I escort you, I'm sure!”

"I am sure that you will find some justification to accompany me regardless of my answer. So by all means," the General replied, moving past the three men standing at attention. The Thalmor followed Tullius primly.

"I don't know if that is a relief to hear or not," Fayrl said, watching as the mismatched pair approached.

"If what is a relief?” asked Ma’zurah distractedly. “And what are the Thalmor?"

"That we are not in the Shivering Isles. At least if we were there I would have an excuse for all this lunacy." Fayrl sighed, looking at the Thalmor, and lowered his voice even further. "To answer your question, the Thalmor are a group of Altmer that root out things that their organization does not enjoy and persecutes everyone who displays those things. They are the epitome of Altmer superiority complex."

"Ma'zurah only heard tribal tales in Elsweyr, all the Altmer in the Imperial City and Morrowind seemed mostly civil..." she replied with a frown.

"For the love of the Divines, someone please explain why a Dark Elf and a Khajiit are here?" the General barked irritably.

Fayrl smiled and gave a polite and formal bow to the Imperial General and the Thalmor in turn. "As we have explained, several times now, my companion and I were lost in the mountains, and when we found ourselves out of the mountains, we were attacked by a group of soldiers, then brought here to be questioned."

The General looked at Ma’zurah for confirmation. Ma'zurah shrugged. "That is really all there is to it, we are not even sure where we are or how we got to Skyrim."

The Imperial man looked at them as if they were idiots. "Lost in the mountains? Where were you headed when you got lost in the mountains?"

"Uh... Morrowind…” Ma’zurah answered hesitantly. “Ma'zurah takes it we have missed our destination by a long way, then."

The General nodded tiredly. "You certainly have."

Fayrl brushed a stray wisp of hair behind his ear. "If you would be so kind, we are happy to leave you to whatever Human business you have going on here, we just need to be turned in the correct direction."

The General opened his mouth.

Whatever the General might have said was lost as an uncanny roar like the call of a distant sabercat amplified to an enormous degree echoed in the distance.

Fayrl's head snapped in the direction of the sound. He had never heard anything like it. "What in Oblivion was that?" The sound shook something deep within him. It was a primal sort of fear. He had rarely felt such a deep terror in all his life.

The fur on Ma'zurah's tail and the back of her neck stood on end. The roar stirred something in her that she did not know how to respond to. She wanted to fight with teeth and claws, and run away, all in the same impulse. "Ma'zurah would like to leave!” she called. “Are we free to go, General?"

The echoing roar came again, closer this time. The bound prisoners shifted and muttered.

The General ignored Ma’zurah. "Men, on alert! Everyone at attention!"

Fayrl sorely missed his blades. Who had his weapons? He needed those and he needed them now. "General, we can tell you are preoccupied. If we could get our confiscated belongings back, we are happy to take our leave. I am sure we can find our own way back to Morrowind."

The General was too busy barking orders to reply. A black shape with huge black wings appeared above the treeline, approaching fast.

Ma’zurah gestured to Fayrl. "Come on, they are not paying attention. Ma'zurah saw them put the things in a chest on the cart." She began moving in that direction.

Fayrl hurried after her. "Whatever that is, it is big and I do not like it. The faster we can get out of here, the better!"

Ma'zurah scrambled onto the front of the cart. The horse snorted and shifted uneasily. Ma'zurah ducked to check under the driver's seat. A small locked wooden chest chest lay there. "Fayrl, can you get this open?"

Fayrl grinned, "I certainly can." He moved forward, pulling two long hair ornaments from his hair and inserted them into the lock. After a few seconds of clicking pins, the lock came open. He pulled out the contents and presented Ma’zurah with her knife. "Here you are."

"Thank you." She tucked her knife into her robe again. Just then, the massive black shape landed on top of the central tower, making the earth shake. Screams rose from every corner of the fort. The horse began to bolt, cart still in tow.

Fayrl had only enough time to brace himself as the cart began to take off. "B'vek! Is that a fetching Dragon! By Boethiah's tits! What is going on in this crazy place?!"

The Dragon spewed fire at the Imperial soldiers, hopping off the tower to land in the courtyard and snap them up. It roared something that sounded almost like speech. It sparked something in Ma'zurah that she couldn't quite identify, but she was too busy hanging onto the cart for dear life to figure it out.

"Let's hope this horse knows where in Oblivion it’s going,” yelled Fayrl above the clamor, desperately holding on to the cart, “because I cannot reach the reigns from here and I want to get as far from that Dragon as possible!" He closed his eyes and offered a prayer to the Three, then realized he didn't need to hide his prayers in front of Ma'zurah, so he said the Chimeris prayer again aloud. Hopefully it would give them both fortune enough to survive.

The Dragon was entirely too busy eating soldiers to notice the escaping cart. As they cleared the gate, Ma'zurah saw the gagged man from their cart, Ulfric, make a break for the keep out of the corner of her eye. Then they were on the bumpy mountain path, in danger of tipping with even the slightest turn.

Fayrl knew a song that soothed guar, but he had no idea if it would work on horses. Still, they were going too fast on this bumpy road and anything was better than nothing at this point. He took a deep breath and, softly at first, began to sing the song. It sounded rather like a Dunmer lullaby, but there were whistles and trills interspersed.

Ma'zurah hung onto the cart by digging her claws into the wood, and worked her way to the reins hooked to the front of the cart. She grabbed them just as the horse seemed to come out of its panic.

Chapter Text

Fayrl continued his soothing song, feeling the cart steady as it came back to a more reasonable speed. He mentally thanked the Three that this was working.

Ma'zurah managed to seat herself in the driver's seat without falling. When she felt more stable, she burst out, "What in Molag's balls was that! Four fucking hells!"

Seeing that Ma'zurah had taken control of the reigns, Fayrl felt comfortable enough to speak again, though he was ready to sing another verse of the guar soothing song should the horse seem startled again.

"If I didn't know better, I would say it was a Dragon. But that has to be impossible, right?"

"You know what? After everything Ma'zurah has seen, she is willing to believe anything. If it looks like a Dragon, and breathes fire like a Dragon, and eats people like a Dragon, then it probably is a Dragon. What else would it be?" Ma'zurah started shaking from the adrenaline. "Gods dammit...."

"I don't know where that thing came from. I didn't think there were any Dragons still alive! Nor do I know what was going on in that town. Who were you talking about?" Fayrl wished desperately for a good bottle of brandy.

"Uh... at which point?" Ma'zurah hugged herself as best she could with one hand holding the reins, and hunched forward tiredly.

"Any of it!” Fayrl burst out. “How do you not know about the civil war? It's been going on for decades and finally it's pulled all but the Gold Coast and a few other areas into the fray. And I didn't recognize the names you were mentioning. I sure don't know how this Ulfric is Jarl! I mean, there's another Stormcloak who is a Thane, but that is hardly the same. Windhelm already has a Jarl. Something isn't right here. Something doesn't fit." A horrifying feeling gripped Fayrl. "I don't think I belong here."

"What does Fayrl mean? Ma'zurah was just in the Imperial City a little over a year ago. There was no civil war. Emperor Uriel Septim was fine."

"Who is Emperor Uriel Septim? I've never heard of such a person. Varen Aquilarios was the Emperor until recently. And Cyrodiil's Imperial City has been at war since... the fifth century? It's been mostly contained until just two years ago when all that business with the Planemeld or whatever it is called started happening. I heard some of the mages at the Windhelm Mages Guild discussing it when I was performing there. A dark anchor had dropped just south-west of Fort Amol."

Fayrl was rarely this forthright with someone he knew so little about, but in light of all the craziness, he needed to establish some facts.

"Fayrl... Ma'zurah is pretty sure that the Planemeld was something like seven hundred years ago..." Ma'zurah's face had taken on a horrified expression. "Oh no... what if Ma'zurah is out of time too? Ma'zurah knew it smelled strange here..."

"Wait." Fayrl was silent a moment. "No. No, that can't be right. Tell me, what is the year, as far as you know?"

He hoped it would prove the point he wanted to make.

"The 429th year of the third era, what year is it as far as you know?"

Fayrl's breath caught in his throat. That couldn't be right. "Why, it is 580th year of the second era last I checked. And I know it to be true. There is no way that I am speaking to someone from the future. That is madness!"

"This is madness... Ma'zurah wonders if Sheggorath has done something to make this happen..." Ma'zurah looked at Fayrl with bright eyes. "We have to get back to Oblivion somehow... Ma'zurah's rings are not working. There has to be another way."

"Go back to Sheogorath's realm? How is that going to solve our problem? Do you not think he is going to try to get us further lost in time if we succeed?" Fayrl shook his head. "We don't even know where we are. Or possibly, when we are. How are we going to find our way back to Oblivion?"

"Ma'zurah does not know." She swallowed in apprehension. "We have to find out something about this place, or time..." She looked down the road. There were three standing stones with holes in them, and a sharp curve in the road ahead.

Fayrl decided to try and use a technique the spy masters would use to try and recall information. "Do you recognize anything here? Or back where we came from? A smell, a sound, a feeling?"

Ma'zurah shook her head. "Back there, the others said this place is Helgen, in Skyrim. Ma'zurah has never been to Skyrim before. Has Fayrl?"

He nodded. "I’ve passed through Helgen before, but never spent any real time there. It sure didn't look like it does now."

"How is it different?” Ma'zurah asked insistently. “That could be helpful."

“There were just a few small cottages then, now there are stoneworks. There was mostly just a farm with a few families and a wooden fence built into an earthen barricade then."

"It sounds like it has been built up since then,” Ma'zurah mused, “so we are probably in your future, but where we are in relation to this one is questionable..."

The cart turned the curve of the road, and a stone walled village came into view between the trees on the horizon.

"Can you guess what direction we are headed?” Fayrl asked, glancing at the sky. “I don't know exactly what time of day it is to try and figure it out based off the sun's position."

"Ma'zurah is a mystic. She can use every spell known to the Arcane University in the school of Mysticism. She also knows quite a few other spells besides, but none of them are location spells... we will have to ask at that place ahead, assuming they are not hostile to Dunmer and Khajiit. It's the best shot we have right now though. The road does not turn anywhere else, and Ma'zurah doubts the cart would not break should we take it off the road."

"Well, then let's hope they are friendly, or easily charmed. I have had enough of being chased by men with weapons for one day. How about you, my dear?"

Ma'zurah shot Fayrl a look, one eyebrow raised, and continued driving the cart. They drew close to the gate, and they saw that the wall was in serious disrepair. The gate had no doors, and the wall ended a hundred feet away on either side. There was a guard standing watch in the gateway, and people moving through the small town. The whole village was shaded by large trees.

Fayrl rested his hand on his hip as they drew closer. Having his sword closer at hand made him feel infinitely more secure. "By the Three, let them not immediately try to put a sword through my chest…." he muttered.

Ma'zurah called out to the guard as soon as they were in range. "There was an attack at Helgen! We came as quickly as we could! There are many wounded and dead!" If the guards were focused on the news they brought, they would not be attempting to kill the messengers.

Fayrl picked up on Ma'zurah's idea and began to wave his arms frantically, trying to give off as much of an air of panic as possible. He used a quick burst of flame to burn a small hole into the back of his tunic to give more credit to their claims.

"Halt!" cried the guard, raising an arm to motion them to stop before him. He had not made any motion toward his weapon yet, but he was firm in his command. "I need to hear your names and your business before you bring that cart in here. We don't like games here."

"There's no time for that!” cried Fayrl. “We need to make preparations for the wounded and send for reinforcements! Helgen's going to be a pile of ash if we don't hurry!"

"This one is Ma'zurah. It is really not important,” Ma'zurah explained in a rush, “There is a creature up there attacking Helgen! We do not know what it is, but it was huge and black and it spat fire. Surely you heard it! If you do not believe us, go see for yourself, but we must keep going to warn others. We should warn the Jarl, can you give us directions?"

The guard looked at her incredulously. "Now look here, miss, if you expect me to believe that a--"

Fayrl cut him off mid-sentence, hopping down from the cart, running up to the man, and grasping him by the arm. "My dear wife wouldn't believe me, and surely I could hardly believe it myself, but I know nothing else that looks and acts as that creature did. It was like a Dragon of legend, only larger than the stories ever painted them to be! Look!" Fayrl turned to show off his burnt tunic. "I ran to join my wife in this cart and was nearly roasted alive! If I hadn't thought quickly, I might be... well, there are enough like that there already. I can only pray that mother didn't suffer long in the beast's jaws. You must help the rest of the town! Everyone will be lost if something is not done!"

Tears brimmed at the edges of Fayrl's eyes as he shook the guard. "You must save them!" he cried.

The guard looked between them, the evidence before him persuading him at last. "Alright, I can't leave our town unprotected. If there really is a Dragon, we need all the men we can get here. But Bjorni at the other gate can direct you to Whiterun. I’ll take you to him."

"Thank you!" Ma'zurah helped Fayrl up onto the cart and muttered, "Wife huh? Did you want to stop for supplies? We do not know how far it is to Whiterun. Ma'zurah only has fruit from the Skooma Cat's realm."

Fayrl settled into the cart and then cast a glance in the guard’s direction. The man’s body language looked anxious as he led their horse to the opposite gate.

Fayrl leaned toward Ma'zurah, “I don't want to chance that we might blow our cover. I have some ash yam loaf, it should be enough. It's not a far ride to Whiterun, at least, it wasn't when I was last here.”

Ma'zurah looked at Fayrl. "You know the way then?"

The opposite gate guard saw them and gestured for them to halt at the gate.

Fayrl nodded quickly to Ma'zurah, then turned to speak to the guard. The first guard beat him to it and started to explain the situation to his companion.

The second guard seemed confused, but turned and gave the requested directions to the pair on the cart. It all still sounded the same as when Fayrl had last taken the road. He was relieved. If the road looked different in the same manner as Helgen and Riverwood looked different between his time and now, it would be hard to navigate by memory alone.

"Thank you," he told the guards.

Ma'zurah drove the cart forward and across the bridge out of town and over a hill, then turned to Fayrl. "You think we actually should tell the Jarl? They might not believe us, but then again they might give us a reward. We need resources as well as information."

"I don't know what to expect from Whiterun if we do reach there. Though I've no idea what we are going to do one way or the other. All of my connections will not be here. My husband will not be here. All of my accounts will be long since gone, I am sure, there goes my hidden cache."

"You seem to have a lot in this area. Would you tell Ma'zurah about your husband?"

"It would be my great pleasure to tell you of my handsome husband, though I must admit, words can hardly do justice to his intellect and beauty." Fayrl sighed dramatically and wished he had his lute with him.

His beautiful lute! Oh, he hoped it would not be pillaged by bandits and either smashed and burned for firewood or sold for far less than its value.

"Would you like to hear about his appearance? Or how we met? Or something else specifically?"

"Ma'zurah does not know.” Ma’zurah hunched in on herself. “She just wants to be distracted from the fact that she may never see her girlfriend or fiance again..."

"You cannot speak like that.” Fayrl chided, moving closer beside her. “Come, I will tell you about how we met. It is a humorous story.”

Ma’zurah nodded.

"I met him here in Skyrim, actually.” Fayrl began. “I can't recall the name of the town, it matters little. I was at the market, and was thinking of how I had not had a traveling companion for some time. I was, at that point, working as a traveling bard, and I was missing the companionship. So, it felt serendipitous when, strolling through the market, I found myself staring at a very out of place looking Khajiit, all on his own. Usually only caravans come to the towns, or the occasional merchant to set up their wares. I had not seen a Khajiit in a town who was not a merchant. So, seeing him struggling with a man over purchasing food, I strolled forward to intercede on his behalf."

Ma'zurah gave him an odd look. "You are Indoril right? From the mainland? Ma'zurah understands that House Indoril is very traditional, and generally not likely to teach tolerance of other races. Your husband is Khajiit?"

Fayrl laughed. “A source of much of a mark upon my mother and myself by my uncle Tanval. My mother had always detested slaves, a personal matter concerning the disownment of a former grandmaster. But she witnessed something that an Argonian slave did, where she selflessly saved the life of a stableboy. Afterwards, she asked the slave how she had learned medicine, for her job was to wash, not anything related to medicine. The slave explained she used to be the healer for her village when she had been captured by slavers. Well, mother began to question everything she had been told about slaves, and shortly after, about a lot of other things as well. The signing of the Pact, while not an instant cure, has certainly begun to rectify the situation. Though, if you are acquainted with slavery on the mainland, then it must mean that it has not dissolved for good, even so many centuries later."

"No... No it has not,” said Ma’zurah slowly. “Ma'zurah has seen many injustices, and though she has many responsibilities, she tries to right some of them herself."

"It saddens me deeply to hear. There is so much I wish I could change in my time." Fayrl tried to set aside that depressing thought.

Ma’zurah gave Fayrl a speculative stare. "Ma'zurah wonders... Fayrl has visited Ebonheart. Has Fayrl seen the Twin Lamps?"

"When I was last in Ebonheart, admittedly, not for a few years now, there were no lamps of note, I am sorry to say."

"Ah. Alright." Ma'zurah looked slightly disappointed. "But Fayrl was telling this one about how he met his husband. Please continue!"

"Oh, yes!" Fayrl perked back up instantly. "So I intervened to assist the Khajiit. I admit I was quite interested in learning the tale of how he came to be in that place and that situation, so I offered to buy him a hot meal and a drink, and if he liked, to join me in my tent for the evening." There was a wistful expression on Fayrl’s face. "To my great joy, Qau-dar readily agreed. He seemed most eager about sharing my tent, and I myself was very pleased at the prospect of taking my first Khajiit lover." Fayrl looked at Ma’zurah and his voice took on a richer, deeper note. "And do you know what happened that night?"

Ma'zurah raised an eyebrow at him. "No, not at all."

"He went to sleep! Can you believe that? All the lead up, and what appeared to be flirting, and the fetcher just laid down besides me in the bedroll and went right to sleep!"

Ma'zurah laughed. "You were not specific enough with your desires? He did not understand?"

Fayrl laughed. "Yes, I did gather that rather quickly as the days grew into weeks and the weeks into months. Still, I have never seen someone so eager to jump into my bedroll before and then for nothing to happen." The edges of Fayrl’s eyes creased with laughter. "In a way it only made him more desirable."

"But you eventually got him to understand? You did marry him." Ma'zurah grinned at him.

Fayrl laughed a little nervously. "Well, no, not exactly. I mean, Qau-dar seems to understand what I meant then now, but when I try to bring it up he always seems to have a convenient lack of understanding. You would think he found me wholly unattractive. Yet he asked me to marry him, not the other way around. And though it was just for a week of free food and room, it is still legally binding within the borders of Skyrim."

Ma'zurah looked confused. "Wait, so he did not mean it? He misled you? And you still pursue him?"

"He did not mislead me. I am technically already married. Though, I would rather leave that in the past. That was arranged, to sire children, though the plan seems to have caused more trouble in the House than less. It's part of why I was spending time in Skyrim."

"Oh. Well... If he truly does not understand what you mean, then have you tried asking him using direct words? Khajiit are often very straightforward about these matters, at least when Ma'zurah was in Elsweyr."

"What do you mean by direct? How much more direct can you get than ‘share my bed’?"

"Sharing someone's bed could mean simply sleeping. It really depends on the context. Have you told him the specific acts you want once you get him in your bed?" Ma'zurah attempted to hide a smirk.

"I have also offered my body for his use, but that seemed to have gone by without understanding as well. Or perhaps he is simply not interested. Yet I swear he is flirting with me at times. But then again, perhaps it is a cultural difference?"

"Ma'zurah does not know. Ma'zurah had to leave Elsweyr when she was sixteen." Ma'zurah took a deep breath. "If he is not interested, then it seems very cruel to this one that he leads you on."

Fayrl smiled. "He has never attempted to lead me on. I happily pursue in the hopes of learning more about him. He is so different from anyone I have ever met. I would like to grow closer to him, regardless of how he is comfortable with that taking shape. In the meantime he does not keep me from pursuing other passions."

Ma'zurah nodded. "That is generally the way of the Khajiit. You sound quite in love with him though."

"What?!" Fayrl jerked in surprise. "I would hardly say my feelings have developed to that point!"

"Really?" Ma’zurah raised her eyebrows. "You were just sighing about how beautiful and intelligent he is, how much you desire to spend time with him, how different he is, and how much much you want to be closer to him. That sounds very much like love to Ma'zurah."

"I could say much the same about you, my mysterious time-traveling lady, but I would hardly call the feeling love."

"Well... It sounds like more than that to Ma'zurah. And Ma'zurah should know. She almost lost love once because she did not admit it until it was almost too late."

Fayrl shook his head. "I assure you, it is not like that."

"Well Fayrl should know Fayrl better than anybody else, so Ma'zurah will accept his word for it." She sighed and looked around at the landscape. They had just arrived at a crossroads with bridges over a river to the north and east.

Fayrl was happy to take advantage of the distraction. "Take the left fork here."

Ma'zurah directed the horse to the left and took in the huge fields of golden wheat, with houses dotted along the road at intervals. "This is a nice place. Nicer than Ma'zurah imagined Skyrim to be. Warmer too."

"This is so bizarre,” Fayrl said softly, “It is not so different as I would have expected. The buildings are different, but they are in the same places."

"The city is the same?" Ma’zurah pointed across the fields of wheat to the north where the high stone walls of Whiterun rose from atop a tall hill.

"Well, mostly. It feels surreal to encounter it so the same and yet so different!"

Ma'zurah nodded, then jumped as a crash sounded from behind the next farmhouse.

Chapter Text

As they got closer to the commotion, Fayrl and Ma’zurah discovered three people fighting a giant, which was pounding the ground with a great mace. Ma'zurah's eyes widened and she halted the cart so their horse would not bolt, and began to prepare an ice spike.

"What is with this place and giant creatures out to murder everyone?!" Fayrl cried. He had fought a giant only a single time in his life. It had been asleep. And there had been five of them. "If we live long enough to get out of here, it will be a miracle of the Three!"

"Sure, sure..." Ma'zurah sent the ice spike flying toward the giant, guiding its path with telekenisis. At the last second, she whistled loudly, catching the giant's attention so it whirled to face her. The ice spike hit it in the eye, and it roared and clutched its face, falling to one knee. The three fighters immediately closed in on it. "Damn! Did not hit it hard enough to kill it!" Ma'zurah muttered, and started to prepare another spell.

"Giants take a lot of damage to bring down, far more than other creatures. They do not feel pain as much as we do.” Fayrl lept out of the cart. “Try for the throat!" he called over his shoulder.

He began an invocation of his Prince. "Mephala, jikhi lo arc'ga!" Fayrl raised his hands towards the giant, and a light appeared underneath it, which spread out in fractals until it formed into an enormous web. Three large spiders began spinning silk around the giant's ankles. The three fighters jumped back with wide eyes. One of them continued trying to shoot the incapacitated giant; the other two backed off a bit further and put away their melee weapons to retrieve their bows.

Ma'zurah cast her ice spike again, throwing it harder this time with her telekinesis, and aimed for the giant’s neck. She missed her target only by an inch, and the spike embedded itself in the juncture of the giant's shoulder and neck, lodging right above the collarbone. The giant roared again, trying to rise, and fell back to its knees from the silk entangled around his calves. The spiders had managed to wrap the feet and calves of the giant securely enough to restrain it to the ground, and they began to sink their teeth into its flesh, injecting their venom into the giant, immediately discoloring the skin surrounding their bites. The giant sank into a stupor.

Fayrl watched as Ma’zurah’s ice spike missed the giant’s artery. "A little to the left and you'll have it!" he called out, then in a flash he was next to the spiders, cutting at the tendons in the heel to keep the giant from getting back up. The three fighters backed away a little further at Fayrl's sudden appearance next to the giant.

Ma'zurah prepared another ice spike, but the giant finally fell under the combined attacks of so many foes, so Ma'zurah let it fall to the ground. She let out a whoop of laughter at the victory and the rush of adrenaline.

Fayrl dismissed his spiders, and both the spiders and webs disappeared in a flash of flame. Fayrl appeared next to Ma’zurah. "You did it!" he exclaimed delightedly.

Ma’zurah laughed, giddy with success. "That was great! Ma'zurah wants to learn that teleportation trick Fayrl did!" The adrenaline suddenly became too much and Ma’zurah swayed. "Ai... Does Fayrl have any water? Ma'zurah thinks she might need to sit down."

Fayrl quickly produced a small canteen and handed it to her, steadying her as he helped her back to the cart. "It might be a bit hard for me to teach you the skill,” he told her. “It took many years of study with my master to achieve the requisite skills so he could show me how to perform it. But if you would like, I can attempt to teach you the teleport strike."

Ma'zurah took a drink from the canteen and sat for a second to catch her breath.

The three fighters cautiously walked over to the cart, a huntress with long red hair and three blue stripes of war paint across her face in the lead. "Hail! uh... friends! We thank you for the assistance."

Fayrl gave them a formal bow. "Hail and well met."

He glanced at Ma'zurah to check on her recovery. Ma'zurah flashed him a grin and took another sip of water. Satisfied, Fayrl turned to the fighters, giving them his full attention. "We are happy to help those in need."

The huntress took a step closer to Fayrl. "You both carry yourselves well in battle. A friendly word of warning though, not everyone around here is welcoming to magic. It might be in your best interests to hold back on the more showy displays."

"Thank you for your advice. I admit I have been to Skyrim many times, but I find my knowledge has become a bit out of date since last I was here. We shall endeavor to be more cautious in future. Had the threat not looked so large, we would have refrained."

Fayrl walked towards the woman who had address him, eyeing the other two warriors as he approached. They seemed guarded, suspicious. "My name is Fayrl In--" He paused, then continued. "and this is my dear wife. I apologize for her state, we have just found out she is with child and using magic is a terrible drain on her in her condition. Could you tell us where we might find an inn for the night?"

"You're married to a Khajiit?" the Nord man butted in. "Don't you know? Khajiit are not allowed inside the city walls. It's like that in almost every city."

Fayrl bristled and took a step forward. "You speak to me of fear. Would you, a hardened looking warrior, let petty fears keep you from what you knew was right?"

"Whoa whoa, hold on there!" The Nord held up his hands in a pacifying gesture. "I don't make the rules around here. I was just telling you. Where are you from that you haven't heard?"

Fayrl let the tension fade from his stance. "I did not say that I didn't know, just that I am not so cowardly as to let myself be swayed by the fears of another when love is involved. But in light of her condition and our situation, finding a place to stay has been... difficult. I apologize for my quick temper."

The huntress cleared her throat. "Well, in light of your assistance, perhaps we can convince the guard to make an exception. The Companions do have a lot of influence in the city."

"Oh!” Fayrl exclaimed. “Are we in the presence of the acclaimed Companions?" Fayrl’s tone took on a note of adoration. He made a bow so deep his neatly arranged hair nearly brushed the ground. "Please accept my most humble apologies! I would not have raised my voice so if I had known. The brave wolves of the north!"

The young woman behind the huntress stifled a giggle, and the Nord man raised his eyebrows. The huntress crossed her arms. "Alright, I don't know how you heard, but don't go spreading it around. May we ride with you?"

Fayrl wasn't sure what he had 'heard' that he wasn't meant to, but he had a piece of leverage on them now to play if need be. He turned to Ma'zurah. "My radiant moonbeam, would it be alright for the Companions to share the cart back to town?"

Ma'zurah stifled a snort. "Sure, why not? Ma'zurah does not care either way." She handed Fayrl his canteen, stood, and stretched.

Fayrl returned the canteen to his belt and held out a hand to help Ma’zurah onto the cart before climbing up himself. "My dear Companions, please make yourselves at home in our cart."

Fayrl wondered who would be the easiest target to draw more information out of. Not the woman with the warpaint; she seemed mostly business. One of the others. Perhaps the man that had backed down from him.

Ma'zurah settled into the driver's seat and waited for the others to take their seats as well before urging the horse forward.

Fayrl turned back toward the three warriors with a buffoonish grin. "So, my brave warriors, I hate to bother you after the fatigue of fighting such a foul creature as that, but might I have your names, so that I might tell our future child of how we all fought and then rode together? Oh, it would just be such a bright spot in our lives to brag of how we had met you all. All of our friends and families will be jealous when we tell them. Oh, please! I will try not to be too much of a bother." His face took on an open and pleading expression, one better suited to the face of a child seeing a dearly desired toy or treat, than a mer who had helped to slay a giant moments earlier.

Ma'zurah smacked Fayrl's arm with the back of her hand without looking at him. "Stop that, Fayrl, you will freak them out."

"Sorry, my dear," Fayrl said, then turned back to the three warriors. "I'm so very sorry, sometimes I get carried away. It's not often you meet those you hear of in tales and song." Fayrl managed to look thoroughly embarrassed.

The young Imperial girl giggled, and the other two looked at Fayrl, frowning skeptically. Finally, the Nord man said, "You know, you don't have to beg us for our names. We'd just tell you anyway. I'm Vilkas, and this is Aela and Ria." He pointed to the red haired Nordic woman and then the dark haired Imperial girl in turn. "Now strangers, might we get a formal introduction as well?"

Fayrl cleared his throat awkwardly. "Right. Yes. I'm Fayrl. You might have guessed that. Or perhaps I had already said. And the beautiful, talented as the stars themselves, spirit of grace and beauty you see driving the cart is my wife, Ma'zurah." He flushed a little as he glanced at her.

Ma'zurah didn't turn her head, trying to hide a smirk from both Fayrl and the party in the back. Fayrl was a good actor, and funny, even if he was getting annoying and spouting ridiculous lies for no apparent reason. The cart reached the road that led uphill toward the city, and Ma'zurah turned onto it.

Fayrl hoped that his well established act of the likable fool would help them to proceed without issue going forward. They were approaching the gate and if he didn't make a good impression the Companions might not vouch for them.

Ma'zurah stopped the cart by the stables. "Okay, we will have to stop here and walk. Ma'zurah should only be a second." She fished in her pack for her coin purse, desperately hoping that her money was acceptable.

Fayrl hopped down from the cart to hurry and hold out a hand for her. It appeared a gesture of a mer assisting his wife. He slipped some coins into her hand. "Just in case. Shout if you have trouble," he whispered into her ear. He headed back to the Companions to continue his act of the likable fool.

Ma'zurah walked up to the stablemaster. "Greetings, this one is Ma'zurah. We need someone to look after the horse and cart. Do you take Imperial Septims?"

The tall Nord stablemaster looked her up and down. "We can't take your horse; no room," he declared. "I'm afraid you're going to have to go elsewhere."

Ma'zurah blinked. The man was standing right besides a half empty stable. "Godsdammit..." she muttered. She turned and looked at Fayrl over her shoulder. "Faaaaryl!"

Fayrl turned on his heel and was besides her in an instant, his hands near, but not on the hilts of his weapons in both preparation and warning. The Nord jumped at the suddenness with which Fayrl appeared. "Shor's bones! Where did you come from?"

Fayrl ignored the stablemaster. "You called, my dear? Any…" his voice took on a dark note, "...trouble?" His voice rose to its previous lighthearted timbre. “Something I can help you take care of?"

"That one insists he has no room for our horse." Ma'zurah crossed her arms and glared at the Nord. "Ma'zurah thinks he must be mistaken because Ma'zurah sees plenty of room, but Ma'zurah just wanted to double check, you know how her vision sometimes gets."

Fayrl stepped away from her and approached the stable. The Nord moved forward to stop Fayrl, but Fayrl easily sidestepped him, taking the hand reaching for him into his as if the taller man was a child who needed guidance. He led the man toward the row of empty stalls.

"My dear sera," he began, turning back to face the man, "I thought you said there was no more room. Yet it appears as though you may have just gotten an opening."

The Nord began to make poorly disguised excuses about reservations, but Fayrl merely took a step forward with an implicit threat in his gaze that made the taller man back away from him until he was backed against the side of the building.

"How about we broker a deal, my good sera?" Fayrl’s voice was filled with danger and unspoken promises of violence.

The Nord swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing up and down like the head of a nervous bird. "What kind of a deal?"

Fayrl smiled and leaned in to whisper in the man's ear.

At first the Nord stiffened. Then he began to relax. By the time Fayrl had leaned back, the Nord was leaning towards him to say something in return.

Fayrl laughed and leaned closer to the Nord, trailing his fingers across the man’s chest. "Of course. How could I say no?"

Ma'zurah raised her eyebrows and gave Fayrl a questioning look.

The three Companions walked back toward the stable. Aela had her arms crossed. Vilkas' brow was furrowed, and Ria was giggling at how close Fayrl was standing to the stablemaster.

"Is there a problem here?" Aela asked.

"Oh no, none at all." Fayrl’s hands lingering on the Nord's chest for a moment before he turned to the Companions. "I was just working out a payment deal with the stablemaster." He turned his back to the Nord to address the others, backing himself up against the larger man, though only Ma'zurah could tell exactly how close from the angle.

The stablemaster seemed to be tense behind him a bit.

"Ma'zurah, darling, why don't you go with the Companions and ensure we can get into the city?"

Ma'zurah looked at Fayrl skeptically, but walked up to him and gave him a handful of gold Imperial Septims. "Alright, but here. Just in case."

She walked back to the Companions and smiled. "Ma'zurah is ready to go! Fayrl should have no trouble getting into the city himself, and Ma'zurah thanks you for vouching for her!"

Aela glanced Ma'zurah up and down, smiled, and offered her an arm. "Not at all, come with me!"

Ma'zurah took the proffered arm and gave the tall woman a coy look out of the corner of her eye. Behind them Vilkas rolled his eyes but followed them up to the gate with Ria. On the way, Ma'zurah noticed a small caravan of Khajiit traders, but did not think she could afford to stop to talk with them. Upon reaching the gate they were stopped by the guard.

The guard, a hard looking woman who bore heavy scarring across her face, nearly blinding her in one eye, and with part of her nose missing, held up a hand. "Companions you are free to enter, of course, but we can't let your friend in.”

Aela stepped forward. "This one is with us--"

"Oh! And the Dark Elf back there too!" Ria cut in. Aela shot her an annoyed glance for interrupting.

"Yes. And the Dark Elf who is arranging accommodations for the horse. They helped us with our latest contract, so we would like to take them up to Jorrvaskr."

Ma'zurah shot Aela an anxious glance. "Ma'zurah should probably talk to the Jarl immediately. We bring urgent news."

The guard glanced between everyone present, deeply scrutinizing the faces of all involved. She glanced pointedly at Aela. "You can assure me that you will take responsibility for the actions of the both of these…" her voice turned derisive, "...people?" She turned her gaze to Ma’zurah. "And what news is this?"

Ma’zurah was not sure what to tell the woman, but without being able to consult with Fayrl, she settled for the truth. "Er... Ma'zurah does not wish to alarm anyone, but Fayrl and Ma'zurah have information about the Dragons."

The guard looked dumbfounded. "Dragons? In Skyrim? You must have had too much skooma," she scoffed. "I thought you had some actual news. If the Companions are willing to accept responsibility for your actions and any crimes you commit in the city, then I suppose I might be able to let you pass."

The three Companions shuffled uncomfortably in the background.

Ma'zurah pursed her lips and crossed her arms, pinning the surly woman with a glare. "Do not look at them. They have not known these two for more than half an hour, and Ma’zurah hardly expects them to vouch on so little acquaintance.” Ma’zurah took a step toward the guard.

“Instead examine yourself,” she continued. “Are you seriously willing to risk turning away not one, but two witnesses to an attack from a creature whose only logical description can be ‘Dragon’? When more witnesses arrive--and more will arrive--and it is discovered that you, personally, have detained the first two bearers of news, potentially at the risk of the rest of the Jarl's holdings, who do you think is going to be held responsible? What if this creature turns another of the Jarl's towns to slag?”

The guard leaned back, so much so that she had to take a full step backwards.

Ma’zurah bared her teeth in a feral smile. “Yes, this one did say ‘another’, because Helgen is already gone, and the guards from the village along the path to Whiterun from Helgen hurried hurried these two witnesses along to spread the word while they prepared a rescue for any survivors because they all heard and saw this creature fly overhead. Are you seriously willing to risk the anger of the Jarl when he finds out that you, personally, put his land in danger because you were not willing to accept the word of not one, but two eyewitnesses because of racial discrimination? Because this one needs no other corroboration than the corpses and charred stones of Helgen, and you will be held accountable." She gave the guard a cold and totally sober stare.

The guard resisted the stare for a tense moment, but finally nodded. "Very well, you and your elf companion, wherever they may be, are free to enter. But mark my word, there will be no lollygagging about. You report straight to the Jarl or I will have you thrown back out on your furry face."

"Thank you." Ma'zurah gave the guard a cool glance out of the corner of her eye as she moved to open the heavy gate. The three Companions hurried to assist her, and began walking through the streets of Whiterun.

Vilkas cleared his throat nervously. "Uh... what you said back there, about the Dragon, that was all true wasn't it?"

Ma’zurah nodded. "Unfortunately yes. Ma'zurah will need to visit the Jarl, and since it seems that these two are the first to bring word, Ma'zurah would appreciate your assistance with any more potential disruptive racists." She paused. "Actually, Ma'zurah thinks she would probably be taken more seriously if Fayrl were present. Perhaps we should wait." She made a face, and stopped in front of a blacksmith shop.

The Companions nodded nervously.

Meanwhile, Fayrl waited until he could see that the Companions were out of sight before pulling the stablemaster into one of the empty stalls and shutting the short door behind them. He knew he would have to do this quickly, and discreetly out of sight of passersby, but he could certainly do enough even so to get the Nord to not just cooperate, but possibly even pay him for the pleasure. He began manhandling the stablemaster, using his gifts in speech to speed along the process. He hated to rush things like this, but if he was gone too long someone might come to check on him, and that would likely ruin the illusion that he was married to Ma'zurah.

Fayrl managed to bring the Nord to climax with his voice as much as with his hands. He promised to return later to give him another installment of his ‘payment’. With a last caress, he hurried to help bring the horse into the stable, leaving the rest to the Nord. He quickly washed off his hands and jogged up to the gate.

A grim looking guard glared at him and ushered him to go on ahead, promising she would be keeping an eye on him. He winked at her and told her he hoped that she would, and he hurried through the gate. He paused just inside, his mind reeling from the strangeness of this new Whiterun which was vaguely familiar, and yet vastly different from the Whiterun he knew.

He saw the others waiting outside a blacksmith shop and walked over. "I hope you will forgive my absence. It took a bit more strenuous haggling than I thought to handle the stablemaster. Shall we?" He flashed a toothy grin Ma'zurah's direction.

The Companions began walking Ma'zurah and Fayrl up the hill to the Jarl's keep. They passed through a market and up some steps, and Vilkas and Ria bid the rest of the party farewell and headed toward a large building shaped like an overturned boat. Aela and Ma'zurah fell in stride with Fayrl as they passed under a massive dead looking tree toward another set of stairs. A man in a hooded yellow robe shouted from in front of a huge statue of Talos about the evils of elves who were denying freedom and stealing children and lives. Ma'zurah glanced at Fayrl. The few people on the streets seemed to be paying more attention to her than to Fayrl.

Fayrl busily studied the changes to the city. The temple of Kynareth and the keep appeared starkly unchanged compared to the rest of the city. But what shook him more than anything was the sight of the Gildergreen. On the one hand, it had grown far larger than when last he had seen it. On the other, it looked completely dead. That part chilled him to the bone and made him wonder about the Eldergleam. Had it, too, perished? He hoped not.

As they passed a yelling man in yellow robes and a statue of an armored man with a sword, he wondered what had happened to the Whiterun he knew. He had never seen the statue before and could not guess who it could be depicting. If he really had traveled to the fourth era, then he would not likely know much that was relevant. It made his skin crawl. He did not like feeling so lost or out of place.

They reached the huge wooden drawbridge that led to the keep, and were this time halted by a pair of guards on either side of the door. Aela spoke with the two guards barring passage forward in a low voice, and they stood back and waved the party forward.

They entered the keep, and Ma'zurah glanced around at the high pillars that supported the ceiling and balcony on the second floor on both sides of the hall. She caught sight of a dark haired human child sitting with his legs dangling between the bars of the balcony to the left, and waved to him cheerily, but the boy immediately withdrew from sight.

Fayrl felt far more at ease within the keep. Some of the furniture had been changed, but the tables and throne and tapestries were all in place. Some of them were even the same, unchanged since his last visit.

As they approached the throne, they passed between two long tables laid out as though in preparation for a feast. Beside the Jarl, who was lounging on his throne, stood a beautiful red haired Dunmer in leather armor, who drew her sword and stalked to intercept the party. "Halt! Who approaches Jarl Balgruuf unsummoned? State your names and your business quickly, or taste my steel."

Fayrl ignored the prickly Dunmer and stepped forward, giving a deep bow in the direction of the Jarl’s throne. "Jarl Balgruuf, my name is Fayrl, and may I present my wife, Ma'zurah. We have just come from Helgen by way of Riverwood. We bring grave news, I am afraid. News that concerns all of Whiterun hold, and perhaps even more than that."

The Dunmer with the drawn sword glanced at the Jarl for direction. He tilted his head and shifted on his throne. “It’s alright Irileth. Let them approach.” He gestured for them to continue.

Ma'zurah stepped up to Fayrl’s side and gave a flourishing Elsweyri bow. "Jarl, we two were in Helgen when it was attacked by a giant flying creature with huge black wings and fire breath which defies all description other than ‘Dragon’. We escaped on a cart and alerted the guards at the small town between here and Helgen, and they directed us to you to spread the word and request aid. The last we saw, Helgen was in flames, and there were many dead and injured."

The Jarl's relax posture gave way to stiffness and he leaned forward in his throne. “You're sure this was caused by a Dragon?”

Fayrl turned to show the Jarl the back of his tunic where it had been burned. "It’s all true! I was nearly burned alive! Only the quick thinking of my wife was there to save me." Fayrl turned to the Dunmer bodyguard, Irileth, who was still watching them carefully. "It was utterly awful! The smell of charred bones and flesh and wood and stones…. There must be something that can be done!"

Irileth turned to the Jarl. "My lord, if there is even a single iota of truth to this report, reinforcements must be sent to Riverwood at once, and a contingent sent to confirm the story at Helgen. Riverwood is dangerously undermanned to withstand any encounter, Dragon or no."

A short Imperial man with a balding head stepped forward as well and bowed. "My lord, the Jarl of Falkreath would not view such a move with kindness. He would likely believe it to be an aggressive gesture on the part of your lordship."

Fayrl turned his attention to the Imperial. "We spoke with the guards in Riverwood. They told us to continue to Whiterun and bring word." He turned to the Jarl. "They told us to come to you, Jarl Balgruuf."

The Jarl considered the situation for a moment. "I agree. Such a move could be construed as an aggressive gesture. We cannot risk that until we confirm this story. However, I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people! We will send a pair of swift couriers to Helgen to find out the truth of the situation, and prepare a detachment for Riverwood in the event that they are needed. If the couriers can confirm this report, one will return straight here, and the other will bring word to Jarl Siddgeir to advise him of the attack within his holdings.” The Jarl turned to the balding man. “That should be enough to satisfy your caution, Proventus." The man nodded and bowed.

The Jarl turned back to Fayrl and Ma'zurah. "I thank you for your report. Stay in Whiterun, and I will send for you when the couriers return.”

Ma'zurah bowed again. "Yes, of course Jarl. We thank you."

Aela stepped forward and ushered the two back toward the door to the hall. "Come, I will take you to the nearest inn. Jarl Balgruuf is a fair man, and I'm certain he will have a reward for you once your story is confirmed."

Fayrl was not surprised by any of the outcome of reporting to the Jarl that a neighboring hold was under attack. Skyrim was only a loosely held together system of what boiled down to miniature kingdoms. The fact that remained unchanged was in some ways reassuring.

The three walked past the ends of the banquet tables and began walking down the short flight of steps until the dark haired boy Ma'zurah had spotted earlier greeted them with a sneer. "Oh good." he drawled, leaning against one of the pillars. "More wanderers here to lick my father's boots. Good job."

Something about the boy caught Fayrl’s interest. Sure, he spoke like a brat; unsurprising for the son of the ruler of a small hold in the middle of the frozen lands of Skyrim. But there was an aura about the boy that he felt a strange kinship to.

He stopped and turned back to the boy, reaching for one of the ties in his hair--the one used to identify other followers of his Mistress. "Young man, I am curious, do you happen to know where I might find something like this?"

It was a long shot, he knew. Still, if the boy knew someone connected to his Mistress, then she might be able to help send him back to his own time.

The boy leaned forward and examined the tie with a look of confusion, then he narrowed his eyes and glanced sharply up at Fayrl. "You know... Her, don't you?" He looked over at Aela and Ma'zurah suspiciously. "Yeah. I might. Lose the bootlickers and come find me again, and I might be able to help you. No promises though."

Fayrl gave the boy a grateful nod. "I have been loyal since before I was your age. Any assistance would be greatly appreciated. Let my Lady know I shall send prayers to her until I can return." His voice was quiet enough that only the boy could hear.

The boy gave him an evaluative look and stepped back, walking off in the direction of a flight of stairs to the right of the throne. Aela gave Fayrl a tight lipped look of disapproval and shook her head, gesturing the party forward.

Fayrl walked alongside the others. "What can I say, I have always liked children. Such wonderful imaginations. I can't wait until our own comes along." He motioned towards Ma'zurah’s belly with a foolish grin on his face.

Ma'zurah shook her head. She was becoming somewhat annoyed at Fayrl’s antics. She wished he’d consulted her before spinning these fanciful and completely unnecessary lies and assumed her complicity.

They followed Aela down through the city streets until they came to an inn with a sign depicting a horse with a flag.

"This is the Bannered Mare," Aela told them. "You'll want to stay here until the Jarl calls for you again. I'd also like to extend the invitation to you both to join the Companions for supper at Jorrvaskr. I'm sure you can find your way. Now, if you don't mind, I must take my leave."

Fayrl bowed. "Thank you, brave Companion Aela, and all of your fellows. You have done us a great service and we would be more than glad to accept your invitation."

Aela clasped Fayrl's forearm in a warriors greeting, offered the same to Ma’zurah, and turned and left.

Chapter Text

Ma'zurah held open the door to the inn and she and Fayrl walked inside to the sound of a lute and a cheerful greeting from the bar. Ma'zurah made her way toward the bar to inquire after a room.

Fayrl trailed very leisurely behind her, taking in all of the patrons around. There was already a bard here; that wouldn't do. He needed to find a way to earn more coin. He made a note to speak with the fellow when he took a break from his next set.

He could see there seemed to be mercenaries here too. Useful to note as well.

As Ma'zurah busied herself with the innkeeper, the bard took a bow to scattered applause and made his way to a table for a break. Fayrl smiled. How fortuitous, he thought as he slipped past the other patrons around the fire and slid in front of the man, seating himself on the table in front of the bard.

"You play beautifully," Fayrl said with a smile like a cat waiting for a fish.

Ma'zurah discovered that although her Khajiit-ness was suspect, her coin was acceptable, and she paid for a room, then turned to find Fayrl. She discovered him near the bard with a predatory look in his face. What was he up to now? She swiftly walked toward him and took his elbow. "Oh husband dear, they have a room for us. Pester the bard some other time." She gave him a tight smile and started trying to drag him by the arm toward the stairs.

The bard seemed to be intrigued by the interest, but not particularly sorry to see Fayrl dragged away. "I'll find you later, my muse!" Fayrl called to him.

Once they were out of sight, Fayrl dropped the act and followed without any problem. "Sorry, I am just so desperate to have a lute back in my hands."

Ma'zurah closed the door to their room firmly behind them. "Ma'zurah is sure that Fayrl can find a lute without doing whatever it is he was planning on doing to that poor bard. Now. Fayrl and Ma'zurah need to have a little chat." Ma'zurah crossed her arms.

Fayrl sighed. He did like the look of the lute, but the sound could have been richer. He would have to find a lute maker instead. "Of course, what should we discuss?"

"First off, what the fuck is this?" Ma'zurah gestured between herself and Fayrl. "Ma'zurah does not appreciate such blatant falsehoods without her consent."

Fayrl raised an eyebrow. "There's no need for harsh language. I am simply lubricating the social interactions. If we appear have a romantic connection, then there are many questions which no one will ask. It is simply a matter of easing our passing through." Fayrl spoke as if this was the most obvious and natural fact in the world.

Ma'zurah narrowed her eyes at him. "The best lies are ninety percent truth. Ma'zurah wonders if Fayrl wishes to be caught. Ma'zurah cannot keep track of every single story Fayrl tells! And she questions the need for lies here in the first place! We are in a new place with no idea what is going on! Better to stick to the truth whenever possible so we do not accidentally cross one another. Does Fayrl wish to be allies or no?"

Fayrl reached behind his head and began to remove the many pins and clips holding his hair in place, letting it down before he spoke. He placed the many items on the table in near Ma'zurah.

"Where I come from there is nothing safe,” he explained. “There is always someone trying to drop something in your drink, a blade they wish to stick in you, a spell they wish you to succumb to. I do not tell lies which matter to the people I am telling them to. I have stuck to the same story for those we will see again while we are here, but knowing these people and the lives they lead, they won't recall one way or the other after they've had their next round of mead."

He picked up one of the hairpins, spinning it between his fingers. "I will not lie to you about anything to do with our survival or finding a way out of this time. My success depends on yours. Allying myself to you is my only hope of escape."

He slid the end off the pin to reveal a sharpened tip that looked coated in something. "If anyone grows suspicious, I have ways to keep them from turning on us."

Ma'zurah took Fayrl's wrist and took the pin out of his hand carefully, putting it back on the table. "Ma'zurah has seen enough death. Ma'zurah would rather not see more. Especially before we know what our situation truly is.”

Fayrl made no move to stop her as she took the pin from him. "It is a sleeping draught. I never said anything about murder. I have dream elixirs and truth serums. All manner of little potions to convince naughty Nords to do as we need."

Ma’zurah pressed her lips together. “You know, Fayrl does make a good point. His survival does depend on Ma'zurah. But so far, he has not done much to make Ma'zurah trust him. This place is not the place Fayrl came from. Nobody knows us here." Ma'zurah sat on the bed and patted the spot next to her. "So come. Tell Ma'zurah who Fayrl is without the web of intrigue he had surrounded himself with. Without the friends or enemies or resources."

Fayrl thought about trust. It was a funny thing indeed. It was needed to survive, yet giving it to the wrong person for even a moment could be disastrous.

He laughed suddenly. "You are right not to trust me. I am a shifty fellow. I make my living by spinning lies and soothing secrets out of others. I rarely do anything worth placing trust in." He sighed at the thought. "Though I suppose that is little comfort for you right now." He sat down beside her on the bed. "Would you even be able to believe me if I told you the truth? I think the lies are easier to swallow. More believable too."

Ma’zurah tapped her nose in thought. "Ma'zurah asked Fayrl why she should trust him, and he replied that he must be allies with her in order to survive, and Ma'zurah believes this. Ma'zurah also believes she does not need Fayrl in order to survive. It is therefore in Fayrl's best interest to be as honest as possible with Ma'zurah. However, if Fayrl is hesitant to do so, Ma'zurah will tell him something about herself that may make it easier for him to trust Ma’zurah."

Ma'zurah took off her necklace and unclasped it, withdrawing two rings and slipping them onto her fingers before placing the necklace back around her neck. She held out her hand to Fayrl. "What does Fayrl see?"

The first of the rings looked familiar to Fayrl. A stylized silver oval with a midnight blue stone at the center, flecked with spots of white like stars. He had seen it in a history book somewhere perhaps? The ring felt like something important that he just could not quite recall.

But the other--he almost recoiled from the sight of it. There was no way it could be before him. His mother had spoken of the ring when she taught him as a boy from the stories the Ashlanders had told to her. He had seen pictures of it: a crescent moon with a five pointed star superimposed over the widest part. He’d heard its tales.

Suddenly everything came together, like a fog lifting. He inhaled sharply. "Who are you?"

"How familiar is Fayrl with the prophecies of the Velothi people?"

"I have certainly spoken with Velothi before and heard tales here or there."

Ma'zurah paused and sighed. "Ma'zurah's full name is Indoril Hlaalu Ma'zurah Nerevar Mora, depending on who you ask, and if you want to be technical."

Fayrl stared at her. "I don't understand." He tried to figure out how all of those elements might somehow come together. No matter how he tried, he couldn't. His mind rejected the conclusion it kept drawing.

Ma'zurah sighed in frustration. "Ma'zurah hoped Fayrl would understand better, especially since he is a follower of the True Tribunal. But Ma'zurah can be more explicit. Ma'zurah is the child of Azurah. The Incarnate. Indoril Nerevar reborn." She watched Fayrl’s reaction carefully.

Fayrl put his hands up to his face and rubbed his temples. "Are there any other connections to deities I should be aware of before we continue?"

If she was telling him the truth, which, by the Three, it was a big pill to swallow, then all his actions... Oh, he didn't even want to think of how rude he had been. Claiming to be husband to the child of his god, the ancestor of his own ancestors. Wait, that would make them related to some degree, wouldn't it?

Suddenly his own complicated background seemed less so.

Ma'zurah coughed. "Ai, well… That depends on what Fayrl means by connections. And deities. This one defeated the Sharmat. This one was also forced to kill Almalexia when she went insane and murdered Sotha Sil. And this one considers Vivec to be a great companion, albeit an untrustworthy one." Ma'zurah looked uncomfortable. "And this one honors all of the True Tribunal, not just Azurah. But Ma'zurah was also raised to honor the ways of the Khajiiti Clan Mothers, and shows reverence to all gods as is appropriate. This one has spoken to many gods."

Fayrl couldn't understand. "Almalexia is dead?!" He could feel his heart racing. She was the one who had sent him on his last mission to kill the traitors in exchange for his life. He has spoken to her not so very long ago. Though now centuries had passed. The great "Mother Morrowind", now no more.

He tried to let that sink in, but there was so much. "She killed Sotha Sil? Is… is Almsivi no more?"

He had mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, he did not believe they deserved the power they had stolen. But they were still gods. Almalexia had kept his city safe. His father reported directly to her. He had spent a great deal of time in her presence; fought in her army under her command.

He may not have followed her spiritually, but for the good of his home and his people he did follow her. He was torn about this news. Far more than he would ever have suspected himself to possibly be.

"If not Almsivi, then who are our people following? Vivec alone?" He could not even listen to this, it was too much.

Worse, there was a very real possibility he was stranded here. Left in the future for good. What had become of his family? His son? Oh, by the Three, what would happen to Sildras if he could not return? If the Tribunal Temple collapsed, surely his House would fall apart. It was remotely possible that in Ma'zurah's time his son could still be alive, though quite aged. But... was he? He could not speak further. He could not ask that question, though she might not know his son regardless of his fate.

"Ma'zurah was in the process of assisting Vivec in returning the people's faith to the True Tribunal," Ma’zurah answered gently. Seeing Fayrl's distress she scooted closer to him and put one arm around him and took his hand.

Fayrl tried to understand what she was telling him. Then he felt Ma’zurah’s touch, and a series of images began to flash before his eyes. His body froze stiff, as Ma’zurah’s memories began to take over his consciousness.

He was being cast out. Exiled for something he couldn’t help. He looked over his shoulder at the small jungle village along the waterway. He was overtaken with a crippling sense of loneliness. An elderly Khajiit woman led him away as he cried silent tears of grief.

The elderly Khajiit woman lay dead in her bed. He sobbed over her body, feeling grief stricken and utterly alone in the world.

He was kissing an Imperial boy. The boy began groping his breasts and taking his clothes off. He eagerly assisted, and began taking off his trousers, exposing white furred thighs and a stiff, pink-skinned erection. The boy became angry. He didn’t understand. The boy tried to hit him. He cast an invisibility spell and fled, angry, lonely, and afraid.

He awoke on a boat, scared. He did not know where the boat was taking him. He did not know why he was there. A Dunmer with a scarred face and a missing eye tried to soothe him. They had just arrived in Morrowind, the Dunmer said; he was sure they would let them go. It was not comforting.

A figure with three eyes in a golden mask shaped like a sunburst taunted him and tortured him in his dreams. Deep bells tolled. He awoke naked, sweating, with damp fur, only to be attacked by a creature that used to be a mer, now with only a grotesque hollow where its eyes and nose should be.

A handsome Dunmer was yelling at him, calling him n’wah, accusing him of being a traitor, a spy for his enemies. “You betrayed me, and I will never forgive you!” the mer screamed. He felt heartbroken and angry at the same time.

He was angry. So incredibly angry. The handsome Dunmer had been taunting him! He decided to taunt the Dunmer right back. He took off his clothes and masturbated in the mer’s face. The mer hid in his bedroll. He went to his own bedroll and lay there for a while with an uncomfortable erection before sighing and finished himself off. He sobbed for half the night, feeling heartsick and utterly lonely.

He had a horrible illness. He was going to die. No one ever survived. His fur was falling out in chunks, and his skin was covered in boils. He couldn’t even think. The handsome Dunmer looked at him in horror and poorly disguised disgust, and he felt like he was becoming a monster. He did not want to die alone.

He was at a party, but the guests were all dead. Another dream. Another attack. Another horrible creature. And bells. Always bells!

He was in a cave. A horrifying enemy with tentacles instead of a face fought him. He was hurt badly. The handsome Dunmer dragged him to safety and ran back in to defeat the creature.

He was running frantically through a foyada in an ash storm. His fur was caked with ash. His clothes were covered in ash. He was crying and his tears were filled with ash. He was sick with worry. He swiped the tears from his face frantically, trying to continue searching the walls of the foyada through ash reddened eyes.

He was in a cave. A swarm of ghosts were attacking the handsome Dunmer. He screamed at them to stop, terrified for the mer. The ghosts demanded blood.

Bells haunted his dreams over and over, always heralding the arrival of another attacker in the waking world. He forced himself to wake up and fight.

He awoke suddenly, with a creeping sense of dread and the certain knowledge that he and his lovers were not the only ones in the room. He glanced at the handsome Dunmer and the beautiful Dunmer girl with long red hair who lay naked beside him. They were exactly where they were supposed to be, sleeping peacefully, but an assassin in the dark still stalked him. He cast a shield just in time to block the first blow.

He was in the crater of a volcano. Red Mountain. There was magma far below him, and a huge animunculi rising from the center of the crater. Four other people accompanied him, including the handsome Dunmer and the beautiful Dunmer girl, all with and grim expressions. The figure in the golden mask attacked them. “What a fool you are!” the figure mocked in a voice that reverberated in his skull and rattled his teeth. “I am a god! How can you kill a god? What a grand and intoxicating innocence. How could you be so naive? There is no escape.” He was terrified.

Sotha Sil, dead. Strung up by long wires in his own Clockwork City. Horror gripped him. There was a voice behind him--Almalexia in her war mask. “Here it ends. This Clockwork City was to be your death. You were to be my greatest martyr!”

Almalexia, dead on the ground. He reached out one white furred hand and removed her war mask. Her face was so vulnerable underneath. So mortal. The handsome Dunmer skittishly stalked Almalexia’s body as though he thought she might come to life again. Beside him the beautiful Dunmer girl with long red hair wept on her knees. He wept as well.

He awoke slowly, filled with a prickling horror. He wasn’t where he had gone to sleep. He opened his eyes to see a figure twirling a spear. The figure had a head like the skull of a deer. He listened to the figure with horror. He was still in his sleeping clothes. He had no weapon except his magicka. He had been kidnapped. He was trapped. He was prey. He was going to be hunted.

He was in a huge ice cave. He fought an ice giant by himself. His sleeping clothes were torn and dirty. He still had no weapon except his magicka. The ice giant fell. The figure with the head like the skull of a deer appeared again. Now he had to fight the figure too. That was even more terrifying than the ice giant. He was exhausted. He was not sure he could survive any longer.

Fayrl did not speak. His body shook slightly in Ma’zurah’s arms. Tears welled in his eyes and his face contorted in anguish. He gave a soft hiccuping sob. Ma'zurah drew back and looked at him. "Fayrl? Are you alright?"

Fayrl only stared ahead at nothing, trembling imperceptibly. Tears rolled down his cheeks.

Ma'zurah peered into Fayrl's eyes worriedly. "Was it something Ma'zurah said?"

Fayrl gasped suddenly, as though he had just surfaced from a long underwater dive. His chest heaved and he drew in ragged breaths. He shook his head, unable to speak as he caught his breath again.

He opened his mouth, but a sob came out instead of words. He reached into his satchel and pulled out a small flask, downing the contents. It seemed to get him under control.

"I am very sorry. I have not had such an intense reaction in a very long time, and I was not prepared. You must forgive me. I did not mean to worry you."

Ma'zurah blinked at him, confused and concerned. "Alright..."

"I am afraid that you have unwittingly shared far more with me than you may have meant to."

He looked away from her. The sight of her face pulled at the memories that were still dissipating from his mind. He could still feel her anguish.

"I have been granted a gift, though it is not an easy one to bear. And from it I see the secrets, the hurts, and the sins, of other people through their own memories when I touch their skin."

Comprehension dawned on her face and she leaned back, wrapping her arms around herself, and looking away, embarrassed. "Ai... Ma’zurah is sorry... she would not wish her worst experiences on anyone else. She meant to comfort, not hurt."

Fayrl wiped the tears from his cheeks, a smile already twitching at his lips. He set a hand upon her shoulder.

"I am sorry for the pain you have suffered in your life. I can see why you feel the need to have me prove my trustworthiness. And as much as I can trust a person who I have only known a few hours and have traveled to the wrong century with, I do trust you, Ma'zurah."

He pulled from under his tunic the pendant of Azura which his mother had given him to protect him. It had protected her, and she had given it to him when he had completed his apprenticeship and officially become an adult.

"I have little with which to show my trust, save this. It was mother's." He placed it around her neck. So long as you have this, I will do as you ask. It is the most precious thing I have besides my life. I promise I will answer any of your questions honestly."

Ma'zurah blinked in surprise. "Thank you..." She touched the pendant and examined it, then glanced back up at him. She couldn't be angry at him for lying anymore. She smiled hesitantly, and reached out to him, but paused. "It doesn't happen everytime you touch someone, does it?"

Fayrl's smile widened. "After the initial time it does not affect me unless I permit it to. It is the strongest the first time."

"Okay!" She hugged him.

Fayrl was surprised by the action, but the feeling of her warm arms around him was nice; comfortable.

Ma'zurah drew back, smiling. "Alright. So. What should Ma'zurah know about Fayrl?"

Fayrl look a breath. "Where should I even begin? My full name is Indoril Fayrl Indoril, son of Indoril Mehra Indoril. My wife Urtisa, may the Three have no mercy upon her devious soul, plotted against me and my House. She was of House Hlaalu. She tried to control me, and when I would not cooperate, she attempted to have me assassinated. I escaped to Skyrim, where I spent six years before encountering my brother by chance and learning I had a son by her who she was submitting to the same controlling fate. I returned and denounced her, and reclaimed custody of my son, Sildras. My wife is now sentenced into the service to Almalexia until she dies, and I have been continuing to work for the Temple ever since."

Ma'zurah nodded. "As a spy and assassin?" She glanced at the hair ornaments on the table. It seemed like the only reasonable conclusion she could draw based on what he had told her thus far.

He nodded. "Indeed. A position I had held within the House for many decades before that."

"Ma'zurah understands. She was an Imperial Blade for a while, even if she was not the greatest at keeping it secret. What else?"

Fayrl was surprised by how quickly Ma'zurah seemed to accept all of this. "I don’t know, what else there is? I follow the True Tribunal, but my personal affiliation is to Mephala. It is she who granted me the gift which you saw earlier. And, if all goes well, my loyalty to her will give us a shot at returning home. The boy in the keep--he has some connection to Mephala, I felt the strong pull of her touch upon him."

Ma'zurah grinned. "Excellent. Ma'zurah would like to come when Fayrl goes to see him. Does Fayrl have any questions for Ma'zurah?"

Fayrl immediately thought of one question, though he worried it might be insensitive, so he decided to talk around it.

"Is there anyone you left back in your time? Anyone you wish were here with you now?"

Ma'zurah immediately sobered. "Ma'zurah has a girlfriend and a fiance, and she has friends she wishes she could see."

"Then I am sorry you do not have their company now." That answered the question of who it was he had seen in the memories.

He did have one other very sobering question. "Ma'zurah, do you think there is any chance we may actually be able to get back to our own times?"

"Of course! Ma'zurah will break down the doors to all the Daedric realms if she has to. She has killed two gods and defeated a third, she does not fear Daedra."

Fayrl was a bit unsettled by her confidence. She seemed to truly believe that she could do it. And if she had killed two gods and defeated a third... he needed to follow her instructions. He had seen what Almalexia could do to a mortal body. He had watched a mer ripped apart by her divine light from the inside out once. If Ma'zurah could take her on and win, he stood no chance against her.

Ma'zurah glanced around the room. "We still have to figure out when we are, and honestly, Ma'zurah is not even sure what the hour is right now. We could ask around for a calendar or an almanac or something, or go to that Companion place, or meet this boy you mentioned. Ma'zurah thinks we should stay together though. If one of us finds a way back, the other one does not need to become stranded."

Fayrl nodded. "The Companions invited us for dinner. I say we see what we can learn while being given a full belly of food. If they are anything like they were in my time, a good song of their glories in battle and they will be like dogs on a lead."

Ma'zurah raised her eyebrows. "Maybe do not say that to their face.”

"Obviously I would never say such things to their face. You are a friend, so I am merely sharing some information."

Ma'zurah nodded. “So you are a bard? Ma'zurah was in training to become a Wise Woman with the Ahemmusa, but she is not sure how useful that will be in Skyrim."

Fayrl reached into his bag again and pulled out a comb and began to run it through his hair. "I have been a bard, almost as long as I have been a spy. It is one of the ways I make money. If I had a lute, I would play a song for you. Alas, my beautiful lute is back in my time."

He stopped combing to throw himself dramatically back upon the mattress. "I am sure that it will have been stolen by now, along with Tel, my guar, and all of the rest of my belongings. Maaah, I am so naked without it!"

Ma'zurah snorted. "Your guar is named Tel? Is he very tall?" She eyed the comb jealously.

Fayrl laughed, sitting up and holding the comb lightly in his hand. "Truth be told, I was given him with the name already. He is not so much taller than other guar, but I can attest to his standing out amongst guar. He has good stamina and speed, as well as power. And a good temperament to boot."

Noticing Ma'zurah's gaze, he offered the comb to her. "Did you need a comb?"

Ma'zurah swiped the comb and ran it through her hair and fur. "Many thanks. Ma'zurah does not have any of her grooming brushes with her. She did not expect to be in Oblivion long enough!" She carefully sleeked down the fur of her face, and her tribal scars, a line of dots under her eyes, became more apparent once her fur was more in order.

Fayrl smiled and pulled out a soft bristled brush as well. "If there is anything else you need, I have oils and conditioners as well as perfumes."

He took out the small kit of vials and slid one side of it off, putting the other one back in. There was a variety of small containers and vials. "This is all of my oils and makeup, if you should have need for it. But I would advise staying away from the other side. The poisons and potions are labeled so as to mislead."

"The thing Ma'zurah needs the most is probably a curry comb. But smaller than the kind they use for horses. It is the most useful tool for keeping Khajiit clean when water is not available..." She brightened. "Oh! Ma'zurah saw a Khajiit caravan camped outside! They may have one. Ma'zurah wishes she could go check, but she doubts the guard would let her back in... and... now that she thinks about it, it is probably dangerous here for Ma'zurah on her own. Gods... Why Skyrim, Azurah?"

Fayrl recognized Ma’zurah’s look. It reminded him of his husband, Qau-dar, not long after they had first met. He remembered the kit of combs and brushes he kept for his fur, and how fastidious he was about keeping it clean. "I don't have anything like that on me, but I am sure we could search the markets to find something." Fayrl did not know what else to say to help ease her distress, so he tried a joke. "Could be worse, we could be on the Emerald Isles."

"The where now? Is that in Summerset?" Ma'zurah took a soft bristled brush and began smoothing down the fur of her tail.

It was a poor joke, he had known that. But it went over even worse than he had thought. Fayrl thought he should offer some comfort; it hadn't been as though she had meant to send them here. How they even ended up in the same time and place in Oblivion was its own mystery.

He reached out and hesitated. "If it is alright, I could massage your shoulders. It’s one of my hard earned talents that hardly sees any use to those who deserve them."

Ma'zurah smiled and looked down. "That sounds lovely." She turned around with her back toward him and removed her tightly woven scarf from around her neck.

"If Fayrl doesn't mind her asking, may Ma'zurah inquire what Fayrl was doing before he got trapped in Oblivion?"

Fayrl got on his knees behind her, using his thumb to work the base of her neck, the rest of his fingers wrapped over her shoulders and working with slightly less pressure there.

Fayrl paused when he heard the question, then continued. "I hope you will not think poorly of me, but I was disposing of the evidence of a crime I had committed."

Ma'zurah laughed. "That depends on the crime and why. What did Fayrl do? Steal an Elder Scroll? Free slaves? Infiltrate a Telvanni Master's tower?"

Fayrl took a deep breath, moving his hands across her shoulders. "I killed a man."

"Ma'zurah has done that too. Though they were usually smugglers. Or slavers. What did that one do?" Ma'zurah leaned into Fayrl's hands.

"He was selling information to our enemies in exchange for slaves which he would sell to the same people he was extracting secrets from. He also sold young, naive Pact citizens to brothels in the Convenient." Fayrl switched from using his thumbs against the knots in her shoulder to the base of his palm, working deeper into the muscles.

He moved back towards the spine and walked his palms down to the small of her back, glided them up to her shoulders before repeating again. "He was convinced I was a potential target he could bring out to a secluded area, drug, and then sell."

Fayrl could still remember the joy the man had every time he tricked some poor young mer or Argonian or Nord into coming with him under promises of a job or cheap opportunities to travel, or any number of similar excuses. He could feel the fear that each of those slaves had once that bastard had them shackled and began to evaluate them for market, taking his chance to test their various abilities if he so chose. He could feel those greasy hands on his body.

"I switched our glasses and pretended to succumb to his paralysis potion. And then when it took effect on him instead, I got up and I slit his throat. I had touched him, and I saw enough that I may have been rather angry with him. There was little left to recognize when I dumped his body in the ruins for the cultists to use as they like." A shiver ran through him.

"He sounds disgusting. Ma'zurah hardly thinks that was a crime."

"He was worth less than the air he breathed or the ground upon which he trod."

He had to let the thoughts of the vile man go and concentrate on the task at hand. He worked in wider lines, going further out over Ma'zurah's back.

Ma'zurah began purring. "Ma'zurah does not know too much about the Ebonheart Pact. Ma'zurah mostly studied only magickal history at the Arcane University, not political history. Something about Morrowind being invaded by the Akaviri, so the Argonians, Dunmer, and Nords banded together and drove them out. Not much more than that." She sighed at the relief Fayrl's hands were working on her body.

"Yes, the Pact was formed after Akaviri invaders tried to capture Skyrim. They took Windhelm, but were pushed out by a force led by King Jorunn, so they made a deeper bid for Morrowind. Perhaps they didn’t expect the Nords to pursue them into Morrowind. Almalexia's armies were joined by reinforcements from the Nords and Argonians, and managed to run the entire fetching horde into the sea.”

“After that, we agreed as peoples to come together to defend against future need. Morrowind agreed, as part of the signing, to release their slaves. The Telvanni refused to be a part of the Pact, and the Dres managed to convince the grand council that they only needed to release the slaves that were a part of the Pact, while turning their former slaves into servants, who they treat no better than before. Skyrim was also divided. Only four of the holds joined us. Black Marsh joined for the chance to earn their freedom, though it has been a slow process to dissolve the occupational government."

"Hmpf,” Ma’zurah scoffed. “The Houses in Morrowind that Ma'zurah knows are honestly not much better. At least the Dres were not on Vvardenfell. Ma'zurah joined the Hlaalu when she first got to Vvardenfell because they were supposed to be the most friendly. Hah. No, their leadership had been corrupted by the Camonna Tong. When Ma'zurah became Hortator, she got rid of that corruption by getting rid of the Camonna Tong leader. There is still rumors though about increased writs against Redoran for some reason. No idea. Ma'zurah spent most of her time in the Ashlands or the Grazelands at that point. She was more interested in the Velothi."

Fayrl sighed. Sometimes he wished he had grown up in the Ashlands instead of the city. "I do not know how time has changed them, but the Hlaalu in my time were always two faced and ready to support any two-bit organization that would bolster their power base. They were money hungry and power greedy. It is a surprise they managed to subsist into your time at all."

Fayrl did not hold back the tension in his voice. He had a scar on his shoulder from where a Hlaalu assassin had tried to kill him. The poison had kept it from healing entirely. It was the first time he had ever come face to face with any of those attempting to take his life. The fetcher had been hired by a Hlaalu who did not appreciate the way his mother was voting in the grand council.

"Ma'zurah half wishes she never joined at all. Indoril and Hlaalu both claim her, and there is no convincing either out of it. Nobody needs a Hortator anymore, the Sharmat is gone. The only good Ma'zurah was doing was religious guidance."

"Morrowind must be a very different place. In my time if you are part of a House, you are only part of that one. If you switch, you are supposed to swear your loyalty over to the other, though in your situation, I can't imagine what the rules might be."

Ma’zurah sighed and moved to stand up. "Perhaps we should at least walk around the market. Ma'zurah is dying of curiosity to find out about the world here."

Fayrl released his hold on Ma'zurah, getting to his feet to let her off the bed. "That is a good idea. We should procure your combs before shops close for the night. One second, let me fix my hair."

Ma’zurah watched as Fayrl carefully put all the pins back into his hair. She fidgeted, smoothing the fur of her tail. "No, see Indoril claims this one because of Nerevar, and Hlaalu claims this one because of Ma'zurah even though she has never been particularly active in the House. It is all just a mess, and this one would rather wash her hands of it."

"Well, I suppose so long as we are here, you don't have to worry about it." He offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

Ma'zurah smiled and hooked her hand under Fayrl's arm, and the pair walked out of their room.

As soon as they got downstairs, Fayrl spotted the bard again. He was leaning back at his table with the lute slung over the back of the empty chair besides him. It would be so easy to just go over there and take it for himself.

Ma'zurah leaned in closer. "Ma'zurah sees Fayrl eyeing the bard's lute. Ma'zurah is sure they have other lutes in this city. Fayrl has not even checked."

Fayrl pouted, mostly for show. "But that one would be easy to take. Besides, how can I be the inn's bard if he and his lute are already occupying the position?"

Ma’zurah looked amused and led them around the fire. Fayrl did not protest. "I suppose I will look elsewhere for one," he sighed as they walked out into the late afternoon sunlight.

Ma'zurah raised a whiskered brow at him. "Elsweyr is rather far to look. How about that shop Ma'zurah sees there." She nodded to a building across the market labeled general goods.

Fayrl laughed. "As you say," he replied and gestured for her to lead on. He would gladly follow her unless she planned to sabotage his efforts to return home.

Ma’zurah bit her lip. “Does Fayrl think perhaps the guards will let us back into the city if we were to try to visit the Khajiiti caravan?”

"It may be risky to get back in once the guards see us leave. If you think of a way to get back in, I know I can slip past them." If the same guard was still on duty as before, she would not let them back in. She had that look about her.

Ma’zurah sighed. "Not unless we want to climb the wall."

Fayrl chuckled. "I was planning to slip by unseen, but nothing like climbing a wall to get you ready for the evening, I suppose."

Ma’zurah began walking across the market square, but was intercepted by one of the Companions, Ria, the young Imperial girl who had been fighting the giant. She called out to them.

"Oh! Hey! I was just coming to find you! I didn't know if you knew where to go. Would you like me to walk you to Jorrvaskr?"

Fayrl looked between the Ma'zurah and the new arrival. "Well hello, Companion. Hail and well met! We were just perusing the market for a good host gift before we headed over to Jorrvaskr. Though, we would certainly be happy for your assistance." He looked at Ma'zurah for help. He really did want to go shopping.

Ria laughed. "Oh no no, that's fine! You don't need to get us a gift! You can just head over now if you like."

Ma'zurah skipped forward. "Certainly! Ma'zurah has not eaten all day she thinks." She paused and turned to Fayrl. "Is Fayrl coming?"

"But dear, don't you think it would be rude not to bring something? They have been so kind to us so far." Just a peek into the shops would be enough to tell him if they had a lute.

Ma'zurah rolled her eyes and took Fayrl’s hand. "Ma'zurah thinks if that one says we should come now, then we should come now."

Fayrl sighed and allowed himself to be led through the city to the hall of the Companions.

Chapter Text

They walked up a flight of steps, past the huge dead tree, and up another flight of steps toward the building shaped like an overturned boat. Ria opened the door for them.

The inside of the Companions’ hall was one large open space with a huge fire pit running down the center. Surrounding the firepit on three sides were three long tables. Ma'zurah counted five people already seated, two of whom were familiar. She felt a little overwhelmed by the scent of wet dog, but could not see any dogs present. Perhaps they were put away to keep them out of the food.

Aela stood and greeted them. "Welcome, friends of the Companions, to our Mead Hall, Jorrvaskr! Crafted from one of the original ships of the five hundred mighty companions, or thereabouts, of Ysgramor the Returned! Apologies for the emptiness of our hall, many of our number are away on assignment at the moment. But come! This is our Harbinger, Kodlak Whitemane, Vilkas' brother, Farkas, and Athis. Everyone, these are the two who assisted us in the slaying of the giant earlier today, Fayrl and Ma'zurah."

Kodlak stood and inclined his head. "A pleasure to meet fellow warriors."

Athis seemed rather indifferent to the whole affair and looked up briefly from polishing one of his knives to look them over. "Evening," he said simply before turning his attention back to the weapons.

Aela turned back to the newcomers. "Come! Seat yourselves! There is enough mead to sate an army, and we have a fine yearling buck, brought down just this morning by our very own Farkas!"

Farkas, for his part, looked very proud of his role in providing the venison and puffed out his chest at the mention of his kill.

Ma'zurah murmured a greeting and took a seat next to the only other mer in the group, assessing him out of the corner of her eye. He was probably the most muscular Dunmer she had ever seen.

Fayrl stepped forward and took a dramatic bow. "Thank you, proud warriors of tale and tradition. Your deeds have been known to us on our travels near and far. You honor us by allowing us to share in the splendors of your feast. Had I not lost my lute to the fires in Helgen, I would have liked to thank you with a song in your honor. Barring that, I could perhaps sing it unaccompanied, though you must forgive if my voice is fair at best."

Ria's face took on a mischievous expression at the mention of a song and she held up a finger. "Just a second, I think I remember Torvar bringing back an old lute from one of his jobs a while back, and then attempting to play it very badly. It should still be downstairs if he hasn't gotten rid of it..."

She darted off and returned a minute later laughing, lute in hand. "He had it half under his bed, buried under some old leather armor! I don't know what that man is doing with himself!" She skipped up to Fayrl. Aela snorted at Ria's antics.

Fayrl took the lute carefully in both hands, as though it were a precious treasure. "Thank you," he said, bowing several times.

Ria giggled at Fayrl's overdramatic obsequience, and went to take her seat.

Fayrl plucked the strings and found them slightly off tune. He called a note and tuned to it quickly with each of the strings. The voice he used for tuning did not sound like the voice of a person particularly skilled at music. Athis snorted derisively beside Ma'zurah. To anyone who was not tone deaf, Fayrl’s voice sounded about the same quality as someone who could carry a tune on any common tavern favorite better than the rest of the drunks, but not much better.

Ma'zurah searched the table for sweet foods, and managed to find a plate of boiled cream pastries, and swiped several of them.

"Thank you for your patience,” Fayrl called when he was finished. “I want to thank you all once more, with this tune that I know from some years past. I am sure it is not well known, but I hear it was written for the Companions, so I thought it appropriate." He shuffled bashfully for a moment, adjusting the lute in his arms and clearing his throat. "It's called, Strength of the Pack".

At the name, Kodlak raised an eyebrow; a sign of recognition that was lost on all who were busy watching Fayrl fumble before them. Aela and Vilkas exchanged worried glances, but settled in to listen quietly.

After a single strum across the strings, the proficiency of Fayrl’s nimble fingers became immediately obvious. The tune started soft, his voice quiet and light to match. As the great deeds and acts of bravery were counted off in subsequent verses, the volume of his voice increased and the tune became livelier. The richness of Fayrl's voice reverberated off the walls, producing a hum that fed back into the melody of the song. It was clear that the song had been written in order to take advantage of the acoustics of the Companions’ hall.

Kodlak sat frozen with his cup in hand, seemingly entranced by hearing the melody as he never had before. Athis made a face indicating that he was impressed, but not too impressed. He set his knives aside and sipped his mead. Farkas and Ria delightedly clapped along to the beat.

Fayrl reached the reprise and final chorus of the song, his voice reaching such a strength that he was practically doing it in round with himself. Something about the melody seemed to call out to each listener, as if begging the heart of every warrior to take inspiration from the deeds of the Companions.

When at last the song came to an end, it took a moment for the last echoes to die down in the mead hall. Ria jumped to her feet and clapped, and the others quickly joined in, clapping or banging the table in applause.

Fayrl awkwardly shifted the lute and bowed. "Thank you for allowing me the opportunity," he said sheepishly and moved to take a seat by Ma'zurah.

Vilkas reached out a hand and halted him. "Where did you learn that song, friend? I've only seen it written down, and never heard the melody with my own ears before! It is not common."

"I have the book it was originally written down in,” Fayrl replied. He didn't want to give the Companions any indication that he had written the song himself. “I also knew a mer who played it before, so I taught myself the song. I had help, of course. As you can tell, I am no master bard."

Kodlak watched the conversation closely. "Very good job. Fayrl, was it? I have heard the song only once before, but not like that." It was clear from his tone that he was implying Fayrl knew more than he was saying.

"I shall have to keep practicing then.” Fayrl gave a self deprecating smile. “If you have any tips on how I might make it sound more correct, I should like to hear of them."

Kodlak nodded. "Yes, after what Aela has told me, I think we might have matters to discuss as it is. But please, as our guest I must insist that you take the chance to share in our feast."

"I am greatly honored." Fayrl bowed again before seating himself.

Ma'zurah gave Fayrl an appreciative smile. "That was good!" she told him softly.

Fayrl laughed bashfully. "Thank you. I know it is not well practiced and my voice not very strong."

Ma'zurah gave Fayrl a skeptical look, but turned to heap food onto her plate. After a few minutes, she tried to strike up a conversation with Athis. "So what is a Dunmer doing in Ysgramor's Companions? You seem to have a Morrowind accent, so this one is surprised, especially given Ysgramor's history."

Athis frowned. "How observant of you. Yes, I crawled out my homeland. Dreadful place right now, even for my kind. But I was lucky enough that the Companions could see past my grey skin and they took me in. I much prefer it here, if I'm honest." He gave Ma'zurah a look up and down. "I take it you are from Morrowind then? Or spent time there? Managed to drag yourself someplace better I see."

Ma'zurah frowned. "Yes, this one has spent much time in Morrowind. This one had something of an accident involving teleportation, or she would be there still. She thought it was lovely, even the harsher parts, when last she was there. She would hardly call it dreadful."

Athis busied himself with a bite of venison. Kodlak turned to address Ma'zurah instead. "I thought Aela told us you both came from Helgen. Is that right?"

Fayrl quickly picked up his goblet of mead, drinking deeply to avoid having to answer the question himself. After the chiding he had received from Ma'zurah, he had to resist his initial impulse to avoid the truth of their tale.

We stayed in Helgen briefly, yes," Ma'zurah responded. "Ma'zurah was born in Elsweyr though. But other than Elsweyr, Morrowind seems to be where this one is most comfortable. She would welcome news from there." She glanced at Athis.

Kodlak nodded. "I see. And what was this about a Dragon in Helgen?"

Fayrl picked up a bit of cheese and bread and continued to fill his mouth to avoid the questions. He thought it best to just let Ma'zurah do the talking.

"Oh! Ma'zurah does not know whether she should say... The Jarl did not give any indication... But Ma'zurah supposes enough people saw or heard it that there would be no more harm done to tell. Helgen was attacked by what looked like a Dragon. These two fled and spread the word."

Fayrl interrupted the astonished looks from around the table. "We asked for the Jarl to send aid, but he wanted to confirm the report first."

Farkas stood up at the table. "Warriors should be sent to Helgen immediately! The might of our people could save the lives of the surviving townsfolk!"

Kodlak shook his head. "The Jarl's decision was wise. The Jarl can only muster a handful of men on such short notice. A handful of men cannot bring down a beast of such destructive power. This is hard to hear, but in truth, if Helgen is already lost, then throwing more lives at the Dragon's hungry maw will only beget more loss. Better to confirm the report and prepare a more solid defense against the beast."

Farkas frowned and sat, taking a bite from a hunk of bread on his plate.

Ma'zurah shot Farkas a sympathetic look. "Worse, what can warriors do against a flying opponent? Unless the warriors are skilled in archery or destruction magic enough to pierce a Dragon's vulnerabilities, this one thinks that warriors may be worse than useless. But perhaps some stratagem could be devised."

Aela leaned forward from down the table. "What kinds of vulnerabilities could a Dragon have that an arrow might pierce? Legends tell of the Dragons' impenetrable hide and fiery breath, and neither foster a hospitable environment for arrows."

Next to her, Vilkas looked thoughtful. "Ballista maybe? It would be difficult to move those kinds of weaponry to a Dragon though."

Kodlak thought for a moment. "Devising a strategy to take down beasts of myth and legend is no easy task. It would best be discussed with scholars and historians, as well as military tacticians. The Jarl has his people to take care of, but if it truly be a Dragon, this will be more than the problem of a single hold. I would wager a Dragon can easily cover much ground. We shall send word to the Jarl's steward about arranging a time to discuss the issue. This is not a matter which can be settled by one man or one organization. Come, let us take this time to enjoy a meal and the company of our guests."

"After what I have seen," Fayrl raised his glass, "I'll drink to that." He finished his glass of mead and poured another one.

"To new friends and the comforts of home!" added Aela. The rest of the Companions raised their cups and joined the toast.

The conversation abated for a time as the Companions ate. When Ma'zurah had eaten her fill, she glanced around the table and made eye contact with Kodlak. She leaned forward. "Ma'zurah wonders whether there are other mystics or mages like Ma'zurah in the city. She would very much like to consult with them. She also would like to know where she could gain access to a current almanac."

Kodlak frowned. "If you are referring to those with magic, I am afraid our people are none too fond of the arcane arts. You must forgive us, but since the incident in Winterhold, few are keen to trust magic." He thought for a moment. "You could try the court wizard at the Jarl's palace. Otherwise we have only priests who use any sort of magic."

Fayrl was a bit disappointed. In his own time most cities had a Mage's Guild, even in Skyrim. The future hadn't gone quite like he had hoped.

"As for an almanac,” Kodlak continued, “either try the shops or the court wizard. Do you mind if I ask you why you need the information?"

"Ma'zurah finds that it is helpful to familiarize herself with any new region Ma'zurah enters, and Ma'zurah has always been a curious person." She smiled wryly and looked down. "So what did the mages of Winterhold do?"

Some of the Companions gave Ma'zurah a strange look, and Ria opened her mouth as if to say something, but glanced at Kodlak and thought better of it.

Vilkas leaned forward, eager to explain. "They were working on a magical experiment, only something went awry and--" Vilkas stopped as he caught the look in Kodlak's eye.

Kodlak set down his mead. "I think that is a poor topic for dinner conversation.”

Athis snorted. "Nearly unmade creation more like," he said under his breath.

Vilkas shot him an expression and Athis rolled his eyes.

Ma'zurah's ear twitched toward Athis. "That sounds concerning." she said to Athis in a low voice. "When was this?" She took a sip of mead to hide her expression from Kodlak.

Athis shrugged. "Maybe sixty or eighty years ago? I was still in Morrowind then."

Fayrl refilled his mead and grinned behind his own cup as he took a deep drink. The mead had gotten smoother since his time. And if things continued on in this manner, he was going to learn all sorts of secrets. Perhaps he could get more information out of one of the Companions later that night.

Fayrl's eyes passed over each of the Companions in turn, studying their reactions and manners of speech. He tried to decide which would be the easiest to draw out what he wished to know without having to risk giving away anything related to who he really was or where he really came from. Kodlak was clearly already suspicious of him.

Vilkas frowned at Athis.

Fayrl stood up to try and distract from the conversation for Ma'zurah's sake. "My dear friends and companions," he gave a cheeky smirk at the word play, "may I raise a toast to your great deeds and to your protecting Whiterun from that vicious giant." He held aloft his glass.

The Companions raised their cups with Fayrl. Upon draining his glass, Farkas turned and gave his brother a friendly poke. "So! Am I ever going to get to hear this brave story of giant slaying? I for one think it's time to have the tale out!"

Aela grinned. "Indeed! What feast is ever complete without the skaldic tradition!" Upon seeing Vilkas' reluctant look, she launched into the tale herself, gesticulating with larger and larger motions as she built the dramatic tension.

Meanwhile, Ma'zurah tried to quietly engage Athis. "What actually happened though? Ma'zurah worries she will be disliked in Skyrim now..."

Athis nodded. "It's made the Nords a damn sight more suspicious of all magic. Had to learn to control my temper when I first arrived. First time I got in a bar fight here they nearly put an arrow through my chest. I suggest you keep your spells under wraps."

Ma'zurah sighed and gave up trying to get more information out of Athis. Aela introduced Fayrl and Ma'zurah into the story, telling of the Companions' surprise at the first ice spike, and choosing to interpret Fayrl's spider spell as resulting from communion with Kyne in her roles as goddess of nature and inspiration of warriors.

Fayrl listened with rapt attention, wishing he had some parchment and ink to take down the account for later. When Aela’s tale ended, the rest of the Companions cheered, and Fayrl waved away the praise aimed at him, trying to shift focus away from his role in the giant’s defeat. He pointed out how brave and strong and capable all the Companions were instead.

Farkas clapped Vilkas on the back in congratulations. Vilkas smiled at his brother and puffed his chest out proudly, boasting how he had bested a giant while his "stronger" brother had only managed a deer.

Once the merriment subsided, Kodlak approached Ma'zurah. "When you have finished your meal, I'd like to see you both in my chamber if that's alright."

Ma'zurah glanced at Fayrl and stood, smoothing her robes. "Ma'zurah is ready."

Fayrl slipped easily out of his chair and followed Ma'zurah and Kodlak downstairs. Kodlak led them down a long hall and ushered them into a private room. He waited until they were safely inside and closed the door behind them to muffle the noise of Nord cheers and jeers. "Please make yourself a home."

Fayrl leaned himself casually against a bookshelf towards a back corner. He preferred to maintain a position with nothing threatening at his back and a clear view of the exits; he wouldn't feel safe otherwise. Hopefully any poisons they used in this time would be more or less covered by the daily regimen of anti-poison he consumed.

Ma'zurah glanced around and made a note of the area. The smell of wet dog was stronger here, but Ma'zurah could not see or hear any dogs. Looking around, she saw a table with a map on it and two chairs, several display cases with weapons, a large table that seemed to be serving as a desk, and several bookshelves. She walked forward and scanned the shelves for familiar titles, and smiled to see a copy of The Buying Game by Ababael Timsar-Dadisun--still popular now, whenever she was--good for him.

Some of the books were familiar, but most were not. She read through the titles. They were not particularly enlightening, but a few titles caught her eye. There was a book about Troll Slaying--gods, did they have trolls here?--and a book about draugr. She wrinkled her nose at the memory of the draugr she had encountered during her time on Solstheim. She spotted a book about the life of Uriel Septim VII, the Emperor who’d had her deported to Morrowind, and wondered again what had transpired after she left her own time. Her eyes traveled down the shelf, and she paused. Totems of Hircine and Lycanthropic Legends of Skyrim? A vague thought seemed to percolate through the depths of her mind, but she immediately lost it upon spotting the next book: “The Third Era: An Abbreviated Timeline - The Last Year of the Third Era”.

Ah. They were in the fourth era, whenever they were. She noticed Kodlak watching her out of the corner of her eye and turned toward him.

“Sorry... Like Ma'zurah said, she has always been curious.”

“So what did you wish to speak with us about?" Fayrl interjected, deciding it was best to get straight to the point. "Is this about the Dragon?”

"Ah yes," began Kodlak, "I wished to ask you some personal questions. If you don't mind, of course."

Fayrl nodded in assent.

Kodlak lowered his voice. "What brought the two of you here? I do not mean merely this tale of the Dragon. The both of you claim you are from Morrowind. So why is it that you find yourselves in Skyrim--Whiterun in particular?"

Fayrl remained silent. He would let Ma'zurah choose how much truth or not she was comfortable revealing. She seemed frustrated enough already with his improvisations, and he dared not risk putting a wedge between them. After all, he was relying on her expertise to return to his own time; she was likely his only chance of escape.

Ma'zurah cocked her head at Kodlak. "It is a long story. Why do you wish to know?"

Kodlak turned to face Fayrl. "You say you are from Morrowind, yet you know much of my people. I do not know how someone so far removed from my shield-siblings could be so well versed in our history as to know one of our rare songs. I should like to see this songbook, if you don't mind."

Fayrl’s heart began to race but he kept his face implacable. He calmly dug into his satchel and pulled out his leather bound songbook. The book was well taken care of, still looking rather new, though it had been filled significantly. He flipped to one of the later pages, then handed the book to Kodlak. The man took it and carefully examined the book for signs of age and wear and other minute details.

Fayrl leaned back against the bookshelf again while Kodlak examined the book. There were musical queues scrawled along the margins of the pages to show the notes of various parts of the song, as well as instructions for how to adjust for the echoing of the hall. He only hoped it would be enough to convince the Nord of why he could perform the song.

Kodlak spent a long time looking the book over, flipping through other pages and reading them, then, without prompting, he licked his thumb and wiped it across a page.

Fayrl stiffened and fought the urge to snatch his book back. "Please don't ruin my songbook," he said in a coldly calm voice.

Kodlak held up his thumb with a smear of ink on it. "This is not the original book. Look how fresh this ink is. Does this look like the ink from a book supposedly written a millennia ago? I must ask for you to refrain from spreading falsehoods."

The Nord returned the book to Fayrl, who immediately checked the page to make sure the writing continued to be legible. It was. Barely. He would have to make corrections as soon as possible.

Kodlak turned to Ma'zurah. "Who are you really? And why have you come here?"

Ma'zurah pressed her lips together at the treatment of Fayrl's book. She had been on the brink of snatching it from Kodlak when he returned it to Fayrl. She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at the Nord. "First, why would Fayrl carry around a fragile manuscript that is eras old when it is much safer to carry a copy? Second, Ma'zurah is not in the habit of revealing her life story to people she barely knows. She also does not know precisely what the Harbinger is implying, but she certainly does not appreciate it! Ma'zurah can assure the Harbinger that these two have not come to Whiterun for any sinister purpose, and indeed would not be here at all if situations had been different. The only purpose these two currently have in Whiterun is to regain their bearings after surviving a Dragon attack. Now if the Harbinger is finished...?" Ma'zurah took Fayrl's arm in preparation to leave.

"You must understand, I meant no offense,” Kodlak explained. “I only wish to ensure the safety of my people. These lands are not exactly the most peaceful, and despite our reputation, there are some factions that seek to do us harm." He continued to scrutinize Fayrl. His gaze made it clear he did not trust the mer, and he sniffed at Fayrl in a rather undignified manner.

Fayrl held his book close to his chest. The Nord’s behavior made him uneasy. "We did not come here by choice," he snapped, "and we are more than happy to take our leave."

Kodlak moved to open the door. "I shall be keeping an eye on the both of you," he warned, though his tone betrayed no threat.

"We have no intention of disrupting the peace," Ma'zurah responded cooly. She led Fayrl out into the hall and back up the stairs toward the doors to Jorrvaskr. "Now what?" she asked Fayrl.

Fayrl tucked his songbook safely back into his satchel. He was not pleased at how poorly things had turned out with the Companions. He had enjoyed their company so much in his own time. A part of him wanted to stay and sing another song he had written for some of his favorite Companions less than a year before he had been thrust forward through time. "If you want to stay longer, I do not expect they will kick us out. But if you are uncomfortable, we can leave. I have a young man I need to speak with up at Dragonsreach, after all."

"Oh!” Mazurah brightened. “Ma'zurah would rather do that last one, if she may accompany Fayrl."

Fayrl smiled. "Why of course! After all, you also are a follower of my Lady. Let me bid our hosts farewell and thank them so that we can leave on good terms."

Kodlak appeared at the top of the stairs and resumed his seat. Fayrl went back to his place at the table and refilled his glass, raising it high and tapping the rim with a fork. "Friends, my wife and I must take our leave. We thank you for your merriment, your valor, and your brave service. May none of you ever be lone wolves, but remain always in your pack, whatever troubles may come your way!"

The atmosphere of the room seemed to chill suddenly as several members of the Companions glared at Fayrl. Fayrl could feel Kodlak's stare boring into him, and it raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

Ma'zurah raised her glass along with the less senior members of the Companions. The others joined the toast reluctantly. Fayrl’s words gave Ma'zurah a curious sensation as though she was forgetting something, and she glanced around the room with brow knitted in thought. She could feel the tense atmosphere and disapproving stares of several members of the Companions, so she allowed Fayrl to take her arm and lead her outside. Just as she closed the door behind them, she glanced back with glowing blue eyes. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of four figures glowing with the unmistakable signature of Hircine.

Chapter Text

The door fell shut, and Ma'zurah whirled toward Fayrl with her free hand clapped over her mouth. She met his gaze with wide eyes, realizing the implications of several statements he had made over the course of the evening. She leaned toward him. "Do not mention wolves to any Companions again…” she murmured to him in a tone that was barely audible. “In fact, just avoid the subject in Whiterun entirely, please!"

Fayrl nodded. He had felt the chill of the Companions’ stares when they took their cold, but polite sips to his toast. At least, some of them had been cold about it.

"Duly noted. Things are so different now. They never used to stop talking about wolves and identifying their behaviors as being as strong and close knit as wolves. Everything was wolf this and pack that."

Fayrl shivered. Being here just felt so wrong to him. He could feel just how much he did not belong here. "Let us hurry to visit the young man. The sooner we can get to the inn and I can have a good stiff drink, the better."

"Certainly.” Ma'zurah walked with quick steps beside Fayrl towards the Jarl's keep. “However, Ma'zurah would appreciate a visit with the court wizard as well. We are most definitely past the end of the third era according to the Harbinger's bookshelves, and Ma'zurah would like to know just how far past as soon as possible."

Fayrl was suddenly thankful for how proactive his companion was. He had been partnered with many sorts of people in his time working for the Temple. Some were more motivated than others. He ran into far too many bootlicking social climbers just looking to elevate themselves without any regard for their joint objectives.

"The fourth era," Fayrl muttered in an exhaled breath. He could not really believe it, the surrealness of their situation only increased the more they learned of what had happened to them. "It is almost too much to believe. Yet with my own eyes I see a place I once knew well. And yet it is not the place I used to know. The Gildergreen was far smaller and lusciously green when last I saw it only a few months back. And now…” he motioned to it as they reached the bottom of the stair, "Now it is no better than a statue."

He allowed his voice to take on some measure of the loss he felt. There were strangers on the streets, and so much of the progress that had been made in his time had not only ceased, but reversed over the centuries. All those hopes he’d had for the work he and others like him had done, all… for what? So that things could get worse? It made him feel quite small, something he did not enjoy.

Ma'zurah heard the sadness in Fayrl's voice, and patted his hand reassuringly. "Ma'zurah has never been to Whiterun before, but she has seen plants that looked as dead as that recover before. The Clan Mothers taught her as much. Perhaps it can be saved."

Fayrl allowed himself to be comforted by Ma'zurah's touch; the recollection of her past was but a momentary flash, a mere wisp of emotion rather than the overwhelming flood it had been the first time. "This was once so beautiful. If there is a way to restore it, it would be a great thing indeed."

They passed under the massive tree and slowed to look up at its branches. The shrine of Talos was thankfully vacant, and the only people present were a pair of lone guards at either end of the square, and a priestess in blue and green robes kneeling at the base of the tree tending a small patch of flowers growing there. She leaned back on her toes and smiled at them.

"It's a damn shame isn't it?" the priestess asked, nodding up at the bare branches.

Fayrl paused and stepped away from Ma'zurah, approaching the priestess and kneeling beside her. "It is indeed, m'lady. To have grown so large and vital only to succumb to this state… It grieves my heart for sure. It seems like only yesterday it was still budding with fresh spring growth."

"Aye. Twas only a few years ago it was struck by lightning. I still get disappointed pilgrims to the temple of Kynareth who ne'er received word.” She paused. “Apologies! I'm Danica Pure-Spring. You’ll have to forgive me for not taking your hand.” She held out her dirt covered palms in explanation, before returning to weeding the small plot of flowers.

Fayrl laughed easily. “Not a problem. I'm Fayrl, and this is my darling wife, Ma'zurah.”

Ma'zurah gave a small smile and waved. She was a bit concerned that Fayrl didn't seem to have gloves for encounters such as this.

“Lovely to meet you both, I'm sure!” The priestess paused and looked over Fayrl. "Say, you wouldn't be of the adventuring disposition, would ye?"

Fayrl’s heart lept at the notion of adventure, though he made no outward show of it. He turned to Ma'zurah. "My wife and I have been in a scrap or two. I don't know, my moonbeam, what do you think?" He did not want to say anything that would upset her. Her earlier burst of anger, whether an act or otherwise, made him suspect she might be the type to have a bit of a temper.

Something the priestess had said earlier registered with Ma'zurah. "The tree is sacred to Khenarthi?" Ma'zurah’s eyes flashed blue for an instant and she nodded thoughtfully. "It is not quite dead, and does yet maintain a faint spiritual connection..."

Danica's eyes widened. "Not dead? Then there is no time to lose! Please, I have heard of a weapon the Hagravens of Orphan Rock have created to destroy spriggans. It is likely the only weapon that could harvest the sap of the Eldergleam and restore the Gildergreen! If you can, I would ask you to retrieve it for me."

Ma'zurah began to nod, but stopped and glanced at Fayrl. "If we can. We do not yet know what tasks we have here."

Fayrl glanced back and forth between the two, feeling rather unimportant. Was this how people often felt around him? He did have the habit of being the center of attention. It was not a good feeling to be out of the spotlight when it was not something he actively sought.

He nodded in response to Ma'zurah’s questioning glance. He did not understand how Ma'zurah could have known if the tree was dead or alive. Her magic was beyond his ability to comprehend, but he would take her at her word. "We will certainly try our best," Fayrl agreed. He gently brushed some stray dried leaves away from the flowers the priestess was tending to.

Ma'zurah smiled. "These two need to procure a map, but once we do, and we tend to any other business, we will see if we can find Orphan Rock."

Danica nodded gratefully to Ma'zurah and dusted her hands off onto her robe. "You've given an old priestess hope! May Kynareth guide your path.”

Fayrl nodded to the priestess and rose to his feet. “Stay strong, priestess of Kynareth.”

Ma'zurah offered her arm to Fayrl again. "Shall we?"

“Why of course, my dear.” Fayrl took the proffered arm and the pair headed to the stairs towards Dragonsreach. A door in a nearby house opened, and the street preacher with the yellow robe emerged and resumed his shouted sermons. Fayrl tried to ignore the loud ravings. Who was this Talos figure that seemed to be causing him such agitation? He assumed it must be some new Nord cult following of their favorite dead general, as often seemed to be the way with Nords. Not that his people were any different. He prayed to the Three that maybe, just maybe, his people didn't put quite so much stock in Almsivi these days. How nice it would be if at least that had changed for the better, even if so much else had gotten worse. Perhaps it was a good sign that a young Nord boy followed Mephala so openly. Maybe all of Skyrim’s holds had followed suit in joining the Pact and since then they now freely exchanged culture and religion.

It was almost too much to hope for.

Fayrl led them through the doors of Dragonsreach, pointedly ignoring the stares from the guards. He stopped just inside the doors.

"Did you want to speak with the court wizard while I go and see what I can learn?" he asked, unsure if he should bring her or not. He did not know how Ma'zurah felt about Mephala, even if she claimed to follow the True Tribunal. Many that did were wary of dealing directly with her.

"No, Ma'zurah wanted to see the works of Mafala, if Fayrl is comfortable having Azurah's child as witness." She flashed him a playful grin. "Besides, we should stay together. Especially when it comes to dealing with anything Daedric, all things considered."

Fayrl nodded. If she was this confident then he would not stop her. He headed towards where he had last seen the Nord boy, hoping that he would not yet be in bed. The feast hall was far emptier at this hour than it had been; something he was grateful for.

The Jarl was not on his throne, and his severe Dunmer bodyguard was also nowhere in sight. The banquet tables had been mostly cleared, though a trio of warriors still lingered to talk loudly over jugs of mead. One figure in runed, hooded robes sat at the end of the table on the right, apparently just finishing his supper. As they drew closer, he wiped his mouth on a napkin, stood, and walked swiftly through a doorway along the right side of the hall, where he proceeded to engage himself with several books on a cluttered desk full of papers and arcane paraphernalia.

Fayrl made note of where the man had gone. This was most likely the court wizard, he concluded. It seemed that his quarters were the same as the ones kept by court mages in his own time. It would be easy to find him later.

From the top of the narrow set of stairs to the right of the Jarl's dais, a small tousled head appeared. The boy glancing between the two newcomers hesitantly.

Fayrl caught sight of the boy and gave a silent, deep bow. Then he pulled out a small pouch; a gift for their host.

The boy glanced around, then he disappeared for a moment. When he reappeared, he made his way down the stairs, around the dais, and toward a darkened corner near the entrance to the kitchens on the left side of the room. The corner appeared to be a small study, containing a small table and several bookshelves. The boy beckoned to Fayrl.

Fayrl approached and handed the small pouch to the young Nord. It contained a ring enchanted to poison, shaped like a web with chips of ruby in the junctures of the web. It was the sort of gift followers of Mephala exchanged with one another to thank their hosts, and one of several pieces of jewelry he kept on his person for such occasions.

The boy took the pouch and looked inside. His eyebrows rose at the sight of the ring, and he stared at Fayrl with round eyes. He slowly seated himself at the small table, and waited for Fayrl and Ma'zurah to join him.

“You’re friends with the Whispering Lady.” The boy crossed his arms. It was not a question. “Maybe you can tell me why she won't talk to me. She always talks to me. Every day! She always tells me… things. But she hasn't said a word in three days.” The boy’s young brow was furrowed, and he looked strangely vulnerable with his arms around himself. He had to be only eight years old at most. He glanced away from his visitors, and shadows obscured most of his face.

Fayrl knew it was not unusual for Mephala to be silent for a time. He wished to reassure the boy. “When the Lady is silent, it is because she is whispering elsewhere. She is finding new secrets to tell you. New ways in which to lure insects into her web. Do not despair.”

He held out a hand to the boy. “If you want, you can share your secrets with me. Perhaps I can be of assistance. I am always looking to help those who listen for the Lady’s whispers.”

Ma'zurah gave the boy a reassuring smile. The boy glanced between her and Fayrl's proffered hand for a second, before hesitantly reaching out to Fayrl. He took a breath. “Alright. It’s not like I have anyone else to talk to now.”

Fayrl closed his eyes for a moment to process the boy’s memories. The life of a child did not bring overwhelming flood of emotions the way Ma’zurah’s memories had. He opened his eyes again and smiled at the boy.

The boy looked up to meet Fayrl’s gaze. If he found Fayrl’s red Dunmer eyes disconcerting, as many Nords did, his face showed no trace of it. “Being the Jarl’s youngest son doesn't exactly give me many options for interesting things to do. I don't have any friends because everyone is always worried about security, and I have to take all these boring lessons that I know I will never use. My older brother is the only one who will ever need to know all this stuff. It’s all the pressure, and none of the reward. I hate it. So I hide a lot.” The boy sighed and withdrew his hand to wrap his arms around himself again.

He glanced back at Fayrl and continued. “This castle is old. Lots of places nobody's been in a long while. Places where you can overhear things. See things. I started collecting secrets. And that’s how I found the Whispering Lady.”

Another sigh. “She won't tell me her name. I'd gotten good at listening at keyholes. At the door in the basement, I heard her talking to me. I thought I was caught, but she started telling me even more secrets. She… she’s my only friend.” The boy gave Fayrl a pleading look. “You see why I need her. I wish I could see her, but I can't open the door.”

The boy’s face twisted into an odd expression. “My father thinks he’s my friend. He always tries to talk to me. But he doesn't know anything about me, the disgusting pig.” A sudden expression of disdain flashed across the boy’s face, incongruous to the boy’s youth. “One day, I'll tear his face apart so he can leave me alone! But now I know all about him. And about the war. More than he might think.” The boy glanced at the throne with a sneer.

He looked back at Fayrl. “The Whispering Lady told me so many things. Things that would destroy my father if the right people found out. She told me that he still worships Talos even though the Thalmor banned it. That he hates the Thalmor almost as much as the Stormcloaks do. That he worries about being chased from Whiterun.” The boy hesitated and looked down at his lap. “That he... that I'm... that I don't have the same mother as my brother and sister.”

The boy glanced up again suddenly. “I bet she’ll talk to you though. Maybe you can go to the basement and ask her if I did something wrong? You understand, I need her.”

Fayrl felt the rush feelings; felt the boy's isolation, his fear that people were judging, sneering at him. He understood the way people talked when they thought they could not be heard. He understood how at first overhearing them was an accident; then it became intentional--to remember who had said mean things; and how finally it became a game to play with Mephala.

Fayrl knew the look the boy wore. He had worn it once before as well. He too had felt that jaded sense of entitlement that came with feeling worthless and then discovering that with a single action he could destroy all those who stood in his way. He had been the lonely noble with no chance of inheriting a title, stuck in the boring and useless lessons on rule and politics. That had been his childhood too.

He placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. "I do know her name, though it is not my secret to share. When she thinks you are ready, she will tell you herself. Or perhaps you will figure it out on your own."

He rooted around in his bag to produce another ring, this one was made of ebony. It was an intricately crafted spider in a web and it lay on a long ebony chain.
"She spoke to me the first time when I was about your age. I had been alone before that myself. She taught me to keep secrets. In time she taught me how to make use of those secrets. You can use them to harm your enemies like a blade, or you can shroud yourself in them like armor. My people once worshiped her freely. She is a god. And if she has spoken to you, then she has chosen you very carefully."

He showed the ring more closely to the boy. When I was of age for the rite, I officially joined her following. That was when I earned this ring. It is a symbol of my dedication. Though it cannot be shown to outsiders, I know you and I are similar. There is much like this for you to look forward to."

The boy listened with wide eyes, his expression morphing to something like hero worship when Fayrl showed him his ring. He nodded slowly at the revelation that the Whispering Lady was a god, his whirling thoughts almost visible on his face.

Fayrl stowed the ring back in the secret pocket of his satchel. "I would be honored to take the chance to speak with her. And I shall learn what I can for you, though she may tell me nothing. Take heart, the Lady rewards faith and hard work."

“I knew you understood, I could tell we're the same.” The boy paused and held out his hand in belated formal greeting. “I'm Nelkir. I hope you will be staying for a while. You’re easy to talk to.”

Fayrl took the proffered hand and shook it. "Nice to meet you, Nelkir. I am Fayrl."

Nelkir glanced hesitantly at Ma'zurah, and unsubtly whispered to Fayrl, “Who is she? Why is she here?”

Ma'zurah hid a smile behind one hand. “This one is Ma'zurah.” she said in a quiet voice. “Ma'zurah is dedicated to the Lady’s sister. Ma'zurah will keep all secrets, do not worry.”

Fayrl gestured at Ma'zurah. "Ma'zurah has been helping me. You can trust her. She respects our Lady and will not do anything to get in the way of what we are doing."

He stood. "We shall make our way to the basement to speak with the Lady. Make sure not to tell anyone of what we are doing."

The boy stood resolutely, and walked to the open doors of the kitchen, where several servants were cleaning up the remains of the court’s evening meal. He turned back to his visitors with a frown.

“At the back of the kitchen is a stairway to the basement. The first door on the left leads to a store room and the Whispering Lady’s door. I’ll try to provide a distraction for you.”

Ma'zurah nodded and stood, summoning a spell in each hand.

The boy ran into the kitchen shouting, and Ma'zurah cast a spell of invisibility on herself and Fayrl, placing one hand in Fayrl's so they would not become separated.

Fayrl only had a chance to nod before things started happening. He was fine with getting straight to the action. There was a chance that he was going to speak with Mephala. That meant a chance of getting out of this place and back to where he belonged.

He held Ma’zurah’s hand in his, bidding himself not to be affected by her past as they hurried to the stairs, then down and to the left. His heart was racing, but there was a joy within him that he held tightly onto.

It did not take long before he saw the door. He did not have to ask, he felt the pull of it, as though some part of him was finding a missing piece. It was there. He had no doubt.

“This way,” he said, gently tugging Ma’zurah towards the door. Every step closer he felt an emptiness within filling up.

Ma'zurah, too, could feel the subtle power from the door, and she knelt in front of it as she and Fayrl reached it. She reverently reached out and touched the wood, then placed an ear against the door.

“Welcome faithful followers…” The voice that greeted them could have have been interpreted as either male or female, and though the words were innocuous, the tone sounded like the most sensual, risqué pillow talk that Ma'zurah had ever heard. She shivered as a flood of desire washed over her simultaneous to a creeping sense of dread that Ma'zurah had only ever felt before when waking just before the midnight assault of an assassin. With a start, Ma'zurah wondered if she had been receiving the help of the Keeper of Secrets all along.

The moment Fayrl heard Mephala’s voice, his body froze. It had been so long since he had been able to hear her so clearly, so closely. His body grew hot instantly. How he had missed this feeling; this embrace his Prince’s words impressed upon his body. She was the only one who had ever understood him so deeply, the only one to ever touch him like this, even without laying a hand upon him.

“I have been awaiting you,” the voice of Mephala continued. “Your threads will be most precious in this latest tapestry. I am glad you have come to Me so swiftly. The child is spirited, but lacks... agency. You will be far more effective tools. Especially you, Fayrl Indoril, My most dedicated child.” Mephala’s voice was like a caress.

To hear her call his name, Fayrl couldn’t help buy feel a sense of pride, of worthiness which he always sought. This was his purpose. This was his reason for being here, to serve her, and she was allowing him to do it. He could feel the stirrings of his own arousal.

“Open the door and take what you find there. The boy can assist you in this task. You have proven yourself worthy of My gifts to you. Now I give you another, and name you My Champion in this age.”

If he could have moved, Fayrl would have reached out and tried to rip the door off of its hinges to discover what she wanted to give to them. Still, he needed to show restraint. He had to honor this gift no matter how exciting it was. Champion of Mephala? Could there have been anything he longed for more in his entire life? His grip on Ma’zurah’s hand tightened. His desire was throbbing within him and he had to use all of his strength to keep his composure.

“I am honored, my Prince, I am at your command. You have but to whisper your desire and I shall carry it out.” Fayrl's voice trembled like a child’s. His body, too, shook slightly.

The presence turned its attention to Ma'zurah. “As for you, little Nerevarine, Child of Azura, Nerevar Incarnate, Beloved of Boethiah, Fulfiller of Prophecies, I have nothing to offer you but advice.”

Ma'zurah shivered again, and nodded mutely.

“You have your own task here, greater than any one god could demand. You will discover much that may disturb you about this new age you are in. Though much destruction has been wrought as a result of your actions, know that you are blameless in the sight of the gods. You have pleased the Three and strengthened Our people and their Endeavor. You pursue the True Purpose of Mundus with every action, and reveal better shapes with every cut.”

Ma'zurah smiled as a blissful feeling of satisfaction washed over her. She squeezed Fayrl’s hand.

“Though you did sever the Heart, you yourself have always borne the Legacy of the Doom Drum, the Moon Beast, woven into a gift from the Dragon. Many will love and hate you for it. Break not under their scrutiny, for you have the blessing of more than just the Three. Understand that Forces have seen fit to provide you with a trustworthy ally. Treat him as you would your own beloved, for Our glory. Such is the advice of Mephala. Now go and carry out My desires.”

The sense of presence faded, and the pair was left standing in the storage room in front of the locked door.

Chapter Text

When the voice of Mephala subsided, Fayrl's knees buckled under him, and he dropped to the stone floor with a thud. He stared at the door for a moment, still trying to understand what had happened.

"I am to be Mephala's Champion? I..."

Fayrl moved forward, grasping at the door handle and pulled on it, but it did not move.

He turned to Ma'zurah, clasping both of her hands in his. "We must find the boy and get this door open. If there is a purpose to our being here, we should endeavor to complete it with haste. Perhaps that is why we were both brought here, by the fate of the Three. I still do not understand it."

He laughed suddenly. "You are of far more importance in this than am I. If Mephala wishes me to act as your second, then I shall gladly take up the charge. So long as she wills it, I will serve you with loyalty." His eyes darted away. "It may not always be easy for me. Probably not for you either. But know that your goals are now mine."

Ma'zurah sat in a daze, trying to sort through mixed emotions. She still struggled with the physical euphoria of being praised by a god, but… “This means we are not going back.” she whispered. “Ma'zurah thought she was done with prophecies…”

“Wait, what?" Fayrl had been too caught up in the idea of becoming Mephala's Champion to have registered that. "What do you mean we aren't going back? Surely if we complete this task we will be returned." He had to try hard to keep the tinge of panic from his voice.

Ma'zurah stood slowly, blinking at her surroundings as though seeing them for the first time. She reached out a hand to assist Fayrl to his feet.

“She named Fayrl Champion ‘in this age’, and warned Ma'zurah of a task bigger than one god can assign. Ma'zurah is already the Champion of Azurah. If gods are assigning their Champions to assist each other with tasks, there must be something truly huge occurring. We are not going back…”

Fayrl shook his head. “No. Just because we have a big task to accomplish does not mean we are not going to be going back.”

He refused to believe that he would never see those he loved again. That he would have missed the whole of his son’s life. That he would not have been there for Avon the next time his parents attempted to marry him off. That he would not help in the protection of his land or people. He would never accept that he would not see his daelekil or little Khes again.

“We will be their Champions here, then we will return to our time and continue where we left off. Who knows, I might still be alive somewhere in your time. I would love to have you visit me.”

Ma'zurah laughed bitterly. “You would be over seven hundred years old. Ma'zurah has only met a few mer who have achieved that kind of age, and they were all wizards of great power. Telvanni. It is not likely. And if you are to be Champion in this age, you are not to be Champion in your own. Ma'zurah knows… she knows what it is like to be the plaything of the gods.”

Ma'zurah shuddered and closed her eyes, pushing the intrusive remembrance of the deep knell of huge bells from her mind. “What a fool you are. I'm a god. What a grand and intoxicating innocence. How could you be so naive? There is no escape!” Voryn taunted from her memories. “My people look upon the elements, and see there written a divine testament to my Lordship!” Ayem unhelpfully added. No, she told the memories. Be silent. They are dead--dead and gone and divorced from power. She brought to mind Azurah's benevolent smile instead, but the memory felt colder than it once had. Ma'zurah took a deep breath and opened her eyes again.

Fayrl saw the dark look come over Ma'zurah and decided a distraction was in order. “You do not give me near enough credit,” he bemoaned. “Why, I heard tale of a devout follower of Mephala who was granted life more than twice that. They say she had served so well that she was allowed to absorb the youth of each of those she gave unto Mephala.” He sighed wistfully. “If I am granted the role of Champion, even if only in this time, there is reason enough to believe in the hope of the strange and rare coming to pass.”

He had to believe it was true. To give up on that hope was too painful. They still did not yet understand their situation enough to make any sort of assumptions.

Ma'zurah shook her head. “We need to hurry. Only fools keep the Princes waiting.” Ma'zurah took Fayrl’s hand again and cast invisibility on them both.

Following a sudden a playful impulse, Fayrl scooped Ma'zurah easily into his arms, “Allow me,” he said, carrying her through the kitchens, half dancing out of the way of the servants moving about.

Ma'zurah stifled a squeak and clung to Fayrl’s neck until he delivered her safely to the main hall. He set her down out of sight of the kitchens behind a column, and the invisibility spell wore off. “I am to serve you, you should make good use of all of my skills, Nerevarine.” He winked at her.

Ma'zurah gave Fayrl an indignant glare. “What in all the Mundus does Fayrl think he is doing?!”

Fayrl gave her a goofy smile. “I simply wish to make things easier on you. There’s no harm in that, is there?”

Before Ma'zurah had the opportunity to respond, a small figure darted to their side, and an eager Nelkir looked up at them. “You’re back! What did she say? Will she talk to me again?”

Fayrl looked down at the boy, belatedly realizing that he had forgotten in his excitement to ask about the boy. Or about anything else for that matter. Talking to gods often left one a bit disoriented or focused on other things.

“Ah, Nelkir!” Fayrl said smoothly, “She told me she needed me to fulfill a task before anything else. A task which she told me she needs your help to complete.” He leaned down so he could whisper. “You are to show us how to open the door the Lady is behind. She said you are the only one we can trust to tell us how to open it.”

“Really? She said that?” Nelkir gave an excited bounce. “They put magic on the door. There’s only one way to open it, and that’s with a key. There are only two keys--my father has one, and Farengar, the wizard, has the other. If I could have gotten a key, I would have done it already, but they keep the keys on them all the time. Maybe you can do something though.” The boy paused and grinned darkly. “If you can't get the key off Farengar, you could just get rid of him. No one will miss Farengar. I promise you.”

Fayrl exchanged a look with Ma’zurah. “You are eager to see blood?” he asked the boy. “If it is mere blood you wish for, there can be better sport than that. A court wizard will be too noticeable.” He dropped his voice. “Besides, he may have more valuable secrets.”

Fayrl straightened and glanced about. “The best ones to kill are those who truly deserve death. Those who commit the most vile of sins. Those who do the world more harm than good by being in it. That is how you make people overlook it. Kill a murderer or a rapist, and as long as you are careful, you can always claim self defense. But only ever take a life if it is necessary. Senseless bloodshed comes back to get you,” Fayrl warned.

Nelkir looked awed at Fayrl’s advice. Ma'zurah looked amused. She shook her head and glanced around the hall to regain her bearings. The tables were empty now, and only one servant remained, clearing the last of the cutlery. The hall looked darker, and through the high windows near the roof, Ma'zurah could see that twilight had dimmed the atmosphere. Azurah’s hour.

“Bo iso jai mor di pala q'zi tsin'ra vaba traajirka,” Ma'zurah murmured quietly to the stars winking at her in the gathering dusk through the tiny windows, “aqir suneja dov'kono vaba nuruj dena. Durravar tohe'i Nirni ako teko'i tenurr; buno kerin zalkavi di Azurah, an etofa vabase vakona di aqir.”

But on the most dark of days when all is taken, light hearts never are left behind. Worship through Nirni's firey night; bow within the Temple of Azurah, and there will be a vision of light.

Ma'zurah smiled softly to herself.

Fayrl stared at her. Ta’agra always sounded so lovely to his ears, though he spoke it not at all. Sure, he had picked up the odd idea of what some words meant. He’d heard Qau-dar hiss ‘Sheggori mer’ under his breath enough times to understand the meaning. But as for anything more substantial, he had no means of understanding. Azura’s name and the word for Nirn was all he could glean from her words, hardly anything of use if she was trying to give him instruction.

Nelkir gave Ma'zurah a puzzled look before turning back to Fayrl. “Farengar is over there.” He pointed across the hall. “What should I do to help?”

Fayrl returned his attention back to Nelkir. “Do you happen to know if the wizard keeps the key in his pocket or around his neck?” Fayrl knew it was risky to try to seduce a wizard blindly. If he could get any clues, he might be able to work something out, perhaps with Ma’zurah’s assistance.

“Um… on a chain around his neck I think,” the boy responded hesitantly.

Ma'zurah looked away from the patch of twilight, back to Fayrl. “Ma'zurah knows some spells. Chameleon and silence. It may be better to wait for him to be asleep and try it then. In the meantime, Ma'zurah would at least like to talk to the wizard.”

Fayrl thought for a moment. “Ma’zurah, do you still have the vial I gave you earlier?”

Ma'zurah nodded and dipped her hand into an inner pocket of her robe to produce the small vial.

Fayrl grinned. “Then getting him to sleep isn’t going to be a problem.”

He nodded to himself as the plan took shape in his mind. “Could you give the vial to Nelkir, Ma'zurah?” Fayrl asked.

Ma'zurah raised an eyebrow at Fayrl, but handed the vial to the boy.

Leaning down, Fayrl stared the boy directly in the eye. “You will have the most important task. When I give the signal, you will need to drop the contents of the liquid onto the wizard. But you must be careful not to let any of it touch you, or Ma’zurah or I, do you understand?”

Nelkir nodded seriously to Fayrl. “What is the signal? What do I do until you give the signal?”

“Stay somewhere very close by, where you can listen. I know you are good at that or the Lady would not have chosen you. When you hear me say, ‘good sera, can I ask you about a potion of a more personal nature?’, that is when you should make sure to drop the potion on him.”

He straightened again. “Your method is up to you to choose. And I will ensure that if something goes wrong, you will not be harmed. Now, do the Lady proud and we shall all have a reward.”

The boy flashed Fayrl a wicked grin. “Got it.” He casually walked over to a shelf by the door to the wizard’s rooms and began flipping through a book.

Fayrl felt confident that the boy and his drive to succeed would serve them well. Perhaps the task would help to encourage his faith. And learning responsibility at a young age was so important.

Ma'zurah’s eyes glinted with mischief, but she composed her face into a picture of innocence, walked to the wizard’s doorway, and rapped on the frame to get his attention.

Farengar turned at the noise. “Good evening. Are you the assistant the Jarl promised me to help with my research? It is rather late, but I suppose the sooner we are introduced the better.”

Ma'zurah blinked. “Ah, apologies, but no. Ma'zurah was told that the court wizard is the best person in Whiterun to consult for things of a magical nature. Ma'zurah is doing some research, and was looking for information about Dragons. She was also hoping to consult a local Almanac, and perhaps the court wizard has some history books this one might borrow?”

Farengar looked confused. “You’re here for information about Dragons and you aren’t the assistant the Jarl promised me? Perhaps this is the divines answering my prayers. I had thought this damnable conflict had claimed everyone’s attentions. But then just this afternoon the Jarl sent for me and told me there were rumored sightings of Dragons in the next hold over and two alleged survivors had already made their way into our city.”

He finished fiddling with his enchantment and turned properly towards her, starting in surprise when he noticed Fayrl standing silently behind her. “My apologies. I will help with what I can, but I have very little time. As I am always being reminded by everyone here, who haven’t the slightest clue about scholarship or magic, there is a time limit on everything. As if you can put a limit on arcane knowledge.”

“This one thanks the court wizard. And, ah… actually, these two are the survivors of the Dragon attack. That is why Ma'zurah wanted information about Dragons. Is the court wizard researching Dragons?”

The wizard straightened up. “Ah, I see. So you have come from the Jarl. I will need you to help with my research. I will of course assist however I can, provided you are able to assist me in turn. I have a long list of questions that only you two might be able to answer.” He hurriedly rummaged around through the drawers of his desk until he found some parchment and a quill, taking a seat at the desk.

He abruptly stood back up. “My apologies, in my haste I did not introduce myself, I am Farengar Secret-Fire, the Jarl’s wizard, though he calls my research puttering. Might I have the names of yourself and your companion?” He waited, his quill posed to take notes.

Ma'zurah blinked. “Uh… this one is called Ma’zurah, but Ma'zurah was not sent by the Jarl. She came on her own. Ma'zurah would really just like to borrow some books about Dragons, some history books, and to check an almanac.”

Nelkir stealthily poked his head around the corner, and crept around the edge of the wall while Farengar was writing Ma'zurah's name. He made his way behind the court wizard, and hid under the alchemy table.

The wizard frowned and glanced up. “You only came for the books?”

He set his quill into the inkpot. “Do you have no questions for me? I have been studying Dragon lore for the better part of my career. And I have so many questions for you.”

Fayrl moved forward to the wizard’s desk. “We came to you precisely because we had heard of your expertise in the topic. Do you have anything in your years of research that might help us to understand what we saw? We are happy to exchange information for information.”

Ma'zurah sighed and exchanged a surreptitious glance with the boy under the alchemy table and began looking around the room for books that might be useful. She spotted three books with the word ‘Dragon’ in the title on the wizard's desk, and a copy of the Third Era Timeline on a bookshelf to her left.

Fayrl’s words seemed to return some strength to the wizard. “I think we can work out a deal. May I have your name please?” He picked back up his quill.

“My name is Fayrl Alari,” Fayrl replied with a slight bow. “A pleasure to meet someone so well learned in history and magic. I worried I might not be so lucky as to find intellectual conversation. Thank you for the opportunity.”

Something close to a smile, or at least, it was not a frown, came over the man’s face. “Thank you Fayrl. I suppose since you have been so kind as to answer one of my questions, I shall answer one of yours.”

Fayrl gestured to Ma’zurah. “My dear, why don’t you ask the first question.”

Ma'zurah looked frustrated for a second as she contemplated her options. Her most urgent questions could only be answered by books, else it would spark more questions about why she did not already know the information.

Her brow cleared suddenly as she recalled something. “Do Dragons talk? Ma'zurah thought she heard it speak.”

Farengar held up his finger and walked to his shelves, searching until he found the volume he was looking for, “Dragon Language: Myth no More”. He flipped through the pages, then set it down before her on the top of his pile of notes.

“They do indeed. In this volume Hela Thrice-Versed has written down some of the Dragon speech and translated portions of text. Fascinating things! And you said you heard the Dragon speak!” He pulled out his book and began to take notes. “Can you recall what it was that it said? Or perhaps what it might have sounded like?”

Ma'zurah shook her head. “No… Ma'zurah was too busy trying to survive to remember any words.”

She ran her fingers across the Dovahzul runes. The thought gave her pause. Dovahzul, where did that word come from? Why was it familiar? The runes seemed like they should be so easy to read if only she had the key. Just one tiny, crucial piece of knowledge.

Farengar nodded. “A shame, I would have been very interested in that. If you want to know more of the Dragon language, the Greybeards are the ones to ask, they speak the Dragon tongue. Though, few pilgrims manage to make it all the way up the seven thousand steps to High Hrothgar.”

Fayrl looked at Ma’zurah seeing how much more information she might want to glean from the wizard before he gave the signal.

“Do you have another question then?”

Ma'zurah shook her head, as though to clear it. “Ma'zurah knows almost nothing about the Dragons. She would like to read up on the basics. She can return with more questions tomorrow. Would Master Farengar please just recommend some books for Ma'zurah?”

Farengar pointed to a stack of books across the room. “If you want, I have a couple of books on Dragons themselves. There is a copy of ‘The Dragon War’ and “There be Dragons” somewhere amongst the other history books. And somewhere on the shelf is ‘The Oblivion Crisis’, perhaps beside that volume of ‘The Red Year’? It has a brief section about Akatosh, though that may not be exactly what you are looking for. Please feel free to look through any of the other histories I have there.”

He dipped his quill. “Would you mind describing the behavior of this Dragon when you saw it? Or perhaps the situation concerning its arrival?”

Ma'zurah gathered the books Farengar had mentioned and put them in a small stack while she described the arrival of the great black Dragon and the beginning of their flight from Helgen.

“There is really not much else to tell. It made a noise like a thousand durzog screaming at once in an echoing canyon, and its voice could be heard well before we even saw the creature. Ma'zurah does not relish the thought of encountering it again.” Ma'zurah shrugged.

Farengar took hurried notes. His face lit up with every scrap of new information, and he muttered exclamations of “fascinating” and “interesting” under his breath as he scrawled it all out. When he was done he looked back up. “Was there anything else you wanted to know?”

Fayrl glanced at Ma’zurah. If she was done, he was ready to let the boy have his chance to prove himself.

“Maybe tomorrow. Ma'zurah needs to research…” Ma'zurah picked up another book and added it to her small stack.

Farengar nodded. “Then I have another question for you.”

“Oh, I do have a question, actually, if you don’t mind,” Fayrl said.

Farengar raised an eyebrow. “Go ahead.”

Fayrl smiled sheepishly and walked closer to the wizard, leading the man away from Ma’zurah toward the alchemy table where Nelkir was waiting. He enunciated carefully. “Good sera, can I ask you about a potion of a more personal nature?”

Nelkir had been waiting patiently, and he broke into a predatory grin at the sound of the signal. He unstoppered the vial and carefully crept up behind the wizard. Fayrl had the wizard's full attention, so he tipped the contents of the vial onto Farengar’s hand--one of the few exposed patches of skin.

Fayrl grinned as he saw the flash of movement. Nelkir was surprisingly nimble and managed to give the wizard a solid direct dose.

“Watch what you are doing with my potions,” cried the wizard, trying to discern what had gotten all over his hand. He grabbed up a cloth by his work station and began to wipe his hand clean, but already it was obvious that the effects were taking hold. He seemed unstable on his feet.

“Oh, pardon me, I am feeling a bit light-headed.” Farengar slid into a nearby chair. “Just give me a moment, please.”

The man set his head in his hands and leaned against the table. He began to slump, his breathing evening out. After a moment, his light snores could be heard.

Fayrl set a small stack of books under the wizard’s head, then slipped his hands under the man’s robes and fished out the key. He showed it to Nelkir. “You have done wonderfully, Nelkir.” He grinned at the boy. “You have a lot of potential. I hope that you continue to grow and learn.”

Nelkir stood straighter at the praise, practically glowing. He gingerly returned the empty vial to Fayrl.

Ma'zurah tucked the stack of books into her pack and gestured for the others to follow. “If we move quickly, we can return the key before he notices it is gone. How long does the potion last?”

Fayrl pocketed the empty vial and a couple of alchemy reagents. “It should give us about two hours. We should have plenty of time to get to the door and replace the key.”

He started out the door, holding his hand out for Ma’zurah’s. “Shall we head back, my fellow Champion? I am happy to carry you if you’d like.”

Ma'zurah shot Fayrl a disdainful look, and vanished from sight. Nelkir squeaked in startlement, then laughed as he caught sight of the slight distortion of air where Ma'zurah had been. He walked after her, trying, and only sometimes succeeding, to keep her in sight. He peeked into the kitchen. There was only one servant left.

Assuming an innocent expression, the boy walked up to the cook’s assistant. “I'm hungry!”

The servant clicked her tongue at him. “Young Master Nelkir! You should really be in bed by now!” She started to herd the boy back upstairs, leaving the path to the basement clear of all observers.

Fayrl gave a small nod of thanks to the departing Nelkir, and then made himself invisible to follow after Ma'zurah. He hurried down the stairs to the locked door. The key felt hot in his sweating hand, and he was as giddy as a child. There was certainly a mystery behind the locked door. What could he possibly be about to discover? He desperately longed to know this secret.

He became visible again beside the locked door, his heart racing. He could hardly catch his breath.

Ma'zurah appeared beside Fayrl, grinning. “What are you waiting for? Open it!”

Fayrl needed no other encouragement. He set the key into the lock and turned it, pulling the door open with his other hand.

A rush of air came surging out of the door for one instant after the door opened, as if something had burst forth from behind it, though there was no sign of anything having left. Fayrl took shaky steps forward as he saw, by the light of the smoky torch in the hall, a long ebony katana sitting on the table in the center of the room. His breath hitched, his eyes stinging. He knew well what the blade was. Could he possibly be worthy of such a weapon?

“My Prince,” he breathed, hesitant to reach out and take it.

Ma'zurah took in the bare, dark room containing a table with a folded piece of paper, and a black sword that seemed to be of Akaviri origin--an ebony dai-katana. She walked forward and picked up the paper, held it at an angle so Fayrl could read, and summoned a palmful of fire to read by.

“To anyone reading this: BEWARE THIS BLADE

It is hoped that the only people having access to this room should be the Jarl of Whiterun and his trusted wizard. If anyone else is reading this, please understand the magnitude of your folly, turn around, and never even speak of this room or this blade to anyone.

It has corrupted and perverted the desires of great men and women. Yet its power is without equal—to kill while your victim smiles at you. Only a daedra most foul could have concocted such a malevolent and twisted weapon. But it appears that all who wield it end up with the crazed eyes of those wild men who roam the hills chattering with rabbits.

It is not to be trifled with. Not even the hottest fires of the Skyforge could melt it; indeed the coals themselves seemed to cool when it was placed within. We cannot destroy it, and we would not have it fall into the hands of our enemies. So we keep it, hidden, dark and deep within Dragonsreach, never to be used.

Woe be to any who choose to take it.”

Mephala’s voice returned, closer this time. Ma'zurah gave a soft gasp at the unexpected wash of emotion. “As you may notice, the description of the sword does not match the appearance of my Ebony Blade. Its power has waned through long disuse. Take it, my Champion, and let it drink the blood of deceit. Wash the crafted god's blood in the spilled blood of mortals! It will nourish you further as you fulfill its true potential!”

Fayrl moved, trance-like after hearing the voice. His hands clasped around the hilt of the sword and the scabbard. He drew the blade towards him. “Yes, my Prince. I shall restore it to its former glory.”

In an instant the blade was unsheathed in his hand. “We should not demand of others that which we are not prepared to give ourselves.”

He turned to Ma’zurah. “I hope you have a healing potion.” He brought the blade down across his arm. There was almost no pain, in fact, it filled him with a sort of ecstasy to be cut by it. As his arm began to drip, he turned the blade this way and that, coating the ebony completely.

Ma'zurah snarled as Fayrl brought the blade down on his arm. Mephala's laughter filled the room, but Ma'zurah only grabbed Fayrl's arm and summoned a healing spell. The cut was gone before Ma'zurah put more than a pittance of magicka into the spell. Fayrl breathed a sigh of relief.

“ Wafiit ! Are you touched in the head? That is not how that works!” Ma'zurah lightly smacked Fayrl over the head. “Ebony is the Heart's blood of Lorkhaj! The Ebony Blade requires mortal heart's blood from a betrayed victim! Your wafa ma'i ketra does not give it either! Do not do that again!”

“I knew it was said to absorb health, but I was not sure if it would work if you cut yourself.” Fayrl gave Ma'zurah a bright smile. “But look how much happier it looks with a fresh coat of blood on it? I did not wish for it to lose any more power. Hopefully that snack will hold it over until I can give it a better drink.”

Fayrl reached out and took Ma'zurah’s hand. “Thank you,” he said, and lifted her hand to his mouth to kiss the back of it. Now that we have recovered this relic, where shall we go to give it strength? Shall I ask Nelkir about the criminals of the city? I am sure I could make Whiterun a safer place.”

Ma'zurah smacked her face in frustration. “Heart's blood, sheggorriit , from a betrayed victim--as in, they have to trust you, or it does nothing. And we have more important things to do at this exact moment.”

Ma'zurah pulled away from Fayrl and sank to her knees, placing her hands palms upward atop her thighs. “Clan Mother Mafala, this one begs the wisdom of your secret knowledge, what should this one do next?”

Mephala’s laugh again echoed through the room. “So formal! If you desire more guidance, I am sure My Sister and Sister-Brother, and many other Siblings besides will provide for you against the coming storm. We all have a stake in this weaving, even the Corners in their own way.”

“And what should this one tell the boy?” Ma'zurah asked. “He desires to be a follower.”

“We shall see how he weaves his own fate. Perhaps he may yet prove himself worthy. Take heed, children. Be wary, be watchful, and know that the Spinner spins ever for the faithful.”

Fayrl whispered the Chimeris prayer of thanks the Farseer had taught him, then bowed low. “Thank you, my Prince. I will not disappoint you.”

Fayrl's body felt hot, almost feverish. He knew what they needed to do, but his desires tugged at him. The sense of presence faded, and Fayrl sighed. “Shall we get this key back where it goes and slip out before any guards notice?” he asked Ma’zurah.

Ma'zurah nodded. She shut the door behind them, and waited for Fayrl to lock it, then led the way up the stairs and back to the wizard's rooms. Nelkir ran back up to the pair. "What did I miss? What did she say?" he asked eagerly.

Fayrl smiled as he gingerly lifted the wizard’s head and slipped the key back around his neck. “She says she is looking forward to you proving yourself more and more as you get older, Nelkir. You must work hard to learn the truth of her name and nature, to not be led astray by falsehoods. The Lady’s nature is ever changing, and she will throw many challenges at you. Know that she places value upon cleverness and on making the right decision in difficult situations. Only through overcoming the struggles in life can you find your purpose.”

Fayrl’s hand twitched upon the hilt of the Ebony Blade. The wizard was a man who had trusted them. He would be worthy of being the first to wet the blade. To kill him would start to bring this sacred sword back to life, to extend the power of his Prince that much further.

He looked over to Ma’zurah. How would she feel if he were to take a life in front of her? He could give the child a task outside of the room so he would not have to witness the murder. It was still too early for him to witness such things.

Fayrl stroked the hilt of the sword, turning from Ma’zurah back to the wizard, still gently slumbering. He stared at the exposed back of the man’s neck. He was so vulnerable. It would be so simple.

Ma’zurah did not notice Fayrl’s wavering as she knelt in front of the boy. “Ma’zurah is sure the Jarl has you learning from many excellent tutors. You should learn as much as possible from them, especially about other cultures. There is value in skepticism, but you must also keep your mind open to new ideas. Remember, all knowledge is worth having, for knowledge is power in the right hands. You must prove yourself worthy to the Lady, show that you are capable of wielding secrets as tools if you truly wish to follow her. She can be a hard and demanding mistress, but so are all gods in this one’s experience.”

The boy nodded earnestly, his face a mixture of emotions. “That means I have to prove myself before she will speak to me again, doesn’t it?”

“Quite likely. But do not be discouraged. She called you spirited, and Ma’zurah thinks that is a good sign.”

The boy smiled.

Chapter Text

A door slammed, and sudden, hurried footsteps echoed through the open doorway from the great hall. Ma’zurah stood and walked to the doorway.

The Dunmer housecarl appeared in front of her. “Where is Farengar? He is needed--” She noticed Nelkir and did a double take. “Wh-Nelkir! What are you doing down here, boy?”

“Nothing! I swear!” The boy inched around the housecarl and fled for the stairs.

Irileth made an exasperated noise. “No matter! What is Farengar doing? The Jarl requires his counsel!”

Ma’zurah glanced back at the sleeping wizard resting his head atop a stack of books. “He was sleeping like that when these two walked in the room. We could not wake him.”

Fayrl bowed to Irileth. “If you would like, I can attempt to rouse him,” he offered. “I just discovered a vial of smelling salts that may do the trick. If you would allow me, of course.”

“Whatever, just hurry.” Irileth paused and gave the pair a speculative look. “And you two should come with me as well. We need all the help we can get.”

Fayrl gave a nod and carefully lifted the wizard’s head, uncorking a vial and slipping it under his nose, turning his head so that his face could not be seen from the doorway. He whispered into Farengar’s ear, “You’ve nodded asleep at your work. And after getting so much valuable information from the two witnesses. Now wake up, Farengar.”

The wizard sat bolt up, nearly striking Fayrl in the head as he jumped. “Oh dear! What is the time?”

Fayrl turned to Irileth, “It looks like he’s awake at least.”

The disoriented Farengar stood shakily from his chair, putting a hand to his neck. “Where did my notes-- oh, Irileth, is there something I can assist you or the Jarl with?”

Irileth frowned. “Yes. Come with me. Your immediate assistance is required.” She stalked off in the direction of the stairs. Ma’zurah trotted after her, noting the increased activity in the main hall.

Fayrl attempted to offer Farengar his arm to help him out of the room. The wizard wiped a small trail of drool from the side of his lips. “I am quite capable of doing that on my own,” he snapped, smoothing out his robes. Fayrl exited the room, leaving the wizard to his own devices. The man stumbled after him.

The Jarl was waiting on the upper landing at a large map of the region spread out on a table.

Irileth escorted a shaking boy in a guard uniform toward the Jarl. “Tell the Jarl what you told me. About the Dragon.”

The boy swallowed and stepped forward, trying to stand tall, though his trembling hands betrayed his state of mind. “W-We saw it fly in from the south. It was fast... faster than anything I've ever seen. The others sent me as soon as it was spotted. It was just... circling overhead when I left. I never ran so fast in my life... I thought it would come after me for sure.”

Ma’zurah exchanged a glance with Fayrl.

Farengar seemed suddenly far more interested in what was going on around him. He fumbled through his robes for something to take notes on but came up empty handed.

The Jarl drew his brows together. “What did it do after that? Did it attack the watchtower? Was it after any of our men?”

Fayrl was unsettled by where this conversation was headed. Now that the Dragon had been mentioned, they were going to have to be involved. He would much rather head out of town as soon as possible, not that he would know where might be safe from a Dragon, but it seemed to be spending time in the same area rather than flying far afield.

“N-No, my lord. Not that I saw.” The boy shook his head. “But it… roared. The sound set my hair on end, and I’m sure it’s not planning anything good…”

Balgruuf nodded and patted the boy’s shoulder. “Good work, son. We'll take it from here. Head down to the barracks for some food and rest. You've earned it. Irileth, you'd better gather some guardsmen and get down there.”

Farengar stepped forward. “A Dragon! How exciting! I did not think we would be so lucky as to see one so close.”

Fayrl stepped forward. “If I may interrupt, Jarl Balgruuf, we were sent for? What use might two refugees be to a great man such as yourself?”

Balgruuf motioned for Fayrl and Ma’zurah to step forward. “The two of you have seen the destruction of the Dragon before. If you could go with my housecarl, Irileth, help her organize the men to defend if need be.”

Irileth had begun barking orders. Ma’zurah sighed. She suspected this was the task that Mafala had been hinting at. Running would be useless. The gods did not allow their chosen to avoid responsibility, and she did not care to find out what punishment would be awaiting her if she tried. Almost certainly something harder to face than a Dragon.

Ma’zurah squared her shoulders and stepped toward the Jarl with a grim expression, addressing him in an authoritative tone. “Very well. This one will aid however possible. Equip the soldiers with bows, destruction scrolls, throwing spears, darts, or any ranged weapon. Give them health potions, magic and elemental resistance potions, and healing scrolls if they are available. Scrolls of battle courage may not go amiss. If there are levitation potions or scrolls, give them to the strongest warriors to give them a chance to engage the beast in the air, or else they will be useless targets until the Dragon is landed. This one does not know what abilities and resistances a Dragon might have, so enchanted weapons and armor may be the only sure way to attack and defend, as it sometimes is with Daedra and ghosts. If the Jarl has ballista or trebuchets, now is the time to position them for defense of the city.”

She paused and thought, biting her lip, trying to draw upon Nerevar’s keen tactical mind. “Muster the citizens. Have them fill every bucket and container they can find with water. This city is far too flammable for this one’s taste. But even stone shelter is no sure defense from Dragonflame, as this one is certain that a Dragon could simply cook anyone seeking to hide within as in an oven. Gather all metal or flame resistant shields and wrap the handles with flame resistant cloth padding to prevent burns. It may be necessary to form a shield barricade to protect ranged fighters. It is called…” She screwed her face up in an attempt to remember the term. “...skjaldborg in Atmoran, or Ald Nordic, or… uh… the Colovian testudo formation. If the Jarl has mounted troops, they may be in a better position to outmaneuver a Dragon’s attack. This one has heard of the famous horses of the Rift, if the Jarl has any. Gods, what this one wouldn’t give for a unit of decent battlemages!”

She turned to Farengar and skewered him with a commanding look. “Did you get all that? Go fetch all the potions and scrolls you can for the soldiers. This one will also need more magicka potions than she already has if she is to be of any use for long.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Gods, not looking forward to the hangover from this…”

The Jarl looked at her in disbelief. “I said assist, not take over my military, citizen. I appreciate what sounds like expert advice, but considering the devastation we have heard from Helgen, I presume that expertise was not of much use.”

Fayrl did not know what happened in the third era that Ma’zurah had such knowledge of military strategy. He wasn’t sure how much of this was related to being the Nerevarine or even what being the Nerevarine really entailed. He knew only vague tales of what it might involve.

“That said,” continued the Jarl, “there's no time to stand on ceremony. You both survived Helgen, so you have more experience with Dragons than anyone else here.” He turned to Farengar. “You need to follow her orders.”

Farengar leaned forward. “I don’t have near enough potions or scrolls on stock for that sort of assault…. And levitation spells?” He chuckled. “I don’t know what part of Tamriel you’re from, but such dangerous ancient spells are prohibited. I can offer you my stock of scrolls and potions if that is what you need, my Jarl.”

“Yes, offer whatever you can,” said Bulgruuf, waving his hand. “Irileth, take these two and gather the troops.”

“My Jarl, I should come along. I would very much like to see this Dragon,” Farengar interjected.

“No. I can't afford to risk both of you. I need you here working on ways to defend the city against these Dragons.”

“As you command.” Farengar made his way dejectedly down the stairs.

Jarl Balgruuf turned to his housecarl. “One last thing, Irileth. This isn't a death or glory mission. I need to know what we're dealing with.”

Fayrl turned to Ma’zurah. “Are we really just going to go and attempt to fight a Dragon?” he asked in a low voice.

Ma’zurah glanced at Fayrl sharply. “Yes. It is better than running away. You heard what the Lady said. It just makes sense. This one knows how these things work. Now, what kind of ranged attacks should this one expect to see you using? We shall have to work together. This one has her destruction spells and a few summons. She also has healing spells, and fire and magic resistance spells that she can cast on herself and Fayrl if necessary. She is not sure if Dragon breath counts as a spell, but she can also cast magic reflection on Fayrl. She has a few other spells, but she doubts paralysis spells will work on a Dragon.”

Irileth strode past the pair and sharply gestured for them to follow. Ma’zurah shouldered her pack and kept pace several steps behind.

Fayrl looked nervous. “Ma’zurah, I can’t use any magic. I mean, I can cast flame cloak, but a fire breathing Dragon likely won’t mind that much. I can’t even throw a fireball! I have some skill with a bow, but if the legends I hear of Dragonhide are true, the scales likely won’t allow some measly arrows to penetrate. I am most proficient with a sword and dagger. I can use a two handed blade as well. I was trained to stealthily take out the unsuspecting, not to take on a gigantic armored beast from above.”

Farengar was in the process of frantically searching through the contents of his desk. “I’ll send the potions and scrolls I have right away and work on some more,” he called through the open door as they passed. “But if you two could try to recall what you can of the Dragon for my research, I would be most grateful. It won’t be nearly as good as if I were there to learn what I need to know, but everything is useful. You would certainly have my gratitude.”

Ma'zurah nodded to the man and walked alongside Fayrl out of the great hall, following Irileth’s retreating figure. She gave Fayrl a skeptical look. “Ma’zurah saw Fayrl using quite powerful magic earlier today. Do not tell Ma’zurah you cannot use magic.”

Fayrl kept in pace besides Ma’zurah. “You are mistaken. That is a technique, a trick, it uses no magic, despite appearing as though it does. I assure you, my skill at magic is less strong than even my son, and he has not even reached six years of age.”

Ma’zurah looked amused. “Ma’zurah knows conjuration when she sees it. Perhaps Fayrl is right, and it does not drain the personal supply of magicka; perhaps it is a magickal technique that draws upon the magicka of one of the far realms, or the ambient magicka within Nirni, or even the magicka of the victim, but that does not prevent it from being magic. Even the abilities granted by birth under the guardian constellations are magic, though they draw on the aetherial magicka of those Magra Ge, of the specific stars themselves, rather than the personal supply. Why do you think the power of the abilities waxes and wanes with the constellations themselves?”

Fayrl looked at her like she had grown a second head. This was as bad as dealing with Avon on magical matters. “I admit, I am not well versed in magical theory, so I will concede you the point about the birth gifts. But in that case I still only have skills in speech and piddling amounts in fire. But the techniques I learned are certainly not conjuration. I literally have no skill at magic. My teachers were not people who possessed magic either. Our techniques were all created for those who could train their minds and bodies and not their magical skills. Like a warrior who can carry many times the weight of a normal person. It’s physical and mental training, not magic.”

“Oh certainly!” Ma’zurah responded genially. “Magicka use is essentially mental training when everything else is stripped away. Sometimes physical training as well. And though the magickal techniques that do not draw upon the personal supply of magicka are hard to find, and often jealously guarded, they are perfect for people who have difficulties accessing their own magicka pools. Tell this one, does Fayrl feel the drain of magicka when he casts his fire spells? Does he reach into himself, into his spirit to draw it out like a fountain? Does he make the same spiritual grasping movement when he uses these other techniques as well, but without the emptying sensation that accompanies the drain on that inner pool of stored magicka? Utilizing any magickal ability often feels very similar. Even accessing the magickal stores bound into scrolls and enchanted items uses this technique because it is the easiest of the few ways to channel the magicka through the spirit and out into the Mundus.” The pair passed under the Gildergreen and down another set of steps.

“The feeling when I use these skills is not the same as when I use my fire magic. Far from it. I run out of magicka quite quickly if I’m using it often. And I have had to do it before. But it isn’t quite the same as physical exertion either. It’s something different. Something not magical. I mean, it does have a limit. It’s a kind of tiredness that is similar to the physical, but it feels something different.”

Fayrl threw his hands up, seeing that they were rounding the end of the market and would soon be at the front gate. “I cannot describe it properly, I haven’t the knowledge in the subject to articulate the feeling nor where it seems to manifest. But, I know what it feels like to use magic and magical items and it is most definitely not magic. It cannot be. That much is indisputable. It is the same sort of thing as a sleight of hand that makes it appear as though nothing was taken when it was and then when the box is opened it appears magic. It is nothing more than that.”

“It is not possible for that to be sleight of hand. But if it does not use the common technique for channeling magicka through the spirit, then it would feel different. This one is extremely curious to discover where Fayrl learned the skill! There are few other methods, and these are not commonly taught, and not well known, because they are much harder to master. But Ma’zurah understands the frustration of not having the right language, so if Fayrl does not wish to continue discussing the underlying mechanisms of magicka use, that is fine. But think of it this way; only summoned creatures or creatures of pure aetherial magicka can appear and disappear completely like Fayrl’s spiders did without leaving a corpse or some other remnant of their physical form. That Fayrl’s spiders left no trace means that they must have been summoned and then returned to their own realm, or their physical forms dispersed into the ambient magicka within Nirni. The technique utilizes magic in some way.”

Fayrl was a bit frustrated by Ma’zurah’s insistence. He had spent his earliest years having everyone get his hopes up about taking after his mother as a genius mage in the school of destruction, only to have his dreams and his parents’ confidence in him dashed when his mother’s colleagues at the Shad Astura academy had put him through the assessment tests. He had overheard them informing his parents that there was no chance he could ever be a mage; that his magic was as pathetic as that of a Nord. They may not have used such words, but it had been implied. His mother had been quiet and not wished to spend time around him for weeks. His father had put in extra hours at the Temple. He spent the next few decades having to discover another way to contribute to his House. Uncle still never let him live down being the only one in their bloodline without any magical ability.

He could not tell this to Ma’zurah. The only living person he ever spoke to about his pain was Avon. And Avon could not comprehend it. Avon was a gifted mage in his own right. He had to bear that pain the whole of his life. Learning ways to utilize his other gifts was all that had given him hope. Seduction, lies, masking oneself to fit the shadows, persuasion, espionage, murder. Those were the things he had trained to make use of. There was no magic to it unless it be the magic the other person was convinced it held. Everything was an illusion, true, but only because you made the other person believe what was not there. The falsehood became reality through the belief of the intended victim, through playing tricks on the mind, knowing how the mortal mind would fill in gaps to what did not make sense otherwise. None of it was about magical skill; it was about being clever.

The pair came to a halt behind a disorganized group of guards, led by a resolute looking Irileth. “But it's more than our honor at stake here. Think of it -- the first Dragon seen in Skyrim since the last age. The glory of killing it is ours, if you're with me! Now what do you say? Shall we go kill us a Dragon?” The guards shouted in bravado.

“The spiders… that’s a gift of the Lady.” Fayrl explained in Dunmeris. He assumed it best to avoid the chance of being overheard by most present. “I merely have to ask for her to lend me her strength where I choose. Any magic in that is hers, not mine. It was a boon for my long service. It is why I must live up to her title of Champion.”

A harried looking servant ran up behind Ma’zurah and Fayrl with a box of scrolls and potions, and handed it to Irileth, who began passing out the potions to the soldiers. “If you know how to use a scroll, come get some!” Only two of the soldiers stepped forward, and Ma’zurah nudged Fayrl forward as well.

Fayrl stepped forward and took a couple of the scrolls. One was frost cloak and he rolled his eyes, placing it back, it seemed a recipe for his hurting himself. The other was summon lightning atronach. He looked uncertainly at Ma’zurah. He had never summoned anything before. If he made a mistake, would the thing turn on him?

Ma’zurah stepped after Fayrl. “We should talk more about this later.” she told him in heavily accented Dunmeris. She poked through the box in Irileth’s arms. Irileth raised an eyebrow at her. Ma’zurah found five magicka potions at the bottom of the box and pocketed them, grinning. She picked up the scroll Fayrl had discarded and looked at it. “Oh! Fayrl should take this. If the Dragon tries to breathe fire at him, it could save his life.” She picked up another scroll and raised her eyebrows. “Blizzard? That’s a master level spell! Just don’t catch anyone in the storm radius while it is traveling, and remember that it travels fairly slowly, so try to be sure the Dragon does not see you cast it, and either account for the speed when you cast it, or be sure that the Dragon is fairly still.” She handed it to Fayrl, along with five health potions. The other two soldiers took the last of the items from the box.

“Alright! Let’s move out!” Irileth set down the empty box, retrieved her torch from the nearest soldier, and pushed the city gate open. The soldiers filed out.

Fayrl turned to Ma’zurah. “I have a weakness to frost, my dear, what if I cast frost cloak and I get frostbite on my beautiful face?” He tried to joke to try to lighten his heart from the fear. It had been a long time since he had done any organized fighting. Ever since, as a rule, he avoided battles as much as possible. He did not like to see the dead and dying in such gruesome conditions. The dead he dealt with were more elegant. Usually their insides remained on the inside. Blood was about the only thing he tended to spill. And he made sure that, unless they were a truly terrible sort of person, that they did not suffer long. The deaths he gave were quick and relatively painless.

“Ma’zurah, we don’t even have armor. We likely have no weapons that can even approach damaging such a foe. What can we do against a Dragon? This is crazy! We can slip out of town while the troops head to the watchtower. We can grab our cart from the stable and be gone before anyone notices.”

Ma’zurah walked briskly alongside Fayrl after the soldiers. “Ma’zurah has never seen a scroll backfire on the caster before. Scrolls are probably the safest way to cast magicka in existence. Fayrl has no need to worry.” Ma’zurah choked down the sudden impulse to laugh hysterically. “Besides! Ma’zurah has a great weakness to magickal fire! Guess what we are fighting!” She shot him a feral grin, which only lasted for a second--enough to hide her fear.

Fayrl stared at her.

She looked down and sighed. “Ma’zurah never uses armor. She has always had her magic for that, and it is easier to dodge when unarmored. But yes. Normally Ma’zurah would agree with Fayrl. In a strange land with very little idea what is going on, we should err on the side of caution, and retreat until the situation is better known. But after what the Lady said… Ma’zurah cannot afford to risk the wrath of multiple gods. A Dragon seems like a threat they might deem worthy of sending a Champion. And… Ma’zurah… can do that. Has done that.”

Ma’zurah’s face was grim, but she set her jaw and kept walking. “The gods would almost certainly punish Ma’zurah with something worse than a Dragon if she tried to avoid any task set for her. So ironically, Ma’zurah thinks perhaps the Dragon may be the safer option for her right now. Ma’zurah has had the scrutiny of gods before. She knows their expectations--the kinds of things they want. And she does not wish to disappoint her Mother… Ma’zurah would not blame Fayrl if he decided to run now, but Ma’zurah thinks… she must stay.” She gave Fayrl a sad smile in the dark.

The night was clear and full of stars. Ma’zurah looked up at Jone and Jode, both bright along the horizon. A crackling sound overhead drew her attention, and suddenly the entire sky was filled with light. Ma’zurah gasped. Bright ribbons of glowing, shifting aquamarine and green, edged with pale pink, almost peach colored light danced snakelike above them in sensuous coils and waves. The spectacular display seemed to emit a faint popping noise, like the noises that could be audible if a chain lightning spell jumped from one sheet of vibrating metal to another. Ma’zurah stood frozen on the path and stared upward with wide eyes.

“Ma’zurah has never seen it like this before!” she breathed. “Only tiny ones, far away!” A slow grin spread across her face. “Tonsh jer, serush Fado! Ro'aran di Tenurr Ayath krimir jajo tenurr! The Queen of the Night Sky smiles on us ! Hadal-ziir di Azurah! An jajo vaba bo bishu vakona di Kha'jaykodesh!”

Thank you, beautiful Mother! The Queen of the Night Sky smiles this night! Glory of Azurah! And this is but a glimpse of Moonshadow!

Ma'zurah turned to Fayrl, her face alight with fierce joy. “The whole sky is filled with magicka! Ma’zurah may not need the magicka potions after all!” She spread her arms and spun in a circle, grinning upward, then ran ahead laughing. The soldiers glanced back at her incredulously as she caught up to them. She grinned at them. They stared at her as though she had gone mad.

None of this gave Fayrl much reassurance. He clutched the scrolls to his chest. He had nothing more to say.

He stopped walking. If Ma’zurah was this sure, in a place so alien to her own, a time so disparate from where she had come, who was he to stand in her way? Who was he to give her doubt?

He closed his eyes, his head dropping. He had been brought here for a reason. Mephala had implied as much. He had been named Champion. This must have been where the silk of faith had brought him. He was caught in this web now. He would have to deal with it. If he kept his faith, a path would emerge.

One of the guards came up to him. “Hey! If you’re not up to this, you can take your puny elf arse back to the keep. We won’t have a grey skin bringing down morale. Come along and keep your mouth shut, or get out of here.”

Fayrl looked up, a grin spreading on his face. “Sera,” he whispered, approaching the guard until they were toe to toe. “I need your help. I can’t strap my cuirass on on my own. I have it in my bag. Help me.”

The man shook his head for a moment. “Where is this cuirass? I don’t see one anywhere.”

Fayrl headed off the path where a slight hill lay. He motioned gently. “Come with me.”

The guard followed. “You better make it worth my while. I won’t be thought a coward over some incompetent ash face.”

Fayrl continued to motion the Nord to him, away from the rest of the guards who continued towards the watchtower, and out of sight behind the hill.

Chapter Text

Ma'zurah slowed as she caught up with the guards. The watchtower was visible on the now bright horizon. Chunks of stone were strewn all around the area, and she could see small grass fires at the base of the tower. Ma'zurah's sudden elation dissipated, and the familiar claws of fear gripped her again. She shook her head, tamping down on the emotion in preparation for battle, and tried to capture the battle clarity that Nerevar used to cultivate during his military campaigns. She glanced at the guards, and assessed their weaponry. All had bows, swords, and light, round shields. She strode up next to Irileth.

“We have a few options as far as strategy is concerned,” she began in a conversational tone.

Irileth gave her a sharp look, but did not slow her pace. “Oh? And what, in your expert opinion, might those be?”

Ma'zurah ignored the sarcastic jab. “The guard shields will likely be useless against a flying opponent, so we need to get them to cover immediately. The tower may work if the Dragon does not realize it can use it as an oven, and the rubble in the area would potentially work as well. The choice is whether to mount an organized, potentially better shielded attack from the tower, or present the Dragon with many scattered targets to divide its attention and potentially get a better angle of attack and search for weaknesses.” Ma'zurah squinted suddenly at the tower. “Ma'zurah sees fire, but no Dragon… where is it?”

---

The Nord guard followed Fayrl, though he made snide insults all the while. Fayrl turned and faced the man, backing up against the hill. “Did you want to strike me, soldier?” he asked. “Do you like hitting little Dark Elves?”

The guard took off his helmet and his mouth twisted into a malevolent grin. “I’d like nothing more than to strike that pretty mouth of yours.”

“Why don’t you take off those gauntlets and show me how well you can hit,” Fayrl invited.

There was no hesitation as the guard unbuckled his gauntlets and dropped them to the ground.

Fayrl had little time to brace himself for the strike that came hard across his left cheek. He looked up at the guard from beneath heavy eyelids, taking the Nord’s hand and licking across the knuckle that had struck him. As he took the hand into both of his, he saw the flashes of memory; the man’s secrets and guilts.

He saw the fear in the eyes of a Dunmer merchant as she fled from his threats, the cries of a Bosmer beggar as he was beaten, the tears of an Altmer child who was barred from entering the city where her parents had a room for the night. And then, successively, the looks that lingered over the bruised and beaten bodies of countless other mer in similar situations. He was angry. He hated elves--all elves. He blamed them for not being able to worship the rightful divines, for the war, for the loss of his mother and brother. He even blamed elves for his being unmarried. A Bosmer woman had run off with the girl he fancied from his hometown. But most of all, the man both desired and resented his Dunmer superior officer and took it out on the helpless. She had refused his advances, told him she had no interest in her juniors. But he knew she meant inferiors, elves always talked like that. They always looked down on everyone else.

“I have seen what you really want to do. You want to do more than just hit. Tell me, what would you do to me?”

The guard grabbed Fayrl by the throat. “I would fuck you til you died, you vile elf. Skyrim belongs to the Nords and I don’t care what kind of elf they send, we won’t be ruled by you disgusting creatures.”

Fayrl moaned deep in his throat. “Then do it. You are a proud Nord about to go into battle with an ancient beast. What could be a finer tale than conquering the filthy elves before taking on a Dragon?”

The guard began to hurriedly shuffle under his tabard, loosening the ties of his greaves. “I will fuck that disgusting smile right off your face!”

Something began to pulsate within Fayrl, and the feeling resonated with the sword on his hip, though to a far lesser extent. He took the Ebony Blade from his side and laid it beside him well within reach.

A sound like the rumble of thunder boomed in the distance, and wind suddenly rushed in from the opposite direction of the breeze. There was a flash of shadow over the brilliantly lit night sky, but as quickly as it was there, it was gone again, and the night was quiet once more.

---

Irileth glanced at the sky. “Spread out! Find cover, look for survivors, and keep your arrows nocked!” she called behind her. She summoned lightning to her hands and ran toward the tower. The soldiers sprinted toward cover behind her.

Ma’zurah summoned frost to her hands and scanned the horizon for the source of the sound. A dark shape flickered in the corner of her vision, and Ma’zurah whirled just in time to see a gout of flame rush toward the tower. Ma’zurah spotted the silhouette of the Dragon against the aurora, wheeling behind the tower in a flurry of wings. She immediately sent a handful of razors of ice toward the wing membranes in an attempt to ground the beast. The tiny missiles seemed to have no effect on the enormous Dragon, who just roared triumphantly and dove at a guard. The guard shrieked and threw himself headlong to the ground, narrowly missing a messy end by means of sharp teeth and a long fall by only a handful of inches.

A noise like a thundercloud laughing boomed forth from the Dragon’s belly. “Zu'u lost vodahmin fos flogah faantak hi joor vis birgah!”

---

Fayrl crawled forward on his knees towards the guard, licking his lips in anticipation.

The man backhanded him hard in the mouth, drawing a trickle of blood from where Fayrl’s lip caught a tooth. “You sex-crazed bitch! Are you so eager to suckle at my superior Nord member that you beg like a cat in heat?”

Fayrl licked away his own blood. “Oh, I yearn for it, sera,” he moaned, reaching forward to assist in freeing the man’s sex, grasping for it as it slipped out into the open.

He had barely opened his mouth when the man yanked back hard on Fayrl’s hair, ramming his length deep into Fayrl's throat. Fayrl’s body bowed backwards as he tried not to choke on the sudden intrusion, attempting to take more charge of the situation.

“Don’t run away, whore! What else are you good for but sucking a man dry?” the guard sneered.

Fayrl moved his hands to steady himself, grasping the man’s hips. He took more control of the pace.

There was a sudden flash, and a noise unlike anything Fayrl had heard before erupted into the night. The guard started to pull back, cursing and scrambling with his greaves.

Fayrl grabbed the Nord by the base of his cock. “Stay with me,” he commanded.

The guard flashed him a contemptuous look. “I have a duty, whore. You can finish my prick off after I take the Dragon’s head.”

Fayrl pulled the man forward. “I’ll be quick. You’ll be back to the fighting before anyone is any the wiser.” The man seemed to hesitate, caught between his desires. Fayrl ran his tongue along the underside of the man’s length. “Stay,” he ordered.

“Alright, but make it quick, grey face!”

---

Hurriedly, Ma’zurah began creating an ice spike and surveyed the battlefield. She suddenly realized that she hadn’t seen Fayrl since before the Dragon had attacked, and swallowed back a rush of sadness that he had decided to test her promise not to blame him if he ran. At least, she hoped he had run. If she didn’t see him, he was either no longer in the area, or already dead on the ground.

Steeling herself, she stomped her sudden urge to panic into submission, and stared at the wheeling Dragon overhead in an attempt to locate any weakness. The wing joints, she decided, were probably the best bet. She concentrated on aiming and ran headlong toward the Dragon. “Kiz Azurah, Mafala, an Boethiah ete jajo teno!” she screamed, and threw her ice spike hard like a spear, propelling it forward with a strong telekinetic burst.

The Dragon turned hard in the air, throwing off her aim. She did not strike the joint, but the edge of the wing split where it was pierced. The Dragon volleyed another spout of fire towards the ground in retaliation, and flew out of view. The night became silent once more. A guard who had been in the tower came stumbling out. “D-Did we scare it off?”

---

Fayrl took the guard’s cock into his hand and began to chant softly, his other hand massaging the man’s hip. He spoke each syllable in time to the rest of his motions.

“Gahmerdehn am faraayn, als ku’or loharag arghen,

Os hari amuro’ag isk sul de lo en balmari’ag asuhl yim.

Julinith veyse’ag ru julminth en rokav veyse’ag ru kan’ild.

Os captu asuhm arghen sut ohuhl, asuhm khier sut lo, en asuhm muhr sut yi daeruuhn.

Lakor os e ohth, asuhn adur yim.”

Mistress of Secrets, Binder of Fates,

I have drawn this soul to me and made them mine.

Innocence replaced by experience and confusion replaced with devotion.

I claim their fate for You, their body for myself, and their life for my Family.

As I am Yours, they are mine.

“Is that some sort of stupid elf whore thing?” the man scoffed.

“It is. One to ensure maximum pleasure,” Fayrl replied, then slid the man’s length into his mouth. The Nord grasped Fayrl's hair tightly.

Fayrl held the man in place by the hip as he began to lose himself in the sensation. There was a call within him and he reached out for the Blade at his side. He moaned deeply in his throat, sucking harder, desperately. He could feel himself becoming aroused by the thought of what was coming next; knowing he was bringing this guard to the height of his pleasure; knowing that as soon as the man let go, as soon as he let down his defenses all the way, Fayrl would strike.

“Deeper, slut! I know you can take it,” groaned the man, ignoring Fayrl’s guiding hand and slamming his erection balls deep into Fayrl’s mouth, making it hard for Fayrl to breathe. Fayrl took it, letting his teeth gently add a stronger sensation to each movement, taking stunted breaths in gasps as he could.

The man threw his head back. “And they said that elves can’t be trained like the animals they are!”

Fayrl saw the man’s predatory grin and slid the sword from the hilt. Oblivious, the man began laughing, using Fayrl’s mouth without further regard for anything but the completion of his pleasure.

“I want you to drink every last drop of this. Who knows, if you do well, maybe I would even consider allowing you to be my personal fuck toy. I bet you’d love that, wouldn’t you, you dirty whore?”

Fayrl only hummed a pleasant note around the man, sucking harder. The guard’s grip on his hair tightened so much it made Fayrl’s eyes threaten to water.

“Get ready, slut,” groaned the Nord just before he came.

The Blade thrust upward through the man’s chest, blood splattering thick and hot across Fayrl’s face and chest. He let the guard’s member fall from his lips as he languidly disentangled himself from the twitching man, ejaculate and blood splattered across him. He leaned forward and kissed the man hard on the mouth, moaning loudly as he did. He could hardly contain his own arousal as he slid the Ebony Blade from the man’s chest. It radiated crimson power through Fayrl’s body toward his bloodied and bruised lips and jaw, restoring him instantly.

“Excellent work, child!” The voice of Mephala materialized like a breath of wind next to Fayrl's ear. “Though this target would hardly have counted you among his trusted associates, your technique was flawless…” The breath of wind transformed into a sensation like a rough caress, that traveled across Fayrl’s cheek and lips, and continued down his chest and belly and--

Fayrl surrendered to the sensation, the mix of the Mephala’s voice and the sensation of her touch enough to bring him to his release. He fell to his knees and dropped his head to the ground.

“...Just delicious…” Mephala purred in a deep, malevolent rumble that made Fayrl’s whole body shiver.

“Thank you, my Prince,” Fayrl gasped. “Next time I shall find a more suitable offering for the Blade. I was only eager to begin to return its strength. Please accept this minor offering as but the first in a line of those to come.”

---

The Dragon wheeled into view again, its smooth flight wavering in the air as the beast struggled to compensate for the rip in its wing membrane. “Mal dovah!” it shrieked in a voice that shook the ground, “Zu'u honah hi het! Zu'u los Mirmulnir! Zu'u fen gor dii uld wah hi!”

Arrows rained upward into the Dragon’s wings and belly, and a burst of electricity shot toward the Dragon from the shelter of the watchtower. Ma'zurah glanced over to see Irileth readying another bolt of lightning.

The Dragon Shouted a plume of fire toward two guards huddled behind the shelter of a piece of stone and dove again, snatching up an unfortunate guard and sending him hurtling toward the ground from a hundred feet in the air. “Meyye! Dii Thur fen du hin sil ko Sovngarde!”

Wind whistled through arrow holes in the Dragon’s wings. “Brit grah!” it thundered, sending still more fire down upon the combatants below, charring the latest volley of oncoming arrows to ash.

“The joints!” yelled Ma'zurah, making a mad sprint toward the shelter of the tower, “Aim for the wing joints! We have to bring it down!”

Irileth caught sight of the running Khajiit, and took up the cry. “Concentrate your arrows on the joint of the torn wing!” she bellowed to all in range, and sent another bolt of lightning at the Dragon.

A guard with an armful of scrolls heaved his way up onto the roof of the tower just in time to see the Dragon make a dive for him. His eyes widened, and he breathlessly read a scroll aloud. A miniature snowstorm materialized between the guard’s shaking hands, and the guard gave a whooping cry and hurled it toward the oncoming Dragon. The snowstorm grew to ten feet in diameter and hit the Dragon square in the chest. The Dragon roared and continued its dive toward the tower, now covered in a fine coat of frost. “Hi los kril! Bahlaan hokoron! Hin viik drun zey zin!” it trumpeted, and snatched the guard up.

The guard gave a gurgling cry as the Dragon's teeth sank into his armor, and his two remaining scrolls fell from his grasp onto the roof of the tower.

Ma'zurah skidded to a stop behind a pile of stones just short of the tower and huddled down into shelter. She took a deep breath and began casting, chanting in Ald Velothi as she wove a spell between her hands.

---

Fayrl wiped his face clean on the guard’s tabard and then set about getting the mail off of the man. It was slightly big, but fit well enough. Fayrl put the guard back into his heavy armor, too heavy to have been mobile enough for him. He also took the man’s bow and quiver; it was likely not going to do much, but worth a shot.

He used his dagger and other sword to make various punctures into the body, making it appear as if bandits had waylaid the man. Then he gathered his things and headed towards the noises he could only assume were coming from the Dragon. He only hoped that he could do something to help and that he was not already too late. His body coursed with confidence, brought on by his first success, though his stride increased as he felt the fear of the upcoming fight.

He readied the scrolls of summoning and frost cloak. Neither were elements he had any proficiency in, but if Ma’zurah believed they could work, he would have to believe her. His pace turned to a run as he saw the blazing patches of grass and wildflowers. As he neared the battlefield he searched for Ma’zurah. If he could get to her they could coordinate their attacks.

---

Ma'zurah completed her spell with a flourish of uplifted arms, and a fearsome Velothi ancestral spirit soared above her head. “Honored ancestor!” she called to it in Dunmeris, “Ma'zurah calls you forth from the Waiting Door! Aid your child in her time of need!” She pointed to the sky, and the Dragon wheeling overhead.

The ghost shrieked in rage upon sighting the Dragon, and rushed the beast, tearing at it with vicious transparent claws. The Dragon’s already tattered wing gave way with a sickening rip, and the Dragon flapped frantically in an attempt to stay airborne. Its efforts were to no avail, and it plummeted to the ground, snapping and shrieking at its immaterial opponent. The earth shook at its impact, and Ma'zurah was knocked off her feet.

The rain of arrows continued from the surviving guards, passing through the ancestral spirit, some bouncing off the Dragon’s tough hide, and some lodging shallowly between the scales. One foolishly brave guard rushed forward with sword raised high, only to be swatted away by the beast’s solid tail.

Ma'zurah stared at the Dragon under the light of the aurora. It was only a half dozen yards away now. She was suddenly struck by a horrible, nauseating sense of wrongness; she wasn't hurt in any way that she could tell, and her summons had not gone wrong; there was something wrong about the Dragon. She shakily got to her feet, retrieving a magicka potion from her pocket at the same time--thankfully undamaged in its shatterproof bottle--and began carefully backing toward the tower, trying to figure out the source of the feeling. If only she could get a good angle from which to cast….

The Dragon rolled frantically on the ground in an attempt to get away from the ancestral ghost, growling and swiping at it in vain. Rolling onto its back with flailing wings and tail, the Dragon Shouted. Close as she was, Ma'zurah could finally discern the words the Dragon spoke apart from the thunderclap of its Shout. “YOL TOOR SHUL”

---

Fayrl had a good enough view of the summoning to trace the magical trail back to Ma’zurah. He was relieved to see that she appeared to be unharmed.

As soon as the Dragon hit the ground, Fayrl knew he needed to take action. He cast both scrolls, directing the summoned lightning atronach to circle to the left of the Dragon and begin volleying lightening bolts at it. He pulled the first arrow from his quiver, letting it coat in a fine layer of ice from the frost cloak spell before nocking it upon the string and taking aim for the Dragon’s eyes. If he could just make the shot he could take out the beast’s vision, lending them an advantage.

Ma’zurah achieved the top of the tower in a burst of speed just as a plume of fire rushed toward the harassing ancestral ghost. The spirit shrieked again, this time in pain, or possibly inadequacy, and dissolved into a fine rain of congealed ectoplasm. She rushed to the edge of the tower to assess the damage, and to her astonishment, saw Fayrl directing a lightning atronach toward the downed Dragon and leveling a volley of arrows at the beast. She gave an exhilarated whoop, and without wasting time, backed away from the edge of the tower and again began a summoning spell, silently working Daedric sigils into the air with her fingers.

Fayrl's first two arrows missed their mark as the Dragon flailed about on the ground. The shocks of electricity seemed to be aggravating the Dragon and it turned its attention to the atronach, snapping its jaws at it.

Several guards began trying to follow Fayrl’s example, and crept closer with arrows nocked on bowstrings. The lightning atronach diverted the Dragon’s attention enough to give them the opportunity to send a volley of arrows deep into the softer hide directly underneath the joint of the Dragon’s wing.

Fayrl took a deep breath and called out to the shadows to cloak him once more, taking the few moments of invisibility he could muster to get in closer range. Just before the invisibility wore off, he took aim again. This time the shot struck true, hitting the Dragon in the left eye as it raised a leg to swipe at his summoned creature.

With hopes soaring, the guards saw the Dragon arch its spine in blinded pain from Fayrl’s well aimed arrow and, convinced of their impending victory, several ran forward with shouted warcries and drawn swords.

The Dragon raised its tail with a roar and struck the ground hard, causing the closing guards to stumble. Fayrl jumped to avoid the force of the blow, but the Dragon swept its tail to the side and suddenly the guards and Fayrl were all swept up against a pile of rubble, the wind knocked out of them, several clutching shattered ribs with broken cries. Fayrl let out his own cry of pain as he was thrown into the pile of rocks along with the others. His bow snapped in half with the force of the blow.

Ma’zurah finished her summons, and a great purple void opened above the Dragon, yawning forth a huge armored frost atronach from the depths of Oblivion directly on top the Dragon.

Fayrl saw the rip in reality. It sent a shiver down his spine, or perhaps it was simply the pain; he had little time to dwell on it. He pushed himself to his feet. He needed to make his move now, while there was good opportunity to drive the beast back.

He shoved a writhing Nord out of his way, feeling the adrenaline coursing through him. Though it had been a while since he had last attempted it, he used a teleport strike, appearing before the Dragon in a flash as its head shot upwards toward the opening portal. Fayrl spared a thought of thanks to the gods that it did not immediately notice him.

He rushed forward and plunged his dagger into the Dragon’s undamaged eye with one hand, and ripped across its tongue within its open maw with the Ebony Blade. He only hoped that the frost cloak might help to defend him against the Dragon. He had promised Ma’zurah he would help her. He just prayed that it would not mean his end.

The Dragon’s jaws snapped at him blindly, barely missing him as he struggled to retrieve his dagger from where it had stuck deep within the beast’s eyeball.

The frost atronach crashed into the Dragon’s spine with a crack, causing the Dragon to writhe and convulse, throwing Fayrl to the ground. The atronach clung disoriented to the Dragon’s back as it blindly craned its neck to bite at its offending rider.

Ma'zurah ran to the edge of the tower and again summoned a spear of ice. She threw it with all the telekinetic force she could muster. It flew toward the Dragon, and hit it in the side, piercing the scales and causing a fountain of deep red blood to gush forth, staining the Dragon’s grey hide.

Grey. Ma'zurah suddenly realized what was wrong with the Dragon. It wasn't the same Dragon as the one that had attacked Helgen! As soon as she realized this, the observation seemed blindingly obvious. Though still huge, the Dragon was smaller; its attacks were less varied; its voice sounded different; and most obviously, its hide was a shade of light grey instead of the deep ebony black of the Dragon from Helgen. Ma'zurah fought the urge to panic.

Fayrl felt a sickening crack from somewhere within his torso upon hitting the ground. The force tumbled him head over heels twice before he came to a stop. He felt something not quite in the right place. Before he’d had the bodies of the guards to cushion him, leaving only bruises, but this was more serious. He had no time to consider more than that though; the Dragon was wounded and he could see the deep red blood as it flowed from its side. He pulled himself from the ground feeling strangely light-headed. It was difficult to breathe--maybe a broken rib or a punctured lung.

But there was no time, he reached into his satchel and knocked back a healing draught to help numb the pain, throwing the empty bottle to the ground and charging towards the wound in the Dragon’s side. He had trouble moving with his limited breathing, but he pushed himself through the pain. He forced his blades into the puncture in the beast’s scales around the ice and pulled hard, attempting to open up the wound more, to weaken the beast as much as possible.

A large clawed foreleg swiped at him but he managed to dodge it by pressing himself up against the Dragon’s side, letting the power of his frost cloak further agitate the wound.

The frost atronach pounded on the Dragon’s back, cracking scales and leaving frostbitten patches wherever it touched. Fayrl’s frost cloak seemed to be having a similar effect, and Fayrl’s blades slid between brittle scales easily, pouring hot blood onto Fayrl’s torso.

The Dragon roared in pain, and the guards whooped victorious war cries as their arrows suddenly became significantly more effective. One arrow came dangerously close to Fayrl’s hand as he sliced at the Dragon’s side.

The Dragon spouted out flame in the direction of the archers, while it tried to rip the frost atronach from its back. The lightning atronach fired bolts of electricity at the Dragon’s face, causing its muscles to spasm.

The Dragon pitched towards Fayrl suddenly, trying to throw the atronach off of its back and to hide its exposed side. Fayrl tried to get out of the way, but his legs were pinned under the Dragon’s girth. He struggled to slide from under the beast, trying to pry off the scales nearest him with his blades.

Ma'zurah shrieked upon sighting Fayrl’s figure become trapped under the bulk of the Dragon, and she threw herself headlong from the edge of the tower, casting simultaneously. Her figure’s plummeting descent slowed to a controlled dive, arcing toward Fayrl and the Dragon instead of the base of the tower. The guards gaped at her.

Fayrl was growing desperate. The very real fear of being crushed to death by the Dragon if it decided to roll again flashed through his mind. He hacked frantically at the exposed parts of the beast’s hide, trying to get out from under its body. He barely even noticed an arrow whistle past his head as his terror took hold of him.

He screamed and hacked and summoned forth two shadowy replicas of himself who began to hack away at the wound on either side of Fayrl. With the Dragon’s hot blood pooling around him, Fayrl could no longer tell how great his own injuries were, or how much of the blood around him was his. The stench of blood filled his senses, making him dizzy.

“I am not going to die here you fetching overgrown lizard!” he cried, feeling a burning in his chest as he used all his remaining strength to carve his way out from under the Dragon.

He suddenly felt a pair of furred hands grip him under the arms, and pull him to safety. As soon as Ma'zurah had pulled Fayrl out of the fray, she turned and flew at the Dragon’s face, drawing a summoned mace from the air. She whacked the beast over the nose, and then hammered Fayrl’s lost dagger even deeper into the Dragon’s eye. The Dragon gave a croaking shriek and rolled onto its side.

Fayrl heard the noise and looked in time to see the Dragon raise its tail, aiming toward Ma’zurah. Using a teleport strike he was next to her in a flash, knocking them both to the ground and rolling them just out of range of the tail as it drove into the ground, sending dirt and burnt vegetation flying in all directions. He turned his head to look for any subsequent attacks and saw the beast’s tail twitch, then fall back limp to the ground.

There was silence.

“Is it dead?” one of the soldiers asked.

A bright glow began to emit from the Dragon’s body, and heat radiated out of it. Fayrl struggled to get to his shaky feet. “We have to get out of here!”

Ma'zurah lay dazed where Fayrl had knocked her, staring at the brightly glowing Dragon. She felt like she was staring at the most bright and beautiful soul she had ever seen. She did not even remember casting clairvoyance to examine the Dragon’s soul. Dragons, she decided, just looked like really big cats. She felt so mesmerized she hardly noticed when Fayrl pulled away from her.

The soul made a rush for her, and she reached out a hand to it in welcome. Suddenly she felt like she was full of limitless energy; like she had been blind her whole life and been granted the ability to see so suddenly that she was blinded all over again from the sheer brilliance of the world. She felt bigger, too; like she had been missing a piece of herself her whole life and never known it.

Suddenly the things Mirmulnir had been shouting made sense to her. That was his name: Mirmulnir--and she mourned his passing like she would that of a littermate. He was just a very old ja’khajiit, determined to play after years of hiding.

She examined what she could of him before Mirmulnir faded under her fur. He had been a fiercely loyal hunter, who relied on his strength to bring down prey. Loyal, though he sometimes wondered if his liter-t’har, his eldest brother and leader would ever return. He had been so tired of hiding. He had always preferred direct confrontation to this playing in the shadows some of his littermates did, and he knew he would never betray another dovah like they might. He was so old--old as time--and so tired.

And then he was gone--faded into her fur; and though she could no longer sense his thoughts or personality, she felt his core essence, and Ma'zurah welcomed him. Come rest, ancient ja’khajiit; Ma'zurah will take over now. Some piece of her rejoiced at having bested such a strong, beautiful opponent--as though the victory increased her own strength and beauty--even as she mourned his passing.

The world faded back into view, and her dimmed peripheral vision returned. She blinked. She saw the surviving Whiterun guards gawking at her, and she saw Mirmulnir’s skeleton, bare on the ground in front of her. She stood stiffly and walked forward to caress the bare skull with hesitant, reverent movements. She understood. Such a being of spirit and magicka could not exist without a soul; all that was left was what was mandated by the earthbones. She held all of Mirmulnir within her now. His physical form had burned to spirit as she had taken him.

A mumer went up among the guards. One word was on everyone’s lips. “Dragonborn”.

One guard approached Ma’zurah. “I can't believe it! You're… Dragonborn…” He eyed her up and down.

Another guard joined him. “I saw it too! You ate its soul!”

Fayrl stared at Ma’zurah, not sure how to comprehend what his eyes had seen. “What just happened to you?” He tried to move back and something seemed to pop in his chest. Maybe it was the pressure or maybe the adrenaline had finally worn off. He took a strangled breath and sank back down on the ground.

He started to fish around in his satchel for another health potion, but didn’t find any. The rest must’ve been in his riding bag back in Stonefalls. He held his ribs. Something was definitely out of place, but the pressure relieved some of the pain.

Ma'zurah blinked at the guards, still disoriented. “Dragon-born? This one has heard the term. It means coming-from-the-Empire, no?” She glanced around, and spotted Fayrl.

“Fayrl!” Ma'zurah called in relief. She took a running leap and landed on her knees next to him. She hugged him gently, registering his obviously wounded state, and lifted her hands to his chest to sense the damage. “Ma'zurah thought you had left! Or were dead!” She registered his change in scent, even under the pervasive scent of blood, and her eyebrows rose. “What in Oblivion were you doing?!”

Fayrl smiled. “You know me, I can’t help but get myself into some mischief. I needed to prepare myself for the battle.” He dropped his voice. “I wanted to take a moment to try and recharge the sword. I had to hurry, so I didn’t manage to do much, but I started. And She spoke to me.”

He took a few painful breaths. He had to rest a moment.

Ma'zurah snorted at Fayrl. “And Fayrl found a trusting ally in this open field?” she asked in thick Dunmeris, her tone amused.

More guards gathered around to stare at Ma’zurah. “It’s just like in the old tales, back from when there were still Dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay Dragons and steal their power!”

“But a cat Dragonborn?”

“You saw it, the Dragon’s soul went right into her!”

“That's what you did, isn't it?” a female guard asked Ma’zurah. “Absorbed the Dragon's power?”

“Looks like someone’s popular. It’s enough to make me jealous,” Fayrl joked weakly, then had to take a few breaths.

Ma'zurah completed her examination of Fayrl’s injuries. He had three broken ribs; two only cracked, but one in danger of piercing a lung.

“Stay very still,” she told him. Her eyes glowed as she concentrated; one hand glowed with golden light, the other with faint purple, as she used telekinesis to set the rib and healed it in place. She laid her palms flat along Fayrl’s ribs, and used both hands to finish the healing process until she ran out of magicka.

Fayrl cringed as he felt his ribs shift painfully back into place. As the broken bones mended, the pain began to subside. “Thank you, Ma’zurah,” he breathed in relief, able to take a full breath at last.

“Of course,” she told him, panting a bit. “Fayrl will be very hungry and tired after this, and tender for a few days, but Ma'zurah has healed what she can right now.”

She turned to the neglected guards. “Yes, Ma'zurah took Mirmulnir’s soul, but she does not know how, or why.”

“She is the Dragonborn!” cried one guard to his fellows. “After all this time! According to the old legends, the Dragonborn can Shout without training, the way the Dragons do.”

Ma'zurah clumsily fished another magicka potion from her pocket. “Does anyone else need healing? Ma'zurah is not the best healer, but she will do what she can.”

A few guard dragged themselves forward or were helped by their fellows, clearly injured, more interesting in healing than the business of a Dragonborn. There were also many bodies lying about the area of the tower, many were writhing, others were still.

Fayrl got back up to his feet. “After that, I’m still not convinced we aren’t stuck in the Shivering Isles,” he told Ma’zurah in Dunmeris.

“Ma'zurah has no idea!” She frustratedly replied in the same language. “Ma'zurah has been called Dragon-born before. She was always told it meant she had come to Vvardenfell from the Empire!”

She drank her magicka potion, and went to what looked like the worst wounded guard. She examined him, and shook her head. “Ma'zurah does not know enough to heal these injuries. Bones are easy, but organs… Ma'zurah would be just as likely to kill him as heal him...” Her brow furrowed helplessly, and she moved to the next injured guard, healing his ribs carefully. She could not heal his punctured lungs, and told his fellows to get him to a proper healer as quickly as possible.

She used the rest of the five magicka potions Farengar had given her healing broken bones, cut skin, and lacerated muscles, likely preventing some of them from bleeding out, but she told the guards to take the injured with deep internal wounds to a proper healer because she did not know enough to attempt to heal them.

Finally, exhausted and dizzy, she was back at Fayrl’s side, leaning on him to remain upright. “‘From seventh sign of eleventh generation’” she slurred to him wearily in Dunmeris, “‘Neither Hound nor Guar, nor Seed nor Harrow, but Dragon-born and far-star-marked, outlander Incarnate beneath Red Mountain…’”

Fayrl wasn’t sure what Ma’zurah was saying, her words slurred and soft against the ringing in his ears post battle, but he assumed it was a product of her tiredness. He was ready to head back to the city, having collected his dagger while Ma’zurah had been tending to the wounded, cleaned off his blades, and retrieved Ma'zurah’s fallen pack. “Are you alright to travel? I would be happy to assist if you need me to. Can you walk?” He leaned in close to her. “Shall I… carry you?”

“Ma'zurah can walk!” she huffed indignantly, and let go of him. She took a step, and stumbled, grabbing his arm to steady herself. “Okay, maybe not.” she panted exhaustedly.

One of the recently healed guards walked up in front of her. “Is it true? Are you really Dragonborn? Can you Shout? Have you tried?”

“Ma'zurah will shout at you if you do not move…” she muttered.

Fayrl steadied her. “There’s no shame in being carried. Why, I used to have my partner, Fennec, carry me after assignments all the time. He had the most comfortable arms for someone so muscular.” He gave her a wicked grin. “What do you say?”

“Fine, whatever.” Ma'zurah allowed Fayrl to pick her up, and put her arms around his neck. She laid her head against his shoulder and promptly fell asleep.

Fayrl smiled and headed off of the battlefield back towards the city. The Jarl and guards could all wait. For now, it was important to get Ma’zurah back to the inn where she could get her rest. And perhaps as she slumbered he could find that bard and earn his trust. He longed for a decent lute, and feeding the Ebony Blade was still a priority. Though, perhaps he would just lie down for a bit first.

Chapter Text

Ma'zurah awoke disoriented, and stared at the wooden ceiling above the bed she lay in. She could hear the muffled sounds of conversation from a room below, and the soft strum of a lute, accompanied by a male voice with a Nordic accent.

Nordic. Right. Skyrim. The future. It wasn't a bad dream then.

She sat up and looked around. She was in her room at the inn in Whiterun. Fayrl lay draped across the end of the bed, still fast asleep. He had removed his chainmail and bloodstained tunic, but he still wore pants and boots, she noticed. She tossed a blanket over him.

She glanced down, noting that she still wore all of her clothes from the previous day. She sighed. They were sweaty and dirty, but she had nothing to change into.

She spotted her pack next to the bed, and fished out a book. The Third Era Timeline. She had flipped to the end by the time her own year appeared.

“- 3E 427 - Beginning of the Blight Curse in Vvardenfell, and arrival of the Nerevar

- 3E 427 - The Bloodmoon Prophecy comes to pass, on the isle of Solstheim

- 3E 432 - Publication of the third edition of ‘A Pocket Guide to The Empire’

- 3E 433 - Assassination of Emperor Uriel Septim VII

- 3E 433 - The ‘Oblivion Crisis’

- 3E 433 - The Knights of the Nine are reformed”

She stared. Two things struck her. First, she had been reduced to a single line in a history book. Two, if you counted the completion of the Bloodmoon prophecy, but that did not even mention her. Neither line mentioned her name, or even got her title correct. The book didn't seem to be completely factually accurate.

Second, the third era had ended five years after she had left.

Eras only ended because of important events. If the defeat of Dagoth Ur, or Almalexia, or even Hircine’s avatar had not been enough to declare the end of the era, what larger event had taken place to end it? The assassination of the Emperor? Surely not. Emperors died all the time, historically speaking. “Oblivion Crisis” sounded ominous enough though. She fished the book of that title out of her pack, and began to read.

Fayrl was a light sleeper, even as tired as the events of the previous day had left him. As soon as his body had grown warm under the cover, he jerked awake, then cursed as his stiff body screamed in soreness.

“What in Oblivion--” he stopped as he turned about quickly, realizing he did not recognize his surroundings. As soon as he caught sight of Ma’zurah he relaxed. He stood, feeling his now stiffly dried trousers rough against him as he moved. He couldn’t bear it and he immediately stripped out of his boots and trousers. Even his undergarments had been soaked in Dragon blood, and other unpleasantness; they had to go as well.

Ma'zurah glanced up upon Fayrl’s sudden exclamation, and watched in bemusement as Fayrl regained his bearings and shamelessly stripped out of his clothes in front of her. She hid a smile behind her open book. He was a beautiful mer. She observed his smooth dusky skin, marred by a few scars; one across his shoulder, one in the small of his back over his right kidney… She blinked. That one looked like an assassination attempt. She noticed that his ass was faintly freckled, and grinned.

He pulled the sheet from the bed and tied it around his lower half. “You want breakfast or a change of clothes?” he asked, standing besides the bed.

Ma'zurah hurriedly buried her nose in her book when he turned to retrieve the bedsheet. “Yes! Both please!” she answered chipperly. She was still struggling to contain her grin.

She glanced up at him and caught him trying to read the title of her book. “Hey, according to this, the third era ended in the year 433 after something called the Oblivion Crisis, only five years after Ma'zurah's time, when Mehrunes Dagon tried to invade all of Tamriel by opening portals to the Deadlands in every province and sending armies of Daedra to invade every major city. The worst attack was concentrated on the Imperial City. But that is not all. Listen to this. ‘With the Amulet (of Kings) gone, the Dragonfires quenched, and the last Dragonblood Emperor dead, the barrier to Oblivion is sealed forever.’ That does not even make sense though… how did we summon the atronachs then?” She blinked at the page.

Fayrl listened, not entirely understanding the implications Ma’zurah was making. “That certainly sounds pretty bad. But I suppose they managed to fix things. It’s always one of the House of Troubles stirring things up for mortals, isn’t it?”

Shaking her head, Ma'zurah cleared her throat and looked back up at Fayrl. “You, ah… are not planning on going out there like that are you?” She nodded at the sheet he had tied around his waist with raised eyebrows.

Fayrl looked down at the sheet. “Oh no, I wouldn’t go out just like this.” He untied the sheet at one side and threw the fabric up across his shoulder, making what looked like a toga, which he secured with a hair pin. “There we are, perfectly respectable Imperial dress, if I do say so myself. I’ll be back in just a bit.” He wore a huge grin across his face as he headed towards the door,  putting his belt around his waist. “Don’t miss me too badly while I’m gone.”

Ma'zurah burst out laughing. “Hold on! Perhaps Ma'zurah had better go instead! She is not sure the innkeeper would appreciate Fayrl wandering around in her bedsheets. And even Nords might take issue with a mostly naked Dunmer wandering around! Here! Come read some history instead!” She held out the copy of the Third Era Timeline to him.

He shook his head. “I also require a bath. I won’t simply be satisfied with putting on clean clothing while I have the remains of a wounded Dragon against my skin. The feeling of what dried on me is horrendous at best. I shan’t even imagine what all besides the beast’s blood might be dried to my flesh. If this look is too much, how about this one?”

Fayrl pinned and tied the sheet, letting it come loose around him then very meticulously set about making several folds at the top, which he pinned. He slipped the sheet back around himself tying and pinning until it until it actually resembled a sleeveless dress.

“Are you more a mead or an ale with your breakfast sort, m’lady?”

Ma'zurah suddenly looked anxious. “Ma'zurah wants to go to the baths too, but she thinks they might not like a Khajiit in their baths… what with the fur… and…well, stereotypes.” She bit her lip and glanced away.

Fayrl’s smile dropped. Sometimes he forgot just how bad various races were about Khajiit. And he hadn’t forgotten the pain of her memories either.

He came to her side and took her hand in his. “If you cannot go to the baths, I will bring the baths to you. Learn all you can from the books. I will bring you everything you need.” There was a resoluteness in his voice that showed he did not allow the possibility of failure. This was a statement of fact. He was going to bring her what he promised, one way or another.

She nodded gratefully and picked up the third history book, “The Red Year” from her pack.

Fayrl blew her a flirtatious kiss and slipped out the door. He strode out of the inn as though he wore a garment of class and finery, not a common linen bedsheet. After asking the innkeeper for directions, he went immediately down to the bathhouse. It was still rather early and the men’s side had only a couple of old warriors with their young sons or gandsons. He took off his bedsheet and started to use a bucket of hot water to scrape off the layers of dried-on blood, making use of some soap he had at the bottom of his satchel. It was small, but enough to help with much of the caked on gore.

As he was trying to reach the lower part of his back, he heard someone behind him and turned. An Imperial gentleman with a scar on his chin was looking at him.

“Pardon me, my good elf, might I offer my assistance?” asked the man.

Fayrl assessed him quickly. He had nothing in his hands and could be hiding no weapons nude and with his hair so short cropped.

Fayrl’s face lit up. “Oh, I would be honored, sera, if you would. After that nasty business with the Dragon I felt ever so foul, but I simply can’t reach and the Nords are too afeared to offer any help to a lowly Dark Elf such as myself.”

“So you are a warrior then?” asked the man. “I hear you were victorious in bringing down the Dragon. I believe the honor should, in fact, be mine. It’s not everyday one can claim to assist a hero.”

“You flatter me, sera. A hero I am far from. I am hardly even a warrior. Yet if we do not take a stand against destruction, where would that leave us? No better than the evils of this world, think you not?”

“I am sure you are brave and strong. Your survival proves as much.” The man began to scour Fayrl’s skin free of blood with a cloth. “You have a strange accent, friend. I have traveled much of Tamriel, but I have not heard quite such an accent. Tell me, where are you from?”

Fayrl grinned over his shoulder. “I come from a very isolated, but once very proud and wealthy city in southern Morrowind. And how about you, my well-traveled companion? What is your name and from whence do you hail?”

The man bowed, finishing his work on Fayrl’s back. “I am Pavos Signas, from Anvil. I worked as a sailor before joining the Imperial Army. I’m on leave for now, so I thought while I was up north, I might travel to the sulphur springs to relax. And what of your name and story, my warrior friend? How did you end up so far north”

“I am called Fayrl. I am usually a musician. Though my family were merchants, I’ve never had a head for numbers. Sadly, I was ambushed by bandits and my belongings stolen. I’ve tried various work since then and I had hoped perhaps helping with the Dragon might earn me enough coin for a new lute or drum. Alas, I was paid nothing for my aid and the beast destroyed my clothes. I used my last coin to pay for the soap here. Why, I would do anything to earn myself a clean pair of trousers or a tunic.”

The Imperial led Fayrl into the hot water to soak as he continued to inquire about Fayrl’s fortunes. By the end the man was handing him a small coin purse. “Promise me that when you gotten yourself some clothes and an instrument, you will come and play me a tune. I am staying at the Drunken Huntsman, a friend of mine is brother to the owner. Come find me when you can.”

Fayrl bowed deeply. “Thank you, sera! I shall!”

He hurried off to the market and immediately bought himself a new tunic and trousers. They were rough, the way most Nord clothes in these parts were. He managed to flirt with the woman at the shop counter to giving him a discount on it if he bought a matching dress. It looked about his size, so he figured given Ma’zurah being about his height, if of slimmer build, she should fit it more or less.

His last stop was to the shop two doors down from the inn. The merchant there sold him a length of sheep intestine which had been washed and dried. He acquired a large wooden tub from the inn’s kitchen, and filled it partially at the inn’s kitchen pump. He headed up the stairs to their room, careful not to spill the water, thanking the gods the tub was made of hardwood, or he wouldn’t have been able to lift it.

At the door he stopped and knocked. “Ma’zurah, may I come in?”

The was a sniffle from behind the door. “Yes… sorry, come in.”

Fayrl opened the door and came in, setting down the tub and then placing the dress on the bed. “It’ll take me a second to get the spout going, but I present to you, a private bath. There should be more water coming in a moment, but I’m going to go ahead and begin heating your water, if that is alright with you.”

Ma'zurah was sitting on the bed where Fayrl had left her, the book open in her lap, and an expression of horrified shock on her face. The fur on her cheeks was wet, and her blue eyes were red and puffy. “Oh Fayrl! Everything is awful and it is all this one’s fault!” She broke down in sobs.

Fayrl’s good mood dissolved. “Ma’zurah, what has happened? What is wrong?”

Mazurah took a deep, shuddering breath. “Vivec City is gone... After Ma'zurah left, Vehk disappeared, and Baar Dau fell and wiped the entire city out. Everyone, dead in an instant...”

She held up a hand before he could interrupt. “It is worse though! The earth tremors made Red Mountain erupt, and it destroyed most of Vvardenfell, and much of mainland Morrowind!”

Fayrl felt time stand still. Vvardenfell destroyed? Much of the rest of Morrowind too? What of his House? What of his people? He couldn’t even be elated by the end of one of the Almsivi.

“Is Mournhold--” he could not finish the question. The answer could be more devastating than not knowing.

She gave him a teary eyed look of sympathy. “Mournhold and Blacklight were practically untouched, but they got flooded by refugees. There were so many refugees, that they started fleeing to Skyrim and Solstheim. Windhelm has an entire quarter of the city dedicated to refugees now. Balmora, Ald'ruhn, and Sadrith Mora got the worst of it. Whole parts of Tear collapsed. Gnisis is gone.” She held out her hands to him. “Ma'zurah had friends in all those cities except Tear… Ma'zurah lived mostly in Balmora and the Grazelands… She cannot find any word about the Grazelands though. Or any of the Velothi tribes…”

Fayrl felt relief for his own family, but could not fathom the pain Ma’zurah must be going through. He hesitated beside her, unsure how to best soothe her pain. He sat besides her on the bed, taking the book from her hands and setting it aside. He placed his hand on the sides of her face and brushed the tears from her cheeks.

“I am sure they were unharmed. Any companion of yours is smart enough to get themselves to safety as soon as danger seems near. The Velothi tribes are particularly adept at reading signs and surviving hardships. There is no reason to believe that they suffered.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Come, let us get you washed. It will help.” He stood up on shaky legs.

She grasped his arm and pulled him back down. “Y-You do not understand… this is all Ma'zurah's fault… she destroyed the power of Almsivi! Vehk was keeping Baar Dau from crashing! If Ma'zurah had not done it, found some other way to defeat Dagoth Ur, everyone in Vivec City would not have died, and Red Mountain would not have erupted!”

She pulled Fayrl to her and buried her face against his shoulder, fighting back sobs. “Red Mountain kept erupting for years…” she said, her voice muffled against his shirt. "It caused constant ash storms as far away as Solstheim. The Temple and Indoril were too divided to help. It took almost a month, but the mainland Redoran took charge of the relief efforts. They started to rebuild many of the cities, including Balmora. But Vivec City remains a boiling crater. They call it Scathing Bay...”

Fayrl struggled to understand. This was so many big statements. Yet through all of it, his heart told him one thing very strongly. “Ma’zurah, this isn’t your fault.”

He stroked her hair and held her close against his chest. “Vivec and the rest of the False Tribunal stole their power, there was no way it was going to last forever. It was prophesied that their power would fail. It was only a matter of time before it came to pass. Vivec should have done something to deal with Baar Dau centuries ago. It was always a risk. There was nothing you could do to change that.”

She sat back suddenly and looked at him fiercely. “But this one should have been able to do something! I was ruling king for centuries! This one cannot stand to see Resdayn in such a state!” Her eyes flashed between blue and gold. “Every crisis is ultimately the fault of the ruler. This one should have thought of it! Made Vehk take the rock down before it was too late! I know how to talk to him! If only this one had thought of it…”

A shiver ran down Fayrl’s spine and he stared into the now golden hued eyes of his Khajiit companion. He felt small. Yet he would not be able to comfort Ma’zurah if he did not persevere.

“If you dwell on what might have been you will never be capable of doing what you need to do now. Until we get back to our own times we cannot do anything to fix this, it is true. But we can take what we have learned and use it to prevent these misfortunes once we return. You were not there when this crisis took place, thus you have no blame upon your head. You must keep the faith. Isn’t a king supposed to lead by example?”

His heart was racing. He felt as though he was overstepping his place. Who was he to tell a king how to rule? Who was he to tell anyone how to live their life?

Hope suddenly lit up in Ma'zurah’s eyes, followed closely by something akin to panic. “If this one can get home, this one can make Vehk take down Lie Rock! But Mafala said this one has a duty here, and even if that duty is completed, Ma'zurah has no idea if we even can get home! We would have to go back through Oblivion, and the Oblivion Crisis made the barrier between Mundus and Oblivion impassible! And… and this one’s duty is not done! The Dragon from last night was not the same Dragon that attacked Helgen!”

Fayrl pulled Ma’zurah close to him again. “We will get back. No matter what it takes, we are going to get back. We will do our duty in this time. We will take up the obligations to do what we can. And when we are done I will go back and prevent the return of the popularity of slavery in my time and you will get Vivec to take down Baar Dau. We will save this time, then return to our own and prevent the tragedies that we know would otherwise come. We’ve taken down one Dragon. I have faith we can defeat the second one as well. We just have to stick together. As long as we do I believe we can make it.”

Ma'zurah nodded resolutely. “Thank you, Fayrl. It is good to have you as a companion.” She clasped his hand and smiled at him.

She turned to the tub. “Okay, Ma'zurah is eager to get moving so she can go home sooner. Shall we figure this out?”

Fayrl smiled and began to heat the water, while he used rope to set up the length of intestine, sucking on the one end to start the suction that would create a fountain of water off the one end. Then once the water was running from the tub, he concentrated on heating the water.

“I’m going to let you get cleaned up while I secure us something to eat. I’ll be back in a bit,” he said and slipped out the room once again.

Ma'zurah carefully washed and dried her fur, and put on the dress Fayrl had gotten her. It fit her fairly well. She compartmentalized away all the new knowledge she had gained about Morrowind’s fate, determined to make the best of the day, and walked downstairs to look for Fayrl.

Fayrl was leaning across the table toward the bard they had seen earlier. He had a half empty mug of drink and a bottle of mead on the table.

“Oh, Ma’zurah, you’re done. Sorry, the cook is still not ready with our food yet. I’ve been chatting with Mikael here. He’s a very gifted musician. Care to join us?”

Ma’zurah gave Fayrl a suspicious look, and sat down next to him.

Mikael’s attention immediately went to her. He strummed his lute. “Has anyone ever told you, you have the most amazing eyes, my exotic beauty?”

Fayrl lifted an eyebrow. It was clear that there was only one thing on the bard’s mind.

Ma’zurah looked faintly disgusted and turned to Fayrl without acknowledging the bard. “So, ah, what is for breakfast?”

Fayrl smiled at her. “Something about venison sausage and potatoes. Honestly, I was mostly so disappointed that they wouldn't bring me any drinks harder than mead this early in the morning, I may have stopped listening to all the menu.”

Mikael walked around the table and stood so that he was between Fayrl and Ma’zurah. “M’lady, your playing coy has been noted. I understand that a bard as handsome and skilled as myself can often be intimidating, but I can assure you my touch upon your virgin white fur will be gentle and sure.”

Ma’zurah blinked at Mikael. A slow predatory grin with entirely too many teeth spread across her face. “Tell this one, would the bard consider himself to be exclusively attracted to women?”

The bard puffed up his chest. “Indeed. And more than just attracted to the fairer sex, I am well acquainted with the bodies and passions of women. I have been a great lover of women across the land. And should you give me the opportunity, I am happy to show you the wide variety of skills I have in the art of the flesh.”

Fayrl twitched. He could almost feel the Ebony Blade calling out for its next meal. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

“Oh, well, that is a damn shame!” Ma’zurah said with a bland smile. “This one was looking for a man with an open mind.” She waved him off airly.

Fayrl grinned and took a sip of his mead to hide his amusement.

Mikael looked dumbfounded. “Wait, m’lady. I never said I was not open minded. Why, I have been touted as a very open minded lover on countless occasions!”

Ma’zurah paused and gave him a critical up and down glance, letting her gaze linger just a half second too long at his groin. “No no, this one can see she has obviously been looking in the wrong place.”

Mikael straightened in way that emphasized his crotch more, half thrusting his hips forward. “M’lady, do you not think it is more close minded to judge me without getting a chance to know me first?” He was attempting to come off as suave.

Fayrl kept drinking, sensing that Ma’zurah had something bigger in mind.

Ma’zurah rolled her eyes. “Oh very well. This one will at least tell the bard what she had in mind.” She leaned forward and grinned wickedly. “See… this one likes to watch.”

Mikael grinned. “Is that so? Well, my delicate desert flower, I am happy to put on a performance, if that is what you seek.”

“Indeed?” Ma’zurah raised her eyebrows and turned to Fayrl. “Oh husband dearest, Ma’zurah thinks perhaps we may have found our man! So kind of him to volunteer his pretty arsehole, do you not think?” Her grin turned vindictive.

Fayrl set down his cup and ran a hand down Mikael’s back. “I bet being a bard he would have a lovely voice when he cries out.”

Mikael tensed and pulled away from the touch, looking nervous. “I am not sure that I said just those particular words.” He went around the other side of Ma’zurah so he was out of Fayrl’s reach. “Though I am not saying I would not be up for engaging with you in such an intimate manner. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement. Say, you and I get to know one another first, then.”

“Oh? You would exclude Ma’zurah’s husband? Such a shame!” She exchanged amused glances with Fayrl. “But perhaps the bard is offering his arse to Ma’zurah instead? That might be an acceptable arrangement.” She bared her teeth at him in a malicious facsimile of a grin.

Mikael looked nervous, but did not want to seem unwilling when given the chance. “I suppose I am,” he said with wavering confidence.

Fayrl shrugged. “Your loss, my friend, but if it is what my beloved desires, then who am I to stand in the way of her pleasure.”

Ma’zurah moved her chair closer to Fayrl and leaned against him. “Oh dearest, do you think perhaps the little jekosiit would prefer the ten inch wooden piece, or the twelve inch metal one up his arse?” She fluttered her eyelashes at Fayrl flirtatiously.

Fayrl licked his lips and eyed Mikael up and down. “I would have thought with all his experience he would seem less afraid of letting a beautiful woman do what she wanted with him. I think he is playing coy with you now. You should go for the twelve inch, show him the pleasures he wants to deny within himself.”

Mikael took a step back. “How many inches?” He looked green.

“Would you listen to that, he doesn’t think it’s enough.”

“Damn! Ma’zurah would not have thought it! But it does seem Fayrl is correct! Perhaps she will dig out the fourteen inch ebony piece instead. Oh this will be so much fun!” Ma’zurah schooled her face into an innocent, earnest expression. “Ma’zurah is so excited! Perhaps Fayrl should come watch as well!” She turned toward Mikael and held out a hand to him. “Well, little renrij, shall we?”

Fayrl stood up and put an arm around Mikael. “What do you say, my friend. Do you mind if I watch as my dear wife penetrates you with her large ebony member? I promise to keep the noises down so that it won’t distract you two.”

Mikael pulled free from both of their grips. “Perhaps after the first time. I like to get to know the lady in question first,” he stammered.

“Oh no! Ma’zurah insists! Fayrl and Ma’zurah have been inseparable since they met, you see! Ma’zurah simply could not imagine life in Skyrim without him!” Ma’zurah advanced on the stammering bard with a dangerous glint in her eye.

Mikael took a shaky step backwards. “I… I don’t think that I--that is….”

Ma’zurah continued undeterred. “Ma’zurah is certain the little wafiit will love the ebony piece! It has ridges! Ma’zurah had it specially commissioned, isn’t that right, dearest?”

“Oh yes. They take a little while to get used to, but the effect is wonderful once your relax around it. You wouldn’t want to tear anything after all.”

Mikael looked between them. “That sounds… wonderful. Oh, by the divines! Would you look at the hour? I promised to perform for a friend and I have been so engrossed in our conversation I had completely forgotten.”

“Oh! Well Ma’zurah will be certain to seek you out later then!” she called after him. A Redguard serving girl carrying two plates of food paused at the entrance to the kitchen and blinked bemusedly between the two guests and the bard’s retreating form. The door slammed behind him, and Ma’zurah burst out laughing, almost doubled over in mirth.

“Oh, you are good,” said Fayrl in a playful tone. “I was almost beginning to believe you myself. It’s half a shame he couldn’t keep his nerve, disgusting creature as he is.”

Fayrl nodded his thanks as the plates of food we set in front of them on the table. Fayrl refilled his glass, then held up the bottle towards Ma’zurah. “Some mead?”

Ma’zurah accepted the mead. “And look! He left his lute! Obviously he did not need it to play for that friend of his!” Ma’zurah grinned happily and sipped at her drink. She made a face. “Not sweet enough! Do these Nords not know how proper mead is made?”

Fayrl brightened as he lifted the lute and gave it a strum. Something inside of him was comforted. “I shall have to hold onto it so that nothing happens to it.”

Fayrl called for some honey to be brought and stirred it into her glass. “The mead is quite dry here. Let’s see how the sausage is.” He took a bite of the sausage experimentally. “Certainly could use more seasoning.”

Ma’zurah nodded sagely. “They never could have gotten away with this in Elsweyr. Khajiit must have flavor! Especially sweets!” She nibbled her breakfast reluctantly. “We should visit the Jarl as soon as we are done. He will probably want as many accounts of the battle last night as he can get.”

Realization dawned on Fayrl. “Before we go,” he said in quiet Dunmeris, “I think it only right that you know, I had a bit of a run in with a guard before the battle.”

Ma’zurah paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. “A run in? Ma’zurah assumes it has something to do with the Lady’s blade. Fayrl mentioned something like that last night.”

“Just so. The man was not very keen on mer being in Skyrim. I took a couple of blows from him. In the end his desire to dominate got the better of him. I made sure to mar the body. Three different weapons marks on him and items stolen, it will appear the work of bandits. Still, I have promised to be honest with you and I thought it best to mention before we are around any of the Jarl’s loyal soldiers.” He continued to consume his breakfast as though this was as small a fact as the news that the evening might be a little foggier than was comfortable.

Ma’zurah gave Fayrl an earnest smile and reached out to squeeze his hand. “Thank you. The Lady was right. Fayrl is a good companion. Ma’zurah hopes that future events will be more suited to his taste, instead of all out battle against Dragons. Ma’zurah knows it must not have been easy for someone with an assassin’s set of skills.”

Fayrl squeezed her hand in return. “I hope so too. I want to return to my time, but the only way to do that is to forge ahead with the destiny the gods have handed us. I am very lucky that you found me. I do not know how I might have coped alone.”

“Ma’zurah can teach Fayrl some ranged magicks if Fayrl likes.”

Fayrl drained his mug then refilled it, adding more honey and mead to Ma’zurah’s as well. “You are kind to offer your teaching, but as I have explained before, I haven’t the capability to learn further. Let us focus on other things.” He held up his mug. “To our success!”

“To success then!” Ma’zurah sipped her mead.

The front door of the inn opened, and a young man in a guard uniform bustled inside. “You there!” he called to the dining pair. “The Jarl requires your attendance!”

“Here we go, I suppose,” Fayrl said resignedly. He downed his entire mug before turning to Ma’zurah. “Shall we go and see the Jarl, then? Or would you care to take up my offer from yesterday?”

Ma’zurah shook her head. “Better to see what we can do for the Jarl and gain his good graces. At least it is not a Dragon this time.” She hesitated. “Hopefully.”

She stuffed the last of her sausage into her mouth and stood to follow the guard out of the inn.

Fayrl left a handful of silver coins for the innkeeper and followed Ma’zurah and the guard to Dragonsreach. “Do you think the Jarl would like a song?” Fayrl asked, strumming a few notes on the lute. “Perhaps something to help earn his good graces?”

“Ma’zurah thinks perhaps it might be a good idea not to volunteer more than we are already asked to,” Ma’zurah responded dryly.

Chapter Text

The Jarl’s throne room was brighter and busier than it had been the night before. As they passed under the pillared entrance, Ma’zurah saw the court mage, the Jarl’s steward, the Dunmer housecarl, and several people who must be nobles of the Jarl’s court in attendance, one of whom looked like he must be the Jarl’s younger brother.

Glancing up, Ma’zurah caught sight of Nelkir dangling his feet off the balcony above the hall. She waved cheerfully, and this time received a wave in return. Two more children, a boy and a girl, both older than Nelkir, sat at the tables in the great hall shoveling food into their mouths. The girl stared at her suspiciously, and turned to comment to an attendant, pointing at Ma’zurah. The harried looking woman made distressed shushing gestures.

Ma’zurah glanced down at herself in puzzlement. She looked perfectly decent. Maybe the child was unused to Khajiit.

“Ah, here they are, the acclaimed heroes. We were just talking about you. My brother needs a word with you,” said one of the members of the Jarl’s court who bore a strong resemblance to the Jarl. He motioning them forward.

They arrived at the foot of the throne and Ma’zurah and Fayrl both gave formal bows. The Jarl inclined his head.

At that moment a loud noise like thunder rang out, still clearly audible through the windows of the great hall. The ground trembled slightly. All present turned this way and that at the sound, a half panicked, half awed murmur rising up amongst the gathered people.

“Did you hear that just now?” Farengar excitedly asked the Jarl. “It must be the summons. What else could such a sound mean? The Greybeards!”

The Jarl looked thoughtful. “So it is true. Step forward, warriors.” He gestured to the pair.

Ma’zurah blinked, unsure if she had actually heard a voice in the thunder, or if she was delusional. Confused, she stepped forward at the Jarl’s command. Fayrl followed her lead.

The Jarl gave Ma’zurah an evaluative stare. “So what happened at the watchtower? I have heard the other accounts of the Dragon, but I wish to hear the tale from the one who struck the final blow.”

“Ah… Okay,” Ma'zurah replied. “When we got to the watchtower, it had certainly been attacked. There was rubble around the tower, and patches of grassfire. At first we did not see anything, but then we heard the Dragon call in the distance. When he attacked, we spread out to find cover and give him less appealing targets. This one shot ice spikes at the wings to try to bring him down, and used summoned creatures as well.

“The guards concentrated their arrows on the wing joints, and we managed to tear the wing enough that he could not fly, and he was forced to land. Fayrl shot out one eye, and took out the other with his dagger. Ma’zurah summoned a frost atronach on top of the Dragon, and that along with Fayrl’s frost cloak weakened the scales enough that the guards could pierce the hide.

“This one was able to throw an ice spear into the Dragon’s side, and Fayrl tried to open the wound further with his blades, but became trapped under him. This one pulled him free, and used her mace to hammer Fayrl’s dagger through the Dragon’s eye into his brain, which killed him.

“This one is not sure what happened next, but this one saw the soul of the Dragon, and knew the Dragon’s name was Mirmulnir. She understood pieces of his personality, and things about Dragons in general before he disappeared completely. Then everyone was calling this one Dragon-born, but this one did not understand why, and just went to heal Fayrl and any of the guards with injuries within this one’s capabilities. This one was so tired by the time she was done that she ended up falling asleep. That is all she remembers.” Ma’zurah gave a small bow to the Jarl, and stepped back.

“Ice spikes and frost atronachs,” muttered Farengar, scribbling away notes nearby. “Weak at the eyes and under the scales to cold damage.”

“I carried Ma’zurah back to our room at the inn after she collapsed from exhaustion,” Fayrl offered. “The danger seemed to have subsided by that point, Jarl Balgruuf. I hope we have not offended your men or your housecarl.”

The Jarl nodded. “Yes, that seems to fit well with what I have heard from the survivors. Many were grateful for your healing. We generally do not like to rely on such dangerous tools as spells, but it seems when dealing with something large and magical we may not have much choice.”

“And you say you knew its name?” asked the court wizard with rapt fascination. “Was there anything else unusual that occurred? Anything you saw or felt?”

Ma’zurah turned to the court wizard. “Oh! Ah… yes. Ma’zurah supposes it would be considered unusual. As a being comprised of mostly spirit and magic, Mirmulnir could not exist in physical form without his soul, and his body was burned to spirit when his soul left him, leaving nothing but the bare skeleton mandated by the earthbones to exist in Mundus.”

“Fascinating,” Farengar muttered. “Once the body began to turn to spirit, what did you observe occurring to that spirit? Did you notice it going anywhere in particular?”

Fayrl glanced at the Jarl who looked even more confused than he felt.

“The soul was all around this one. She could hardly see anything else. Ma’zurah told him to rest. He was a very old, and very tired ja’khajiit who got too excited at the prospect of play.” Ma’zurah waved a hand dismissively, and turned her attention back to the Jarl.

“Hmm,” Farengar frowned, taking notes of that information as well. “Either the old accounts are wrong, or perhaps you are not the Dragonborn.”

The Jarl interrupted. “Mazra was is? I am curious, did you understand the noise just now? Could you tell what was being said?”

Ma’zurah laughed. “Oh good! This one was not hallucinating! It said ‘Dragon-born.’ Where did it come from?”

The Jarl and Farengar exchanged glances.

“So it's true. The Greybeards really were summoning you,” breathed the Jarl. “I can’t believe it. I never thought the Dragonborn would be a Khajiit. I assumed they would be a Nord, or maybe an Imperial.” He pulled himself out of his thoughts. “You must see them at once.”

Ma’zurah blinked and stared in confusion. “The who, the what?” She glanced back at Fayrl to see if he had any idea what they were talking about. “Ma’zurah has only heard the word ‘Dragon-born’ to mean ‘coming from the Empire’ before. Is there another meaning?”

“Grey beards?” Fayrl asked uncertainly.

“The Greybeards, masters of the Way of the Voice. They live in seclusion high on the slopes of the Throat of the World,” explained Balgruuf.

“I remember something about Dragonborn tales. They are men with the souls of Dragons. I can’t say I know more than that personally,” Fayrl said.

Ma’zurah looked at Fayrl anxiously. “Would not a mortal with a Dragon soul be a bad thing? Are not Dragons forces of destruction? Ma’zurah has a hard time imagining that would go well with the common person. Would they not fear a mortal like that?”

The Jarl gave a loud chuckle. “Fear? Why Talos himself was Dragonborn! A Dragonborn would be seen as a great symbol of the Nord people. Of course, I’m not sure if many would be willing to accept that the Dragonborn of our era was a Khajiit. But if what Farengar says is true, you may not be. Only the Greybeards could know for sure.”

Ma’zurah nodded, though her expression remained confused. “Right. The Dragonblooded Emperors. Ma’zurah thought that was because of the blood of Alkosh in the Amulet of Kings, not that they literally had Dragon blood. And anyway, Ma’zurah read that the last of the Dragonblooded Emperors died in the Oblivion Crisis, no?”

Fayrl started to feel out of place again. He didn’t mind not being the center of attention sometimes. But it felt strange to be invisible when he was not actively seeking it out. He felt awkward. It was uncomfortable.

“Yes, I do not believe there has been a Dragonborn since that time,” Farengar told Ma'zurah. “Of course, there might well have been, but without any Dragons, there was little way for anyone to prove it by absorbing Dragon souls or using the Way of the Voice. Shouting, as it is called.”

Balgruuf nodded. “In the old tales I heard as a young boy, the Dragonborn heroes would use their Shout to defeat the enemies of Skyrim. Wulfharth was Dragonborn. Talos, too--the founder of the Empire, back in the good old days. In the very oldest tales, back from when there were still Dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay Dragons to steal their power.” He looked proud.

Ma’zurah’s brow furrowed in thought. “Wait, wait, go back. So if there is no Dragonblooded Emperor, does that mean people have been looking for a Dragonborn to crown as Emperor? Because apparently the only Dragonborn this one knows about were all ruling kings, and now Ma’zurah is confused.”

“Well obviously a Khajiit is not going to be crowned Emperor,” laughed the Jarl’s brother.

Fayrl reached out and took Ma’zurah’s hand. “Maybe it’s best if we don’t discuss this right now. Don’t you recall what we saw when we arrived?” Fayrl hissed under his breath. He couldn’t help but feel like maybe they were making too much of their presence known. Nords were suspicious of Khajiit to begin with. But if things were sensitive with the Empire, asking questions that implied she might be in line for the crown might not be the best idea.

Ma’zurah gave a slight nod to Fayrl, and turned her attention back to the Jarl. “So let Ma’zurah get this straight, Dragonborn are people with the soul of a Dragon, they are human cultural heroes, they kill Dragons and take their souls, and they can do something called Shouting?” She ticked the points off on her fingers. “Can somebody please explain what in the four hells Shouting is? Because Ma’zurah has done a lot of shouting in her life, and nothing special happened then.”

“That is the basics of it, yes,” said Farengar, looking back at Ma’zurah. “From what the legends say, the Shout is a way of using your voice and the Draconic language, called Dovah, to channel the Dragon’s power.”

Ma’zurah blinked. “Dovah? You mean Dovahzul? That sounds more right… Dovah just means Dragon.”

The Jarl’s brother leveled a look at Ma’zurah. “If you really are Dragonborn, like out of the old tales, you ought to be able to Shout. Can you? Have you tried?”

Ma'zurah turned to the Jarl’s brother and leveled a scathing look at him. “Of course Ma’zurah never tried. She only just now found out what Shouting is. She will try. Let her think.”

Fayrl did not like this. He did not like it one bit. All he wanted to do was leave here as soon as possible. Whatever it took, he was ready.

Ma’zurah closed her eyes and thought. She thought about every instance where she had encountered something of potentially Draconic origin. She thought of Solstheim, and the Draugr tombs she had gleefully explored with a reluctant group of friends. She thought of the walls of strange words that seemed to draw her to them and capture her attention until she memorized them, sometimes at the detriment of her situational awareness. She had gotten a lecture from Julan about that...

She remembered the memorized words, and realized she could understand them now. She had five words that had been bothering her for months that finally seemed to make sense. She could use these words. Ven. Nos. Gar. Qah. Gol. Wind. Strike. Unleash. Armor. Earth. The first three went together, even though she had found them separately. The last two were unrelated.

What was it the wizard had said? Words used to channel power? She had done that before. Some Velothi spells used chanting to channel power, but it did not sound quite the same. The chants were a means of focusing, and did not determine the effect. If the Dovahzul words determined the effect, then she just had to put magicka into the word, right? Or was it like traditional spellcasting, where an understanding of the underlying mechanism was necessary to cast the spell? Either that, or willpower. She snickered. Yell at the earthbones to make them do what was needed? That sounded fun. Maybe saying the words out loud was enough? She had enough ideas to start experimenting with at least.

“One moment.” Ma’zurah told the assembled audience. She walked to the entry hall, where there was very little that could get in her way.

“Qah.” she said out loud in a conversational tone. Nothing happened. She tried again, this time channeling her magicka at the same time. “Qah.” Still nothing. Ma’zurah tapped her nose in thought.

Maybe Shouting meant literal shouting? Oh well, worth a shot. The worst that would happen is she would look silly. “QAH!” she yelled. Nothing. She chewed her lip in frustration.

She thought about the word. Qah; armor. What would armor made of magicka look like? Armor made of a Dragon’s magicka? If she were a Dragon yelling at the earthbones and she made them give her armor, what would it look like? She laughed at the thought, but tried it anyway. She closed her eyes, visualized magickal Dragon armor, and shouted the word again.

“QAH!”

She opened her eyes. Everyone was staring at her from the other end of the hall. She gave them a sheepish look. Then she glanced down. She was wreathed in multicolored magickal armor, just like she had visualized. She whooped and punched the air above her head in triumph.

She ran up to Fayrl laughing and grinning hugely. “Look! Look! Ma’zurah figured it out! All by herself!” She grabbed his hands and bounced on her toes.

Fayrl looked on in horror. Without any teaching Ma’zurah had managed to learn a new magic. Something powered by Dragons no less. “This is bloody insane!”

Farengar eagerly came up to observe the armor. “How did it feel to use the Shout? Can you compare it to another school of magic?” The wizard was busy feeling the armor by hand and looking at its consistency.

Around them the guards and assembled nobles looked a mix of awestruck and anxious. It was beyond the magic most of them had witnessed before.

“Uh…” Ma’zurah blinked at Farengar and ducked away from a prodding finger. “Ma’zurah found these words in Solstheim when she was last there, though she could not read them at the time. She has five words. She realized that ‘Qah’ meant armor, so she visualized armor and imagined yelling at the earthbones until they gave her the armor. It is like no other school of magic. Ma’zurah did not even channel her magicka that time. It seems that yelling at the earthbones is all that is required.” She giggled.

Farengar’s face lit up at the new knowledge and he hastily made his notes.

“As much as I enjoy entertaining the Dragonborn, I do need to return to the duties of running my hold,” the Jarl interrupted. “I have a lot of injured men and grieving families to care for. That said, you have done a mighty deed for my people. That sort of service should not go unrewarded.”

Balgruuf stood from his throne. “You are heroes to this hold. With the power I wield as Jarl, I give you both the title of Hero of Whiterun. Please go with my housecarl and select whatever you desire from my armory as a reward of your service. I also urge you to follow the Greybeards' summon. Whatever happened when you killed that Dragon, it revealed something in you, and the Greybeards heard it. If they think you're Dragonborn, who are we to argue? You'd better get up to High Hrothgar immediately. There's no refusing the summons of the Greybeards. It's a tremendous honor. I envy you, you know. To climb the 7,000 Steps again… I made the pilgrimage once, did you know that? High Hrothgar is a very peaceful place. Very... disconnected from the troubles of this world. I wonder if the Greybeards even notice what's going on down here. They haven't seemed to care before. No matter. Go to High Hrothgar. Learn what the Greybeards can teach you. We are honored to have you both as our heros.” He turned away from them, sitting once more. “Back to business, Proventus. We still have a city to defend.”

The man bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

Ma’zurah listened attentively to the Jarl, and turned to Farengar when he dismissed them. “Ma’zurah will need directions to this place. Does the court wizard have a map this one can use? And Ma’zurah forgot to consult an almanac yesterday.”

Farengar smiled. “I would be happy to provide you a map and directions. It’s not everyday you happen upon someone capable of expanding your life’s work.” He led them towards his room. “All I ask in return is that you share all you can of your experience with me after you return.”

“Wonderful! Ma’zurah can answer any questions you like when she returns.” Ma’zurah walked into the wizard’s rooms, and glanced around.

She spotted an almanac on his shelf and removed it. “Is this current?” She looked the book over--4E 201. She did some quick mental calculation and realized it was at least two hundred years after the year she had left. She kept her face carefully neutral.

“Why yes, that is current. The spine reads 201, does it not?” Farengar laughed jovially, taking a seat at his desk, now with a Dragon skull taking up the surface as well as his notes and books.

“Ah… yes, sorry. Ma’zurah overlooked that.”

“I shall have to make a note of symptoms of fatigue after using Shouts,” the wizard muttered, scrambling with his papers. “I wonder if the Dragons themselves feel such effects. Or perhaps it has to do with the amount of power a Dragon or Dragonborn possesses. Oh, this is simply fascinating!”

“What is the date, please?” Mazurah asked, flipping through the almanac. “Ma’zurah has been too long without a calendar.”

“The effects must be truly great,” said Farengar, a little sympathy in his voice. “It is the 11th of Midyear. Sundas.”

“And the map?” asked Fayrl, his voice even, but subdued.

Ma’zurah shoved thoughts of her displacement in time from her mind and frowned at the Dragon skull on Farengar’s desk. She ran her fingers over his curving horns, feeling a sad kinship. She did not want the wizard to have him, but she could not rightfully claim him after the wizard had taken the trouble to have his skull brought to him. “Mirmulnir” she murmured.

Fayrl looked at the way that Ma’zurah touched the Dragon skull and he shivered. It reminded him of how Nabine had sometime touched the bodies of her kills. He looked away, drawing his attention to the bookshelf and busying himself with reading the titles.

Farengar looked up from shuffling through his drawers for the map. “Excuse me?”

Ma’zurah glanced sharply up at Farengar. “Mirmulnir. His name. It means Allegiance Strong Hunt. He was a loyal dovah, as old as time. He hated sneaking and hiding. He was so happy to hunt again. Treat him with respect. Ma’zurah would prefer he be interred somewhere rather than put on display like the poor dovah the Jarl has over his throne.” She could not take his skull with her, but she could ensure he was respected at least.

Farengar seemed taken aback. “You have learned all of this? How!” He was excited as a child on their name day about to get their treat. “I never thought there was a way to learn so much of a Dragon’s history and name without spending years of researching around their burial mound and consulting the legends concerning their deaths in battle!” He took hurried notes.

“Ma’zurah saw it all when she took his soul,” Ma'zurah informed him flatly. “Does the wizard understand? This is like the bones of ancestors. Always treat ancestors with respect.”

Fayrl pulled the closest book at hand from the shelf and busied himself with reading it. It was about early following of the Eight Divines. He closed the book and looked at the title. “Before the Ages of Man.” He shoved it back in the shelf and slipped out of the room instead.

Farengar seemed to finally understand. “Oh, I see. As soon as I am done with my research I shall ask the Jarl for some men to find an appropriate place for a burial. Hopefully the rest of the skeleton has remained untouched and the whole skeleton can be reunited beforehand.” He gingerly dipped his quill in ink, careful not to drip on the skull as he wrote more. “So absorbing the soul you absorb the knowledge of the Dragon you have defeated. My dear, this is amazing! Here,” he pulled out a bound notebook of blank paper. “If you have any information you learn about this or other Dragons, please write it down for me in this book and bring it to me. There is so much to learn. No one has the detailed accounts of each Dragon and their varied lives in one place. You would be helping to produce a type of Dragon lore book unseen before in Tamriel!”

Ma’zurah glanced around for Fayrl, and spotted him headed away from Farengar’s rooms. “Fayrl? Is everything alright?” she called after him.

Fayrl waved his hand. “I’ll be back,” he called over his shoulder to her, not stopping. He listened to the droning of nobles in the hall echoing down the corridor. He brushed passed the servants in the kitchen and down the stairs, coming to a stop before the door he had gotten the Ebony Blade from. He knelt down, resting his forehead on the cool stone floor, his arms raised out before him.

“Ikalam am hla’yivohn, os almese Ohl de ku’or yi muhr edur lohara.
Gahmerdehn am farayn, os jikhi de Ohl yi muhrmolkhun en yi albusehr.
Alma am minmer, ist os manisehar yilad Ohl, captu yi min gher Ohm baldefuur.
Balori as set am as gan'tosh muhri nifi’ag ru Ohm khamir en yi demyr.”

Lady of Whispers, I praise You to whom my life is dedicated.
Mistress of Secrets, I offer to You my lifeblood and my essence.
Mother of Spiders (Silk people), that I may continue to serve You, take my thread in Your hands.
Let the course of the future be changed by Your will and my sacrifice.

He did not expect anything from his god in return. Only the comfort that raising a prayer to her always left him with. He needed that feeling of belonging now more than ever. She was the only constant in his life and he needed her to know he was there to serve her. It gave him a reason, a purpose, for being out of time.

Ma’zurah took the offered book and map and excused herself to look for Fayrl. She cast chameleon to get past the kitchen servants, and found Fayrl in the basement, exactly where she expected to find him. He was in prayer, so she quietly sat next to him until he sat up.

“You did not have to come find me. I was going to return as soon as I was done.” Fayrl felt a bit guilty for having left, but he knew it had been for the best. Now he felt like he was a child come to be scolded for sulking.

“Ma’zurah was worried.” she offered quietly. “Fayrl seemed distressed. Ma’zurah understands. Ma’zurah is more than two hundred years ahead of where she should be. It is… lonely.”

Fayrl gave another bow and rose, caressing the door with his hand. “I did not mean to worry you. Not when you’ve already so much responsibility.” He headed towards the stairs. He did not mention anything about being lonely, he did not want to accept that feeling right now. “So, are we going to head to see these Greybeards?”

Ma’zurah caught Fayrl’s hand and stopped him in the corridor. “Hey. Fayrl is the only one Ma’zurah has right now. Why would she not worry?”

“I will be fine.” Fayrl turned back to her, and the expression on his face changed to a large grin. “Although, if you want to worry after me, I have a terrible pain in my lower back a nice massage with some strong hands could do to sort out.”

Ma’zurah’s sympathetic expression did not change despite Fayrl’s attempt at deflection. “Ma’zurah can do that. But… here.” She pulled him into a hug. “It is a rough situation,” she mumbled into his shirt. “Do not try to handle it all yourself. That is what clan is for, as well as the gods.”

Fayrl placed a hand around her waist. “Are you my clan now?” he asked, a devious smile on his lips. “Care to tell me exactly what all that entitles me to?”

Ma’zurah drew back slightly. “Sure, Fayrl is clan--the closest we have to it at least. And it entitles Fayrl to exactly what Fayrl has been getting. Ma’zurah’s friendship and shared resources.” She cocked her head at him bemusedly. “Why? Does Fayrl think otherwise? Does he desire something else?”

Fayrl shrugged. “I would presume nothing beyond that. Though if you ever wanted anything more, I would hardly object. You are wildly intelligent and fiercely beautiful, though I understand that you have someone already. Still, my offer is open should you ever need to relax.”

He walked onward, flashing invisible to make it through the kitchens, grabbing up an apple into his satchel as he passed through.

Ma’zurah blinked at Fayrl’s retreating form. She was pretty sure he was not offering a relationship. Not like the deeply satisfying relationships she had with her partners at least. He wasn’t even telling her the truth about being alright right now. She wished she could discuss it with her partners. Fayrl’s offer was tempting; he was very appealing--why did Dunmer have to be so damn sexy?--but Ma’zurah wanted to go home without ruining her relationships. Even if that meant many frustrated nights.

She shook her head and walked after Fayrl.

Chapter Text

Fayrl wanted nothing more than to go to a tavern and have a few glasses of something stronger than ale. Perhaps he could go and finish his payment to the stablemaster. He wanted to get his mind off of everything.

He ran into Irileth as soon as he exited the kitchens. Right, they were to go with her to the armory. “Hello again, I take it you are here to escort us to choose our rewards?”

Irileth eyed the other Dunmer in front of her, and raised her eyebrow at the Khajiit emerging from the kitchens behind him. “Yes, if you will follow me. The Jarl has allotted you one weapon or armor piece each, enchanted if that is your wish.” She waved the pair forward to a set of stairs on the left of the Jarl’s throne, leading down into the armory, jail, and guard quarters.

Fayrl gave Irileth a pleasant smile and followed her lead to the armory. It was a room filled with weapons racks, chests, and mannequins of armor. Mostly the items on display were heavy armor and broadswords, not the sort suitable to Fayrl’s skills. He spotted a pair of boots in the corner that looked to be of good leather. His own boots had been ruined by the Dragon blood and a good pair of strong leather boots would be perfect for him. He eagerly went and tried them on.

Truth be told, they were slightly wider than his feet, but shorter in the toe. Surely he could find a cobbler to adjust the stitches to fit him better, there was leather enough to spare. If not, he would just can to hope they would stretch for him.

Ma’zurah blinked at the room full of weapons and armor. She had no need for any of these things! She felt a sudden sympathy for Julan’s impatience during shopping trips. She started looking for something Fayrl might find useful instead. She dug into a chest and discovered a set of thick leather armor, complete with warm fur trimmings, and an enchantment to resist frost. She gave it a critical glance and turned to Fayrl with a grin. “Hey! This would fit Fayrl!”

Fayrl turned to look at the very typical Nord armor. “It might indeed. But I have already made my selection. After the Dragon ruined my boots, I am going to take these instead,” he informed her, and by extension Irileth as well, lifting a leg to show off the boot. “I am sure we can find you something that would fit you.”

Ma’zurah glanced down at her own canvas wrapped paws and wished the armory had some boots that would fit them. “Ma’zurah has never worn armor. They do not have Khajiiti boots, and Ma’zurah uses spells instead of weapons. Fayrl can have Ma’zurah’s piece. This one has an enchantment to resist frost. That might be good on a mountain.”

“Will you not suffer from the cold if we are on a mountain? If you are barefoot you will surely get frostbite. The cold here is unlike anywhere back in Morrowind.” Fayrl wondered if the same cobbler that might fix his boots might be able to modify some boots for Ma’zurah as well. He would have to check and see if his cache was still hidden away at the back of town. He had the key and knew the passwords if the bank still stood and hadn’t been emptied. Would anything still be good after so many centuries had passed?

Ma’zurah nodded, her face serious. “Ma’zurah has a natural resistance to frost, even more than most Khajiit get from their fur because Ma’zurah is moon cursed. If the cold is as serious as Fayrl says, even in high summer, then he will need the protection more than Ma’zurah will. Ma’zurah will have to see if the Khajiit caravan has any boots. There is nothing to be done here about it though.” She held out the armor to Fayrl.

Fayrl took it in hand and turned to Irileth. “Is it alright if we take these two items, then?” he asked. He didn’t feel it was fair. He had done less work, yet he was getting all of the reward. He would have to make it up to her somehow. He only needed to figure out how.

Irileth gave them a bored nod and waved them out of the room. Ma’zurah smiled at Fayrl and held out her hand. Fayrl took it, unsure of why it was offered to him. Still, there was a comfort to it. Yet that did nothing but make him feel guilty. Did she offer him her prize to placate him somehow?

She squeezed his hand and led them out of the Jarl’s hall, waving to Nelkir still swinging his feet over the edge of the balcony. The boy flashed them a huge grin.

Ma'zurah paused at the top of the tall stairs down from Dragonsreach, and took in the view. Behind the temple of Khenarthi and the nicer houses of the city, there was a small open space. Ma'zurah pointed it out to Fayrl. “Ma'zurah would like to practice this Shouting thing. Can we go over there?”

“Certainly. I should take these to be fitted soon though.” Fayrl indicated his boots. “And perhaps we can see if we can’t have something custom made for you?”

“Really?” Ma'zurah broke into a grateful smile. “Ma'zurah has not had proper shoes since shortly after she left Elsweyr!”

Fayrl nodded. “Of course. In a couple of months there will already be snow the ground. You already know how incapable I would be at magically warming you. And if you get that exhausted by expending magic constantly, then it’s best we avoid the necessity as much as possible.”

Ma'zurah snorted and waved dismissively. “Ma'zurah does not get fatigued from the Shouting! That was the silly wizard making assumptions because Ma'zurah could not ‘remember’ the date.” She led them down the steps. “Ma'zurah is not even sure the Shouting even expends magicka. And Ma'zurah only gets exhausted by casting when she drinks five magicka potions in a row and casts restoration spells without stopping after a battle with a Dragon and a full day of travel. It was an unfortunate concurrence of events.”

Fayrl nodded. “It was a joke, my dear. But I am glad to know that I do not have to get in the habit of always carrying you. Though you’ve only to say the word and I will happily oblige.”

They stopped in front of the Hall of the Dead. “Try not to shout in my direction, okay?” Fayrl asked. “I want to keep my face looking as good as possible now that I’m technically over a millennium old.”

“How old are you then?” Ma'zurah cocked her head at Fayrl curiously.

“In my time I was almost nearing my second century. Why do you ask?”

Mazurah stopped and blinked at Fayrl. “Ai… Ma'zurah keeps forgetting how long mer live. Ma'zurah is almost twenty four now.”

Fayrl kept forgetting how young non-mer races so often were when they looked the same age as he. She didn’t act particularly young; in fact she acted around his own level of maturity. If he’d had to guess, he would have thought she was around his own age--and in a way he supposed she was. They were both somewhere around a third of the way through their natural lifespan. “Well, you’ve skipped ahead, so welcome to the start of wiser living, as my father would have said.”

"Mmm… Well, Ma'zurah will be this age until something kills her. Divayth Fyr tells Ma'zurah she will never age, now that her symptoms of Corprus are cured.” Ma'zurah's face bore a troubled expression.

Corprus, wasn’t that incurable? Fayrl felt suddenly anxious about having her so close. And yet she had no symptoms. A cure must have been discovered. “Did something happen with the illness?”

“Oh, sure. Plenty happened!” Ma'zurah’s voice turned sarcastic. “It turned out Corprus was actually a way for the Sharmat to convert followers, and then control them through dream sendings! If they survived the testing process of the illness they became immortal and mutated into these horrible ash creatures, and slowly sprouted tentacles from their faces! It was awful. The Blight got so bad they were quarantining all of Vvardenfell.”

She sighed. “But as for this one, Voryn realized that this one was Nerevar reborn and sent one of his ‘priests’ to infect this one. And that was before Ma'zurah recovered the memories of Nerevar, so it was even more terrifying to be called Lord Nerevar. Actually, Ma'zurah was pretty sure her boyfriend was the Nerevarine at the time. Poor Julan…”

She pulled herself out of her memories with a shake of her head. “But anyway, Julan and Jasmine and Constance took this one to Tel Fyr, and Divayth Fyr gave her an experimental treatment to remove all the awful symptoms of Corprus. As far as Ma'zurah knows, she is the only one who ever survived the curing process, before or after. It was a miracle of Azurah, and was necessary for this one to fulfill part of the prophecies--the second trial of the Incarnate. ‘Neither blight nor age can harm him. The Curse-of-Flesh before him flies.’ Ma'zurah was just glad to be alive, and no longer a danger to her friends. She still can hardly believe they did not leave her behind. But, um… yes. Ma'zurah is functionally immortal now.”

Fayrl stared at her in disbelief. “You really are something else. I can’t believe I am with the Nerevarine.” He laughed. “It’s hardly a wonder I am a Champion of my god and fighting Dragons if you think about it. How could I not when I am standing by someone so important?”

Fayrl was starting to feel a little like he had lost his mind. Maybe he had lost it in the Shivering Isles. Or maybe all this time he was lost somewhere in Sheogorath’s Tongue. Had he been poisoned when eliminating his last target? It made more sense to him than happening across a hero of so vast a variety of legends. “Tell me about your companions; about this boyfriend of yours who was thought to be the Nerevarine. I am curious about what mighty warriors have fought by your side.”

“Oh! Julan is a great warrior!” Ma'zurah snickered. “Ma'zurah met him getting eaten to death by three clannfears by himself outside of Ghostgate. Ma'zurah and Constance had to rescue him and heal him. He was a rude little ungrateful guarshit to us too. He said he was just playing with them because he was training to be a great warrior in preparation for a sacred mission, which, of course, he would not tell us anything about.”

“What made you decide to stay on with him after that? Was it to learn his secret?”

“Well, when Ma'zurah pointed out that he was being an ungrateful little guarshit, he was mature enough to be able to actually swallow his pride and apologize and ask for healing before he bled out. Ma'zurah is pretty sure we were the first people he met other than the people who he had known since childhood who were actually nice to him ever. He was impressed with Ma'zurah’s magic and asked if Ma'zurah would train him. He was very rude about that too! Said his tribe would be horrified if they ever found out he was asking an n’wah for help. Ma'zurah could tell he was lonely though, and she thought he was amusing, so she said he could come along for a while. It worked out.”

“Sounds like he was very lucky to have you indeed. Such stubbornness. Was he very young when you met him?” Something about the story reminded Fayrl of his brother Ervis. Now there was a stubborn and ungrateful mer.

“Ma'zurah met him almost two years ago now. He is actually four months older than Ma'zurah, but being a Velothi outcast, he did not have much of a chance to interact with people.”

“An Ashlander! I suppose to be considered Nerevarine he would have been.” Fayrl thought of those who had helped him who had taught him among the tribes back home. He could only hope that they had indeed managed to keep struggling and surviving after the incident with Red Mountain.

Ma'zurah smiled proudly with a soft, faraway expression in her eyes. “Now he is in line to be Ashkhan of the Ahemmusa. He has come such a long way…”

“Oh, he is young indeed. Though why am I not surprised that you ended up with an Ashkhan? I imagine it would take quite the person to be able to steal your heart.”

“Hah!” Ma'zurah laughed. “Fayrl is making Julan sound like some grand figure who is dignified and heroic all the time! He is probably one of the silliest mer Ma'zurah has ever met!” She snorted. “Eh… well… he tried to be a hero for so long, and it nearly killed him. It might have killed Ma'zurah if it had not been for her friends. It was not easy. Angst and betrayal and extortion and conspiracies and nearly dying all the time… but we all survived.”

Fayrl, smiled as he listened to her. It was always exhilarating to hear about the lives other people lived, but even more so when they were new friends. And Ma’zurah’s life was like something out of the ancient epic tales. It made sense being the reincarnation of one of his people’s greatest heroes. She was in the epic tales in this time most likely. And here he was, an ordinary Dunmer standing besides the reincarnation of his hero ancestor. What could be more thrilling than to learn of her life and those who had been with her.

“Sounds very harrowing.” He sighed longingly. Even though he was an adult, there was always that young and idealistic part of him that longed for adventure. Of course, his own experiences with adventure were far less fun than the ones he read in books or heard in song. He would have to make his own songs to make the journey they were on more fantastic for those who would come after them.

“If you have the time, I would be fascinated to hear all about your adventures. I am completely unspoiled by the histories and getting the truth from the source is rare when it comes to even living legends and their deeds.”

“Sure! But… right now we have to do things to get ready to climb a mountain.” Ma'zurah made a face and glanced around. “Ma'zurah will tell you more on the road. We came down here so Ma'zurah could practice this Shouting thing.”

“Of course,” Fayrl said and sat back to allow her space to practice. He took a spot on the ground and pulled out the Ebony Blade, glancing at the length of the edge, checking carefully with his finger for any dullness. There was none. Even after hacking away at a Dragon’s tough hide, there were no nicks or dulling of the blade. He resheathed it and pulled it close against his chest.

A thought dawned on him. “I will be right back,” he said, standing once again, a grin on his face as he tied the sword to his belt and pulled the lute from his back. “I need to repay a favor.” He wondered if the Imperial that helped him might be at the Drunken Huntsman still. He had seen the place, near the front gate of the city.

Mazurah paused in her attempt to create a good visualization of a miniature hurricane, like those off the coast of Senchal and around the Topal Bay. “Hey! Wait! We should stick together! If something happens, like, you know, another Dragon, and we are not together, we might get separated for good!”

“I’m going to a shop. It’s called the Drunken Huntsman, right by where we came into the city. I owe the gentleman who gave me coin for our clothes. I told him I would play him a song to repay him. Besides, if I stay here, I’ll just be in your way. If a Dragon shows up, I am sure I can follow the sound of your shouting to find you. No way I could mistake such a lovely voice.” He winked at her and began to head off.

Ma'zurah huffed in exasperation and grabbed Fayrl’s arm. “You should have told Ma'zurah you needed coin! Ma'zurah has plenty of coin! And who knows? Your coin might be worth a lot more now to collectors! You should probably refrain from spending it until we can get it assessed. We will just share resources. And this will not take long, Ma'zurah just wants to see if this does what she thinks it does. So just sit down for a minute! Okay?”

Fayrl was surprised by the touch. He wasn’t used to people actually stopping him from doing what he wanted.

“I didn’t spend any coin, my dear. I gave the poor fellow a sob story about being a bard with all his possessions stolen by bandits and he handed me a purse of coins in exchange for playing him a song. Why should I spend any of my few precious coins when I can spend someone else’s? Still, I was merely trying to spend our time wisely so we could get you to these Shout masters sooner.”

He sat down to watch her. “It’s not as if it is any great treat to listen to me play. You’ve already heard my music. And if I were to visit him alone, I could garner more coin. I simply was trying to gather us more resources.”

Fayrl took out his dagger and checked it for damage from the Dragon attack. There were a couple of places where the blade had gotten scratched and the edge was completely dulled. He could add a blacksmith to the list of services he needed.

Ma'zurah shot Fayrl a look, turned toward the wall of the city, finished imagining her hurricane, and Shouted at the wall. “VEN NOS GAR!”

There was a thunderclap, though Mazurah did not seem to register the noise. She grinned as the whirlwind she had pictured materialized from her mouth and slammed into the city wall with a shudder. “Ma'zurah got it!” she crowed over her shoulder at Fayrl. “Now Ma'zurah has to figure out what in Oblivion the last one does!”

He met her look over his shoulder. “I’m still here,” he huffed and flung himself dramatically to the ground. “Just as you asked, sera.”

Ma'zurah rolled her eyes. “Oh do not be so melodramatic. Ma'zurah has no idea where to start visualizing a Shout that just means ‘Earth.’ Ma'zurah found out what she wanted to know, and now she is done. Where should we go now?”

“Earth, hm? Perhaps you are meant to visualize Nirn itself?” he shrugged, jumping to his feet. “I’d like to drop off my weapons to be sharpened while I play. Perhaps the blacksmith also does cobbling work, so we can try and get you some sort of shoe there as well?” He tried to be positive. She had not been amused by his dramatics.

“Ma’zurah would appreciate that. Lead on then?” Ma’zurah smiled and looped her arm around Fayrl’s.

“This way, m’lady,” Fayrl said and led them down towards the entrance to town.

They began walking and Ma’zurah spoke up again. “What would visualizing Nirn do actually? Control all earth?”

Fayrl laughed. “I’m not entirely sure, but I hear visualization is important with magic, so it seemed the thing to do.”

“Well the Shout only worked when Ma'zurah visualized the effect she wanted before, so she is not sure how to make it work when she does not know what the Shout is supposed to do. A shout that means armor or whirlwind is obvious, but earth? Ma'zurah will have to ask these Greybeards.” She followed Fayrl’s lead.

“It seems our only option to unlocking your new powers,” Fayrl agreed, arriving to the blacksmith. There was a woman outside and he flagged her down.

“Hello there,” she greeted them. “A new face in town I see. We’ve got some good pieces out here if you're looking to buy. More inside.” She wiped her face, smearing ash across her cheek.

“Thank you,” began Fayrl, pulling out his weapons. “But I was mostly looking to have the edges of my blades maintained.”

Adrianne took them in hand and gave them a look over. “They’ve taken a nasty bit of damage here. Looks like you were practicing against the wall.”

Fayrl nodded. “It was about as bad as a wall.”

“Well, I just got a big order in, but they shouldn’t take too long to get to. How’s about the end of the week sound?”

Fayrl balked. “I’m afraid I’m on a bit of a time constraint, sera. Is there no way to have them done today? I’ve got coin if it helps.”

Adrianne looked them over once more while deciding. “Alright. You’re a first time customer, so I will put these on priority. If you like my work though, I urge you to look at some of the pieces I’ve got inside. Some really beauties.”

“Do you do custom leather work at all?”

“Sure do.” Adrianne nodded to the door. “Speak to my husband, Ulfberth, inside. He can take all the information for your order.”

“Thank you,” said Fayrl and opened the door for Ma’zurah.

Ma'zurah grinned at Fayrl and entered the shop. The interior smelled of new leather and steel, and Ma'zurah glanced around at the displays of weapons, shields, armor, farming tools, and horse tack. The large man behind the counter was sitting on a stool, tooling what looked like one of a pair of leather vambraces. The man had a huge black beard, and wore a set of sleeveless armor that put his well defined biceps on prominent display. Ma'zurah gave him a small wave.

“Good day, sera,” called Fayrl. “Your lovely wife bade us come to see you about having some custom shoes made. It’s something of a rush order.”

“Oh! Welcome to Warmaiden's . I’d be happy to size up a fighting man like yourself for some better boots,” Ulfberth said, gesturing to a stool.

Fayrl smiled and offered the seat to Ma’zurah. “Go on, dear.”

Ulfberth seemed a bit confused for a moment before he seemed to catch up. “Oh, a pair of shoes for the little lady! I am sure we can put a nice pink or blue stain on them. Blue is Adrianne’s favorite color, so I have a nice stock of blue dye if you’re interested.

Ma'zurah snorted. “You know, this one would have thought a shop called ‘Warmaiden’s’ would be a little more respectful to anyone who would appear to be an actual warmaiden.” she muttered to Fayrl.

She stepped up to the counter and took the offered seat. Her tail hung off the edge of the stool and flicked behind her. “Ma'zurah needs a pair of winter boots that are suitable for mountain climbing. Ma'zurah has not had a set of shoes that fit her since she was seventeen and her last set of boots from Elsweyr broke. She does not care what color they are, only that they are warm and sturdy, and preferably waterproof, and will not break even in a fight with a Dragon.”

“I agree. After the pleasant reception we enjoyed outside, I was expecting, well… more,” Fayrl said mildly disappointed.

Ulfberth grumbled. “My apologies.” His voice seemed a little strained to be genuine, but he set about taking measurements and pulling out samples of fabric for them to choose from. “Would you like to choose what leather and fur you would like?”

“Guarhide, if you have it, and shaved beaver or otter would be lovely. If not, Ma'zurah does not care particularly much so long as they are sturdy.” Ma'zurah unwrapped the canvass from around her feet.

She paused. “Ma'zurah could also use a few waterskins and a waterproof scroll case. She does not need to ruin any paper in snowmelt.”

Ulfberth blinked as he took in the full shape of Ma’zurah’s feet. “I have a good horker leather if sturdy and waterproof is what you need,” he said. He reached out toward Ma’zurah’s paw and hesitated. “May I?”

Fayrl watched the Nord carefully. One wrong move and he would take action.

Ma’zurah shrugged and lifted one foot across her knee, exposing the road roughened pad of her paw and the four unretractable claws. “It is almost the same as a human who walks only on their toes,” she offered, “Except Ma'zurah’s heel would be up here.” She gestured. “And horker works fine.”

Ulfberth scratched his head. “Yes, I see. Hmmm.” He made a measurement and marked down a few numbers. “As far as fur goes, I have some nice rabbit. Not as warm, but twice as soft. Or there is some sabre cat or snow bear.”

“Snow bear would probably be the warmest and most waterproof. Go with that. If you have it in winter coat, Ma'zurah would prefer that.”

“Snow bear it is, little lady. I should have something ready for you to try on the fit before we close tonight.”

Ma'zurah watched the man finish taking her measurements, and rewrapped her paw, then hopped off the stool and went to investigate a sturdy rectangular leather box. It had a separate lid with a tight fit, and appeared waterproof. She opened it and discovered it fit her new journal passably well, and Ma'zurah decided she could seal it with beeswax to make a functional scroll case. She took it and three waterskins to the counter. “Ma'zurah will purchase these as well.” she declared.

Fayrl reached into the coin purse he had gotten earlier and leaned onto the counter. “How much for all of this?”

Ulfberth made a calculation. “173 gold. That’s with a discount for visiting the first time. Fierce prices for fierce warriors.”

Ma'zurah retrieved her coinpurse, and began counting out the required sum, ignoring Fayrl’s protestations. “Ma'zurah can buy her own damn boots!” she laughed, “And Fayrl should save his money for his own needs. Besides, he got breakfast and the things from this morning. This is nothing.”

Ulfberth finished taking down the details of their order and accepted the coin. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Now,” Ma’zurah turned to Fayrl, “where next?” She tucked her journal into her new scroll case, and hung the three waterskins across her shoulder.

“I owe a friend a performance just across the road. It is up to you if you want to join me or not.”

“Ma'zurah will come with you. She wonders if it would be a good idea to see the Khajiit caravan outside the city though.”

Fayrl wavered at the door of The Drunken Huntsman. “If you want to see the caravans, I will only need a few minutes to play a couple of songs. I can come meet you outside when I am done. I don't want to impose.”

Ma'zurah smacked Fayrl’s shoulder. “No splitting up, remember? Does Ma'zurah need to recall all the reasons splitting up is a bad idea?” She began ticking off points on her fingers. “If something happens, like a sudden Dragon attack, this one does not wish to become permanently separated; also, if, by some miracle of Azurah one of us were to find a way home, this one does not wish the other to become stranded; and finally, Nords are racist shits who do not like Khajiit inside of their cities, and Ma'zurah is less likely to have to deal with that guarshit if obviously escorted by someone of a different race! That is not to mention that when the gods provide a companion, it is probably best not to appear to scorn their generosity by taking their continued presence for granted! Besides, Ma'zurah enjoys Fayrl's company and would like to get to know her new companion better.” Ma'zurah smirked at Fayrl’s expression and crossed her arms. “So no splitting up. Stop asking.”

Fayrl put his hands up. “My apologies. I was merely trying to use our time wisely. Though I see your point.”

He was torn between feeling flattered and feeling as though he were on a leash. It was rare when he had to follow someone else unless he was being paid for it. “I shall stay by your side. I shall be the blade up your sleeve. Merely point me in a direction and I shall be there in a flash to eliminate whatever blocks your path.”

He pressed open the door to the shop, relieved to find the interior dimly lit, but well spaced for a musical performance. He immediately began searching for the Imperial who he had met earlier.

Ma'zurah lowered her voice as they entered the dimly lit tavern. “Fayrl makes it sound as though this one is going to control Fayrl’s life as his master or something…” She frowned, uneasy about his obeisant attitude. “Fayrl is the Lady’s Champion, and Ma'zurah is her Mother’s. If this arrangement were within my army, we would be of equal rank. We should collaborate as partners.”

Ma'zurah's eyes adjusted quickly to the dim interior, and she assessed their surroundings. There was a Bosmer cleaning mugs behind the bar, and several customers seated at tables around the room. In an alcove to their right, Ma'zurah spotted a leather clad Dunmer sharpening a slim knife of the sort used for quick assassinations. She was on her guard immediately, though she tried not to let it affect her body language. Further observation revealed that the Dunmer carried herself with the kind of lythe and subtle grace that Ma'zurah had, with her two lifetimes of experience, come to expect from skilled professional assassins. She nudged Fayrl and gestured subtly.

He made a quick glance in the Dunmer’s direction. He could tell immediately what sort she was. Though if she were hanging out in a place like this so casually, she was not on assignment. She was looking for work.

“Are you worried I am not enough to protect you?” Fayrl asked, a look of mock hurt across his face. “I doubt there is anything she can do that I cannot. Unless you need a female body for it.”

“Ma’zurah can protect herself, usually. This one just finished eliminating the Dark Brotherhood from Mournhold because they just would not give up, even after months. Ma’zurah did not expect to see any assassins again so soon.” She glanced at Fayrl. “Excepting present company.”

Fayrl adjusted his hair tie so that if, by some slim chance, this assassin was Morag Tong, she would recognize his connection with Mephala. It was too soon after their arrival for a writ to have been taken out on them, which meant she would not be permitted to assassinate them. It was for the best, just in case the Morag Tong in this time were as prominent as they once had been.

Ma’zurah walked forward and chose a table in the corner of the room, relatively close to the mysterious assassin so she could keep an eye on her, and sat with her back to the wall. She was wary of being in the presence of an unknown assassin after all the attempts that had been made on her life.

Fayrl turned to the barkeeper when he saw Pavos walking down the stairs from the tavern’s lodging rooms.

Chapter Text

“Ah! My Dunmer friend, so good to see you again,” the Imperial greeted Fayrl. “I see you have fine tastes in clothing. I am surprised you managed with that small sum I offered you.”

Fayrl bowed deeply. “My thanks, sera Pavos, for your generosity. Your coin has gone far when I offered my voice in the bargain.”

“Of that I've no doubt,” said Pavos.

“Speaking of voice,” Fayrl began, his tone playful, “I owe you music for your generosity.” He pulled out the lute. “Are you free now?”

Pavos laughed. “I would be happy to hear your music. Come, I've a room over here where we might find ourselves more privacy.”

Fayrl nodded, then looked to Ma’zurah. She had just finished lecturing him about not splitting up. Yet if Pavos were interested in more than merely listening to music, he would not shy away from offering a prayer to Mephala. Who knows, perhaps he could even give the man up to the blade’s appetite. There was something familiar about Pavos and he could only assume it was that he reminded Fayrl of the Imperial agents he used to seduce for information. The man likely had enough sin that he did not need to feel guilty for sacrificing him.

Ma’zurah’s ears twitched in Fayrl’s direction and she shot him a look. She stood and walked toward Fayrl, offering the Imperial a smile. “This one greets you. This one is Ma’zurah, Fayrl’s spouse. May Ma’zurah offer you a seat at this one’s table?”

Fayrl was afraid this might be the sort of outcome he could expect. He should have insisted harder on them going their separate ways. How else was he to make coin and fulfill his mission? He doubted very much Ma’zurah was the type to want to be around for such things.

“Fayrl, you did not tell me you had such a beautiful wife,” said the Imperial. Turning from Fayrl and giving her a smile and nod in return he took the offered seat. “My name is Pavos Signas. I met your husband this morning at the baths. I am very sorry to hear about your fortunes. I offered him some coin in exchange for his music. Tell me, did I make a poor investment, or is there more to him than a pretty face?”

Ma’zurah blinked at the man, trying to figure out what Fayrl could have told him. “Oh, Ma’zurah thinks he is quite talented with music.”

Just then the Bosmer bartender came over. “Welcome! Can I get you anything? We have a fresh batch of Honningbrew mead, just arrived this morning. It’s a house specialty.”

Pavos gave the Bosmer a warm smile. “Elrindir, my good friend! Please, do bring us a bottle. And a plate of that cheese you served at breakfast. And perhaps my friend here will play us some music. How about it, Fayrl? Care to share with everyone here?”

Fayrl grinned. “It would be my honor to play for you and the fine people of this establishment.” He pulled the lute across his chest and checked it’s tuning. “Any requests?”

The Bosmer grinned at the prospect of music, and traipsed down to the cellar to retrieve their mead and cheese.

Ma’zurah tried to think of any songs that could possibly be well known after almost a millennia, but discovered she didn't even know how old most of the songs she knew were. “Play something Ma'zurah has not heard before? Something new?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Ma'zurah noticed the Dunmer assassin in the alcove staring at Fayrl intently, her dagger and whetstone still in her hands. Ma'zurah shifted uneasily.

Fayrl thought for a moment. “Yes, I think I can come up with something like that.”

Pavos reclined in his seat, getting quite comfortable.

Fayrl fingered the strings a few notes until he recalled the melody. “Ah! There we are.” He began to play his song.

"Alma ohn jikhi'ad lo ot muhr.
ohn shogahe'ag ju'okor aradir os,
captu'ath hadik sudas lo.
Alma ohn jihi'ad lo ot muhr.
Dash ohn falme'ag lo bivi en
home'ag ohn muhrid lacor ohn.”

Mother you gave me a life.
You knew how quickly I,
consumed all around me.
Mother you gave me a life.
Then you held me back and
told me not to be just like you.

"Os e ot molag'm muhrjul,
en os mola hadik as albur.
Ohn abahrr molaf en dual en os
ure'ag as albur malidi.
Os e ot molag'm muhrjul,
en os mola hadik as albur.
Os e molaf en dual en os,
ura muhrad yi malidi."

I'm a child of the flame,
and I burn just the same.
You were heat and passion
and I yearned the same way.
I'm a child of the flame,
and I burn just the same.
I am heat and passion
and I yearn to live my own way.

"Ata ohn muhrse'ag lo juli.
Ohn talje'ag yi shviyaa en,
ohn oro'ag de balmara asuhl.
Ata ohn muhrse'ag lo juli.
Ohn balmari'ag ohn panthiihn ghar lo,
shogahakam asuhm shoksuna ebahr kiohr."

Father you raised me well.
You saw I had gifts and
you tried to concentrate them.
Father you raised me well.
Then you forced your gods on me,
knowing their redemption was false.

"Os e ot molag'm muhrjul,
en os mola hadik as albur.
Ohn abahrr molaf en dual en os
ure'ag as albur malidi.
Os e ot molag'm muhrjul,
en os mola hadik as albur.
Os e molaf en dual en os,
ura muhrad yi malidi."

I'm a child of the flame,
and I burn just the same.
You were heat and passion
and I yearned the same way.
I'm a child of the flame,
and I burn just the same.
I am heat and passion
and I yearn to live my own way.

Ma'zurah smiled softly as she realized that Fayrl’s song was about himself. The Bosmer bartender returned with mead and a plate of diced cheese and quietly left it at their table to return to his place behind the bar. Ma'zurah reached for a piece of cheese, realizing suddenly that she hadn't had any actual cheese since leaving Cyrodiil. Kwama cuttle, however much it had been processed to resemble cheese, still made poor Elsweyr fondue. She wondered where she might obtain some moon sugar.

Fayrl’s song transitioned to a verse about his wife.

"Daelikal ohn shogahaka lo bahr.
Ohn menfi yi bulor en,
ju'okor yi havganich ohn.
Daelikal ohn shogahaka lo bahr.
Ohn taje bahr as need lo bahrsint,
ura de vivad eshtik ilu hlaghin ohn."

My wife you know me not.
You observe my place and
how I can elevate you.
My wife you know me not.
You don't see the real me nor,
care to learn more than yourself.

"Os e ot molag'm muhrjul,
en os mola hadik as albur.
Ohn abahrr molaf en dual en os
ure'ag as albur malidi.
Os e ot molag'm muhrjul,
en os mola hadik as albur.
Os e molaf en dual en os,
ura muhrad yi malidi."

I'm a child of the flame,
and I burn just the same.
You were heat and passion
and I yearned the same way.
I'm a child of the flame,
and I burn just the same.
I am heat and passion
and I yearn to live my own way.

Ma'zurah remembered their conversation about his husband, but she realized she had neglected to ask him further about his wife when he mentioned her in passing.

"Os e ot molag'm muhrjul,
en os harim yi sin.
Os abahr molaf en dual en os,
molan hadik gher yi malidi.
Os e ot molag'm muhrjul,
en os ean halbere'ag kiohr bahr.
Os e abahr molaf en dual en os,
bahmarin yi malidi."

I'm a child of the flame,
and I will get my day.
I am heat and passion,
and I'll burn all in my way.
I'm a child of the flame,
and I won't be led astray.
I am heat and passion,
and I will make my own way.

The song ended, and Fayrl gave a small seated bow. Ma'zurah joined the scattered applause from around the room. The Dunmer assassin in the alcove was giving Fayrl a strange look.

Pavos applauded even after the rest of the patrons had stopped. “You offered me no jest in your claim to be a bard. What a lovely voice. Do you mind telling me what the song was about? I must confess, I’ve no skill with the languages of elves.”

“Oh, it is a song about the desire to overcome those who attempt to restrain you in life,” Fayrl said nonchalantly. “A silly song I wrote when I was rather young and rebellious. It seems like another lifetime since I last played it.” He noticed the expression on the mercenary’s face. Perhaps he should have played a different sort of tune. A drinking song might have been a better choice.

“Would you mind playing another tune?” asked Pavos, nursing his glass of wine.

Fayrl took a sip from his own glass. “I would be happy to play more for you, my friend.”

“Do a love song next,” the Imperial requested, “I could use the sound of a good romantic tune.”

Fayrl thought for a moment, absently playing a couple of cords. “Oh, I have just the tune.” He played a song, this time in Cyrodiilic. It spoke of a forest dwelling maiden with striking golden eyes and a tongue as sharp as her arrowheads. There were a couple of innuendos about stroking a vine or of tasting the juice from a ripe fruit, but otherwise it was a song of new love. It had all the excitement and danger that obviously came from pursuing a sadistic Bosmeri maiden. Yet the song ended with a happy ending, the singer and the maiden finding their love blossoming among the green.

When Fayrl’s second song had ended, and the applause faded, the Dunmer assassin approached their table. Ma'zurah gave her a wary look.

“Blade and shadow, sera,” the assassin began in dusky Dunmeris to Fayrl. “I find myself too intrigued not to interrupt. You wear an ancient token of the Webspinner, a practice that has not seen use since before the downfall of the False Tribunal and our people’s return to the Reclamations, so I find myself most curious as to why you have adopted the practice. You also speak our language as a native, yet your accent is so archaic that I cannot place where you might be from, and I simply must know.” Seeing Fayrl’s expression, she turned to the Imperial. “Forgive me, but I need a moment to speak with my countrymer.”

Pavos gestured for Jenassa to proceed and busied himself with drinking his wine. “Do not let me interrupt.”

Fayrl could not deny the mer was a worshiper of Mephala, or possibly Morag Tong. She had proven it now. “You are very observant, sera,” he began, pulling out a chair for her. “I am a lover of the ancient ways and spent much time studying the meticulous use of language, as well as the customs and traditions that have been lost to this modern age. I was born in Vivec, though I did much of my studies in Mournhold. How about you, sera, what is your story? Or at the least, your name?”

“My name is Jenassa. Death is my art, and like all artists, I seek a patron, though that is hardly relevant to the matter at hand. And your name as well, sera? You must be well learned and traveled to have developed such an unusual accent. It has been a long time since you had the privilege of visiting your birthplace then, has it not?”

Ma’zurah looked alarmed, but hesitated and missed her chance to speak.

Fayrl smiled. “An important art indeed, my friend. My name is Fayrl. My art is music and the knowledge of early and mid second era history. Perhaps of little use to others. I would not say I am so well travelled and learned, I have not yet seen even half of Tamriel, nor learned much of the people and customs of those living further west. Though I suppose the experience of a life with some degree of movement would naturally alter a mer’s way of speaking.”

He noticed Ma’zurah’s alarm and suddenly recalled the catastrophe that had occurred. “I was but a child when last I was at Vivec. My parents were scholars and had been searching for ancient knowledge that may have been lost. My mother was very strong-willed, not even pregnancy would prevent her doing her work.”

Jenassa glanced between Ma’zurah and Fayrl, but her face did not betray her thoughts. “She sounds like a formidable mer. What work was it that she was so intent upon doing?”

“She and father had a buyer in Mournhold, a collector of rare and ancient artifacts. My parents wished to learn what may have been lost to the ages and were funded in their pursuit by the promise of artifacts of worth recovered. But tell me, what interests you so in such matters? You come to speak to us for business do you not? Or perhaps there is something else?”

“Come now, it is rare enough to find a native countrymer in these cold lands, but to find such an interesting one? And one with such artistic talent? How could I be anything but intrigued?” She offered Fayrl a tiny smile, her first deviation from her serious mein, and her eyes flicked down, then up again across Fayrl’s form. Ma’zurah rolled her eyes. The mer’s flirting was painfully obvious.

“But if you do not mind my asking, sera,” Jenassa continued, “what lands have you traveled? It is always fascinating to hear of faraway quarters as well as news from the homeland.”

“You flatter me, sera, and offer me far too much credit,” Fayrl responded. “I am sure you are tantalizing to observe at your own art, though I must ask you to refrain from demonstrating on any present company, unless you have a contract. I wonder at your knowledge of the obscure, for you are the only one I’ve seen who has recognized the ancient symbol of one of the True Tribunal.”

“Indeed, it is not common knowledge, the ancient customs of the dissident priests to identify each other,” Jenassa murmured.

Fayrl took his glass from the table, leaning in close to her as he did, allowing his side to graze hers, giving him a chance to gauge her reaction to physical contact. He took a sip. “I am sure a person in your trade is far better traveled than I. I am only just now returning to Skyrim after having been back in Stonefalls. I have otherwise been to Cyrodiil and a few times to Black Marsh. Save those places and Skyrim, I have not traveled outside of the homeland.”

“How did you meet your husband?” Pavos suddenly asked Ma’zurah.

Jenassa made no reaction to Fayrl’s sudden touch, but did glance sharply at the Imperial at the mention of the word “husband”.

Ma’zurah blinked, and took a moment to reset her mind from Dunmeris to Cyrodiilic. She realized with chagrin that she would likely be expected to entertain Pavos while Fayrl was engaged in verbal sparring with Jenassa. “Uh… We met in a tavern. He was lost, and needed a guide, and this one offered,” she replied tersely, trying with some difficulty to listen to the ongoing conversation in Dunmeris at the same time.

“Black Marsh! I’m amazed! And multiple times? Not many Dunmer visit, what is it like? What did you do there?” Jenassa leaned toward Fayrl in apparent interest.

Fayrl recognized the signs of Jenassa’s body language. He saw such behavior only in spies and assassins, maybe a master thief. She was after something by speaking to him. What it was, he did not know, though he hoped it was not his life she was after.

“Black Marsh is far less unpleasant than rumors give it to be. The cities are beautiful and cultured, the architecture magnificent, the food divine. I would avoid traveling between cities without a guide, the climate gives way to a vast variety of organisms, which makes the cuisine bountiful, but the pests and territorial beasts of the swamp are also numerous. Still, it is very much worth a visit.”

Fayrl reached into his pouch and retrieved a prayer slip, one out of a book of them he had for when he visited the holy places of the Tribunal. He took her hand and slipped it inside, still holding onto it as he spoke. “Since you have such a keen interest in history, here is an ancient prayer marker, like the ancients used to use on their pilgrimages to the Daedric ruins and temples of the True Tribunal during the reign of the false one. Mother tells me this one is dated sometime in the mid second era, though it is hard to tell. It was sealed magically within a chest and thus had no signs of age.”

He wanted to see if it was artifacts she might be after. If such was the case, then it would be easy enough to get rid of her.

Jenassa reacted instantly when Fayrl took her gloved hand, wrenching it away. Quicker than anyone at the table could react, she had a knife in her hand, with its point hovering just above Fayrl’s neck. She retreated after a tense second, but did not re-sheathe the blade. “Apologies, sera. I am unused to sudden contact with liars.” She smirked at Fayrl and Ma’zurah’s sudden expressions.

“Yes, liars. You are not from Vivec,” she continued in low, calm Dunmeris. “You hardly look a hundred and fifty, much less the two hundred or so years you would need to be to be able to make that claim. You obviously have something to hide. Don’t think I missed that little exchange between you and the Khajiit. You use odd wording, and you don’t know the generally accepted names for things, like the Reclamations. And of course we still use prayer slips. What Morrowind native doesn’t know that? Additionally, what kind of a historian gives away an artifact, if it is even an artifact, that that is a millennia old?” Jenassa shook her head.

“Furthermore, your accent is not from Vivec, or from travel. I could not place it at first until you mentioned the second era, and then I realized it was just like one of the plays I saw in Mournhold depicting the Three Banners War. Nobody talks like that anymore. And finally, nobody just travels to Black Marsh--not since the invasion and the sack of Mournhold. So this time don’t lie. Who are you really, and where did you come from?”

Fayrl laughed, not making any apparent move to protect himself or react in any way to her threats. “My, my, my. Such a quick temper. I see no need to threaten anyone here,” he said, voice as calm and straightforward as someone discussing the weather. “After all, I just got this tunic and I would be very sad to see it stained in your blood. And I assure you, it will be difficult for you to find the antidote if you dispatch me.” He let the tip of the hairpin in his hand tap the space between the plates of her armor, just at the right angle to puncture a kidney.

Ma’zurah glanced rapidly between the two assassins, and rubbed her forehead, muttering a soft curse in Ta’agra. She stole a look at the wide eyed Imperial across the table out of the corner of her eye.

Jenassa only laughed at the revelation of Fayrl’s subtle defense and sheathed her blade. “I salute you as a worthy opponent, sera. I knew there was more to you than a historian bard. I assure you though, my service in the Morag Tong has built my immunity to poison quite high, and I doubt you could find a poison beyond my abilities to cure, unless you really are from the second era like that accent you’ve put on. Now, the truth, if you please.”

Fayrl leaned away from Jenassa and put the pin back into his hair and took a seat in Pavos’ lap to distract him from the scene unfolding. He needed to keep the man interested in him for later purposes anyhow.

“Morag Tong. That explains a few things. I am glad to hear they are still thriving. Still, I don’t know that I owe you any truths any more than you owe them to us.” He settled back against Pavos’ chest as the man struggled to adjust to the weight of a mer in his lap.

He patted Pavos’ cheek. “You’re such a dear.” Pavos stuttered, and Fayrl belatedly realized the error of touching the Imperial. He had managed to avoid doing so at the bathhouse. But now, he felt the flood of the man’s deeds come to his mind. He stifled them as best as he could, fighting back the pain and emotions that came with the memories. His senses were filled with the overwhelming odor of blood, the sound of screams in his ears, the taste of iron and bitter poison. He felt nauseous. There was so much blood.

Jenassa blinked at Fayrl, suddenly reading incongruous emotional states, where previously there had been control. She pretended not to notice. “All in Morrowind know that the Morag Tong are but a shadow of their former self. It is why I left. One can hardly practice art where there is no demand. But your wording betrays you again, sera. From where do you hail? How came you to be here? Did your companion accompany you from thence?” Jenassa nodded in Ma’zurah’s direction. “Certainly you owe me no truths, but as I am at loose ends for anything of more interest to occupy myself, and find myself quite bored, I propose a trade. Truths for truths, if you will.”

Ma’zurah noticed Fayrl’s apparent distress and quickly addressed Jenassa in accented Dunmeris to divert her attention. “What kind of truths do you offer?”

Jenassa turned to Ma’zurah, blinking at the sudden conversational interruption. “Any kind of truth you wish, sera, so long as I know the answer, and it does not violate any confidences placed in me.”

Ma’zurah glanced at Fayrl. “That seems adequate, so long as Ma’zurah and Fayrl may have the same terms, and Jenassa agrees to hold information received in the strictest of confidences unless otherwise specified. Each question traded for one question, both answered to the asker’s satisfaction so much as can be given in good faith. Is that acceptable?”

Jenassa nodded slowly.

Fayrl placed a hand on Pavos’ thigh and wrapped an arm around his neck to steady himself. He could see what this man had done for the sake of the Empire. An excuse to do unspeakable deeds and then claim it was in the Empire’s name. He felt the girl’s pain as Pavos interrogated--more like tortured for the pleasure of his sadism--a girl of no more than 14 years of age. How he butchered her slowly cut by cut while she lived, demanding she give information on a woman he suspected of working against the Empire. Treason, he claimed was the girl’s crime as well, the justification for her suffering, because she lived next door. He refused to take her cries that she did not even know the woman’s name, they were only neighbors a few months and the woman never spoke to her. But Pavos ignored her words, convinced that she must know something, anything, to help him. That if she did not, it was only because she was a traitor herself, although he was enjoying every moment of harming her.

And she was not the only one Pavos had tortured like this, nor the only one he had killed. Pavos also enjoyed the simple, quick kill. How many innocent lives had Pavos cut down because it was just easier than having to plan ahead? The number was too overwhelming for Fayrl to keep track. Pavos had often foregone any real cover as a spy and instead gone into every situation planning to kill anyone who saw him. Bar maids, blacksmiths, beggars, merchants, innkeepers, children playing by the road. If they looked at him or spoke to him, he killed them. Because it was easier! It made Fayrl’s blood boil.

Pavos looked worriedly at Fayrl. “What are you--”

“I just feel a bit lightheaded, must be the wine. Do you mind just letting me rest a moment, my friend?” asked Fayrl.

Pavos looked towards Ma’zurah to make sure that he would not offend her. “Well, I certainly do not mind.”

Ma’zurah looked concerned. “Oh! Ma’zurah knows some spells that can help!” She half stood and reached a hand out to Fayrl.

Fayrl could see what was happening. He did not like it. “I think it will pass naturally. Just give me a moment, dear.” He leaned back against Pavos’ broad chest. If he was going to leave his new comfortable position, he was going to enjoy it for a moment.

“It would not hurt to try… Ma’zurah is worried…” Ma’zurah stood and walked over to Fayrl and felt his forehead. He did not feel any hotter than was usual for Dunmer. “You had better not be getting sick!”

Fayrl did not understand why she was being so insistent. Was she jealous? “I am sure it is fine. Why don’t you ask your questions of the lovely mer here while I let myself rest a moment.”

“Well… Alright. Ma’zurah is not going to heal Fayrl if he does not want her to…” She sat back down.

Fayrl smiled sweetly at Pavos. “I wonder, my dear friend, is there a way you might help get me to a place I might lie down for a while? I would be ever so grateful.” He ran a hand over Pavos’ chest.

Pavos stood, lifting Fayrl in his arms. “You can lay down in my room for a while.”

“Would you keep me company for a bit?”

“I’d be glad to,” said Pavos and carried Fayrl out of sight of Ma’zurah and Jenassa.

Ma’zurah turned to Jenassa. “Alright, it looks like you will have to talk to Ma’zurah, if that is alright,” she continued in Dunmeris.

“Fine, would you care to move to my table? We can have more privacy.” The pair headed to Jenassa’s alcove and seated themselves.

Chapter Text

When Fayrl returned from upstairs and sat down in the little alcove, Ma’zurah immediately noticed his change in scent. She blinked at him. “Why did you not tell Ma’zurah what you were trying to do?” she hissed at him under her breath. She glanced around for the Imperial, but he was nowhere in sight.

Ma’zurah had her journal open in front of her, covered in notes; a pot of ink lay on the table to her right, and Ma’zurah held her index finger over it, inkstained claw extended.

“I thought it would have been obvious, my dearest,” he said, eyeing the page of notes before finishing his glass of wine and turning to Jenassa. He understood why the assassin had chosen this alcove. It was more comfortable, dimly lit, protected, and partially out of view of those entering the tavern.

Jenassa raised her eyebrows at Fayrl. “Feeling better?” she asked in Dunmeris.

“Oh yes, I feel quite refreshed after having the chance to lie down. I think perhaps I also just needed to sate my appetite.”

Ma’zurah rolled her eyes. “Fayrl needs to learn to communicate,” she muttered. She slid her open journal toward Fayrl. It contained a basic timeline of events for the past thousand years, as well as more specific notes for events in the past two hundred.

Fayrl skimmed the pages to make sure he was not asking any of the same questions Ma’zurah had already covered. “I thought I had made my intentions quite clear,” he said easily.

“Well, outworlder, do you have any questions you wish to trade as well?” Jenassa asked.

Fayrl set down his empty glass of wine. He did not appreciate the moniker. “I do have a name,” he said, letting a hint of his annoyance color his voice. “I am sure you have one too, mercenary.”

He eyed her coldly. “Tell me, what is the state of the Great Houses in Mournhold? Do they yet stand?”

Jenassa’s mouth quirked in amusement. “Well, in theory. Redoran has the greatest presence in Mournhold, as in the rest of Morrowind. Sadras is the next most powerful. Dres and Telvanni have embassies, but their presence is merely token. Of course Indoril was merged with the Temple, so they have presence everywhere the Temple stands. If that answer is adequate, I would like to know how a mer from the height of the False Tribunal’s rule came to be a devotee of the Webspinner.”

Fayrl thought for a moment. How did Redoran get to have the monopoly in power? What happened to cause a merging of his own House and the Temple? Had the Hlaalu finally fallen? Was it the Sadras who rose up to fell them? He had so many more questions now.

“I came to be enlightened through my mother. She had dealings with the Velothi tribes and through it learned of the true treachery of the False Tribunal. Once I was old enough, she took me with her to visit the Velothi tribes myself. The farseers and mother taught me of the true gods--of their practices. Something about the Spinner spoke more loudly to me than the others. Perhaps it is just my personality. Either way, I became her loyal servant. Does this answer your question?”

“Indeed.” Jenassa nodded.

Ma’zurah finished taking notes and looked up. “Ma’zurah would like to know what happened to Hlaalu!”

“Very well. Hlaalu was disgraced after the Empire abandoned us during the Oblivion crisis, the Red Year, and during the Argonian invasion. We are members of the Empire in name only now. The Imperial Embassy in Blacklight is just as much a farce as Hlaalu’s presence as a true Great House these days. Most Hlaalu fled to Skyrim after the Red Year along with most of the refugees. Most in Morrowind don’t even acknowledge them anymore.” Jenassa took a sip of her drink. “Now, is it acceptable that I ask my question of you, sera?” she asked, turning to Fayrl.

Blacklight? They moved the capital? Fayrl could scarcely believe it. Had something terrible happened in Mournhold? Or was it merely a show of power and influence? He had to wait for his chance to ask a question. “Yes, that is fine,” he replied.

Jenassa thought silently for a second. “Did you have any influence in any of the Great Houses of your time?”

Fayrl was uncomfortable with where this line of questioning might be headed. What was her true objective here? Surely this was more than a mere inquiry to stave off the slow passing hours. She was heading towards a bigger question, picking out the clues one at a time before she struck. He could feel it.

“It is difficult to say. I certainly believe that the House council would say I was a pest at best. Though I suppose that is a sort of influence in its own right. If you are asking if I am--was--ever a hero for a Great House or the inventor of some novel new technology, I must disappoint you. In truth, my work was far more subtle, not in the light, but performed in shadow. I was a tool for change, but hardly the only one. There is little I could claim credit to that might still influence this day and age.”

“I see, and what House council was it that you were pestering, sera?” Jenassa asked with amusement.

“I believe the deal was a question for a question, sera.”

“Ah, ah! No, the deal was a truth for a truth to the satisfaction of the asker.”

“Oh, and you were not satisfied with my answer?” Fayrl asked, leaning over the table towards her.

Ma’zurah stopped writing and held her hand out between the two Dunmer. “Fayrl, do you have a problem telling Jenassa what House you were member of? It seems a reasonable part of the answer to her question.”

Fayrl rolled his eyes. “I have none. Still, it seems as though it is giving up a potential question freely.”

“Well, if you have no problem, Ma’zurah thinks it would be best to answer in good faith and preserve the goodwill of our only ally here rather than to fight over trivial matters.”

“Indoril,” Fayrl said tersely. “Tell me, how did Blacklight come to be the capital instead of Mournhold?”

Jenassa sat impassively during Ma’zurah and Fayrl’s exchange. “Indoril. Interesting. That explains the concern about Mournhold. During the Argonian invasion, Mournhold was captured and sacked. The seat of government had to be evacuated to the next best available city, and because Redoran was fronting the defense instead of those fetchers in Dres, Blacklight was deemed most appropriate. Mournhold was rebuilt in the years after, but resources were already stretched thin between providing aid for the victims of the Red Year and the Oblivion Crisis, and then the Argonian invasion itself. If you visit Mournhold now, you will likely find it very different from your own times. Don’t expect the grandeur it had before. Is that satisfactory, sera?”

“Yes.” Fayrl’s voice was very quiet. He hoped that none of his family had been directly affected. Yet there was no way to know without going and trying to look up the records in the temple itself, if any still existed.

“Very well. Your Khajiit companion tells me that you are from the sixth century of the second era, which means you would probably have witnessed or even defended against the invasion from Akavir. The records about the invaders themselves are sparse however, and I am most curious to hear about them. You are a bard, tell me a story about your experience with the invasion and the invaders themselves.” Jenassa sat back and crossed her arms in challenge.

“You are quite intuitive,” Fayrl replied. “I was at the final battle, though not in the capacity of a regular soldier, a small blessing to be sure. I was a scout. We had heard about the invasion forces that had left the Rift and it had seemed obvious that Morrowind was their next target. Small bands of us were sent out to areas along the coast and the roads from Skyrim. I think I had reached my post only three days before, mid-Sun’s Height, when the ships were spotted off the coast.

“I had never been in a proper battle before then. I had always been trained in dueling or small group fighting. And the sight of those towering frost beasts rising over the hills towards us was enough to make even the veteran warriors quake. My unit was sent out to track their movements, to learn what we could of their strategy.

“Our first time out from the fort, three of the seven in our unit didn’t make it back. Replacements were made. I suffered a shattered shoulder our third attempt at it when a halberd came at me. I managed to dodge the first Kamali, but his companion was there too quickly. I made it out of the way of the blade, but their terrifying strength was too much.

“We had to fall back. We headed into the ashlands to give ourselves the advantage in rough terrain, to use the heat to maybe slow the demons down. Even as King Jorunn’s disorganized band of brute soldiers came afield, we could not push them back far enough. Almalexia gave her great speeches to every mer who would listen, yet it is hard to keep faith and pride when you have the looming figures of frozen death coming towards you. They are tall, like a frost atronach, yet from their backs protrude great spikes of ice and frost. Such sharp and jagged images call to mind the many ways one might be torn apart by such sharp edges, or how a body might be shattered against them.

“My unit managed to find that the real objective in the battle was to sack Mournhold. We would have all been slain, unable to send the information back to General Tanval, but the Kamali were distracted at the arrival of troops from Argonia. We were able to slip past the line.

“In the end, although the losses were great on all sides, we were able to drown the lot of Kamali soldiers in the sea. And from the ashes and blood of that war, we were able to form an alliance never before thought possible. We brought together the Ebonheart Pact. And as a result we began to eradicate the longstanding hatred between our peoples. Slavery was steadily being abolished.”

Fayrl paused, looking down. “Though I hear in a few centuries such efforts would be for naught.” He looked back up at Jenassa. “Is that sufficient?”

Jenassa looked impressed. “Well. If I wasn't convinced of your authenticity before, I am now. Do you realize the kind of opportunity you could provide by telling your stories to historians? Whole histories of lost information could be reconstructed! You could counter the propaganda and historical revisionism of the centuries that succeeded you!”

“I thank you for your praise,” Fayrl replied, “but I do not plan on remaining in the future long enough for that. I plan on returning to my time and correcting what I can so that truths may come to light sooner rather than later.”

Jenassa sighed. “Apologies. Truth is something that I personally have a passion for. When Vivec disappeared, it threw the whole of Morrowind into a frenzy. There were accusations and claims tossed about that threw into question the veracity of the Tribunal’s version of history. Then Vivec’s secret library was made public, and nobody knew what to think anymore. I lived through that era of uncertainty, and the hardships that came after, and it only made me more determined to discover truth in its most objective forms, and influence political movements towards embracing objectivity.” She smirked. “A passion some would say is at odds with the career of an assassin, but I disagree. Death is the great equalizer after all.”

Fayrl relaxed in his seat. “I do not see it as being at odds. The Morag Tong has always been about maintaining a balance between the Houses. It is about eliminating the few so that the many may survive. A noble profession and one that is hardly easy to succeed in. What could be more appealing than serving the gods, the country, and all while minimizing the bloodshed it takes to achieve it?” Fayrl gestured to the barkeeper for another glass of wine. “So, why are you no longer with the Morag Tong?”

The Bosmer bartender hurried forward to attend to Fayrl. Jenassa ran a hand through her hair. “That is a rather long and complicated question, I’m afraid. It has to do with the Morag Tong’s decline in the past two centuries, which in turn has to do with the shifting balance of power between Houses, and the rather drastic, if gradual restructuring of the Morrowind government. I'm certain you won't be satisfied with such a vague answer though, so perhaps I had better start at the beginning.

“First, however, I should probably establish the players. After it became apparent that Almalexia and Sotha Sil were well and truly gone, and after Vivec himself disappeared, the Temple underwent some rather profound changes, as you can probably imagine. Before he left, Vivec had been urging the Temple hierarchy to reinstitute the ancient system of ancestor worship and veneration of the Three Good Daedra. Of course, House Indoril found the whole idea to be completely unacceptable. I believe that most of their leadership were on the verge of committing ritual suicide when the Temple and the other Houses took a vote to put Indoril in charge of the Temple and its conversion efforts as a whole. The process was slow and painful, but the Houses took to the new system eventually.

“As of now, Indoril is completely synonymous with the Temple, and though usually only Temple leadership are members of House Indoril proper, gaining membership in the Temple is often referred to as ‘joining Indoril’. Aside from the governance of the ancestral territory over which House Indoril still has rule, Indoril and the Temple have become, for the most part, a completely apolitical organization. I’m sure you can understand, after more than four thousand years of rule by a Tribunal of false god-kings, why the citizens of Morrowind would desire their religious institute to become less involved in politics.

“In any case, one of the first things that the Indoril did in their new position as Temple leadership was search for Velothi tribesmer and religious leaders who were willing to educate the Temple and the general population about the practices of ancestor worship and veneration of the Three Good Daedra which had been lost under the rule of the False Tribunal. They requested that one of the minor Houses volunteer to open their doors to those Velothi who were willing to move to House territory, even part time. House Sadras stepped forward, and ultimately gained enough population and influence to become another Great House. Their culture is… unusual, to say the least.

“Anyway, back to your question. As you know, the Morag Tong is the organization that lawfully implements the system of House war that prevents violence from overtaking the common citizens of Morrowind. When the Oblivion Crisis happened however, House war all but ceased. Honestly, this was probably a good thing. Everybody had their hands full defending against the Daedra, and it would only have been bad for the province as a whole had House war continued.

“The Oblivion gates opened up outside every major city, but Ald-ruhn got the worst of it. The Redoran made a valiant show of it though, going so far as to resurrect the emperor crab shell, Skar, and the rest of the crabshell buildings to come to the city’s defense. I hear it was an amazing sight. The Daedric force was utterly overwhelming though, and they managed to push back the Redoran. The Daedra cleared a path up to Ghostgate, where they inexplicably proceeded to march the entirety of their troops up Red Mountain. Nobody knows why.

“With the majority of the Daedra’s invading force occupied at Red Mountain however, the Redoran were able to rally the other Houses in a unified defense of Morrowind. After Ald-ruhn, the province took minimal losses. This is all a testament to the skill and integrity of the Redoran archmaster, Athyn Sarethi. He actually went so far as to hire all available Morag Tong as scouts in defense of Morrowind as a whole--an unusual contract to be sure, but none of us were about to turn down an offer that let us defend our homes and fill our coffers with gold.

“Of course, once the Oblivion Crisis was over, the unification fell apart rather quickly, and the Morag Tong had more contracts than ever. Unsurprisingly, most of our contracts were either for, or from members of House Hlaalu. There was a lot of resentment there, as Hlaalu was the greatest supporter of the Empire, and the Empire had completely withdrawn its forces back to Cyrodiil at the start of the Crisis. Of course everyone felt abandoned, though there was little love for the Empire in Morrowind in the first place.

“Only five years later, Baar Dau fell, and Red Mountain erupted. It was awful. We had only really just recovered from the Oblivion Crisis. Again, the Empire did not send aid, and it took nearly a month to organize, but the Redoran archmaster again coordinated a unified relief effort for Vvardenfell and the parts of the mainland that had been affected by the catastrophe. We were lucky, in this case I believe, that most of the surviving members of the Redoran council had relocated to Mournhold, or it’s quite likely that it would have taken even longer for the other Houses to assemble any sort of relief effort.

“Again, House war all but ceased, and again, Sarethi contracted the Morag Tong for unconventional tasks such as scouting and damage assessment in questionable terrain, as well as escorting survivors and refugees to safe locations. I think at that point, many of the Morag Tong just decided to become members of House Redoran, as they seemed to have the best interests of Morrowind as a whole in mind, and honestly, House war was the last thing on any of our minds.

“Relief efforts were still in full swing when the Argonians invaded. At that point, King Hlaalu Helseth had long since banned slavery, but it didn’t matter. The Argonians saw an opportunity for retribution, and they took it. They had ploughed their way halfway through Dres territory before any sort of resistance could be assembled. Dres was a total shambles. Seeing another threat to Morrowind, the Redoran archmaster organized a defense, but the most he was able to do was to delay the Argonians on their warpath to Mournhold. The capital got moved to Blacklight, and most of the Great Houses decided to defer to Redoran’s superior expertise in military strategy during the whole of the invasion. It really altered the way the Houses interacted afterward, and House Redoran gained an enormous amount of political control.

“The fighting lasted several years, but the Redoran eventually halted the Argonians’ advance. It was at great cost, and we lost many citizens, either as casualties or as refugees to Skyrim and Solstheim. Apparently our plight was so pitiful, that the High King of Skyrim was willing to gift Morrowind the entirety of the island of Solstheim. It is House Redoran territory now, though I believe there is a Telvanni master living there as well.

“In any case, I think you can see why, after so many hardships and a complete rebalance of political power in Morrowind, the Great Houses did not recommence House war in the same manner. Redoran hardly needs the assistance of the Morag Tong to maintain their influence. Sadras never really got involved in that sort of thing in the first place. Nobody hears from the Telvanni these days, even other Telvanni; and Indoril is mostly apolitical. That really just leaves Dres and Hlaalu, and both of them are so reduced, that they often can’t afford the Tong’s services anyway. I’m not even sure they have the population or influence to technically qualify as Great Houses anymore, though they still have representatives on the House Council.

“By the time I had left the Morag Tong, we were but a shadow of our former self. My services simply were not in demand anymore. Not only that, but I was tired after surviving so much, and I needed a change of pace and a fresh perspective. I’m sure that the Morag Tong still exists out there somewhere, but I haven’t heard of them or from them since I left.”

Fayrl listened with an expression of interest on his face, keeping his eyes on Jenassa throughout. He could not believe what all he was hearing. So much of what he dreamed of, worked towards, prayed for, had come true. And yet, it all succeeded through some catastrophe or at the cost of innumerable lives, including the innocent. When he had sent forth his prayers, he had wished for this kind of unification at any cost. And now he could see just what that cost was. He wasn't sure now that it was worth it. The House system was all but destroyed. Baar Dau had fallen from the sky and Red Mountain had erupted. The gates of Oblivion had opened. Mournhold had been decimated. His House was reduced to mere priesthood. And there was some reason to fear that his House’s leadership would have all slaughtered themselves in ritual suicide? What precedent could there have been? What had happened?

When his wine arrived his swallowed the entire contents of the glass in one go and signalled for another before turning his attention back to Jenassa.

There was simply too much that had happened. He couldn't let himself work through all of it right now. Just as he hadn't been able to work through it this morning, he tried to focus on just one thing at a time.

Jenassa sipped her drink. “Well,” she addressed Fayrl, “now that I’ve talked your ear off, perhaps you would be willing to tell me your version of events leading up to your abduction to this era. Ma’zurah here tells me she has no idea by what mechanism the two of you traveled to this time, but perhaps you have more insight.”

“I am afraid I know even less than my dear Ma’zurah does. I had simply been disposing of the refuse of a task assigned to me. I had chosen a Daedric ruin as my dumping ground. They tend to be vacant during much of the day and crawling with cultists at night. A body quickly is made to disappear in such a place. Yet as I was leaving, I happened to see an unusual item, a piece of cutlery of fine metal, so I bent down and picked it up. No sooner had I done so then I found myself in an unfamiliar place.

“Luckily for me, Ma’zurah happened upon me and saw I was out of place in Oblivion. She said she would help me to return to Nirn. Our current predicament is the result of that attempt. I apologize, that answer is hardly useful, but it is the extent of my knowledge about our coming to be here.”

Jenassa nodded slowly. “I see. Well, at least your account matches that of Ma’zurah. A shame you have no further insight. In any case, what is your next question?”

“Ma'zurah has a question” said Ma'zurah quietly, drawing Jenassa’s attention. “What became of the Velothi tribes? The Ahemmusa, Urshilaku, Zainab, and Erabenimsun who did not join House Sadras? Ma'zurah needs to know.”

Jenassa stroked her chin thoughtfully. “As far as I know, The Erabenimsun were wiped out. They were situated in the middle of Molag Amur, which was a volcanically active area already, and they had no means of escape when Red Mountain erupted.”

Ma'zurah closed her eyes, an expression of pain spread across her face. She remembered the young Ashkhan she had put in power who had been so insecure about taking leadership. He’d only had eleven years to lead the tribe before the mountain had taken his life. He should have had centuries.

“The Zainab got lucky.” Jenassa continued. “The Grazelands were somewhat protected by the direction of the foyadas, and because their camp was in the shadow of the foyada, they were protected from the worst of the initial blast. I heard they made their way to the docks at Vos before the Grazelands flooded, and were able to escape to the mainland, where they made their way with a caravan of refugees to Windhelm. Even the Morrowind mainland was not a particularly hospitable place after the eruption, and the mainland Velothi tribes had a hard enough time surviving without sharing their territory with the Vvardenfell tribes. I can hardly blame them for their decision to head to Skyrim, though others disagree.”

Ma'zurah breathed a sigh of relief. They were alright. Relatively close even. She could visit and see how they were doing. Maybe they had more news.

“As for the Urshilaku, a great many of them were guests of the Temple at the time in educational capacities. I heard that the Urshilaku Wise Woman in the northern Ashlands received a vision from Azura the day before the eruption, and took the entire camp to a nearby Daedric ruin to seek shelter. I later heard they had water-walked all the way to Solstheim and established a new camp there.”

Ma'zurah broke into a brilliant smile. “And the Ahemmusa?” she asked eagerly.

“I'm not sure what happened to the Ahemmusa.” Jenassa answered. “I heard a rumor they made it to Solstheim. I also heard a rumor they were spotted in Windhelm, and in Elsweyr of all places. I'm not sure whether any of those rumors have any truth to them.”

Ma'zurah caught her breath. “Elsweyr?” she asked urgently, “Do you know which city?”

Jenassa raised her eyebrows. “The mer who told me said he heard it from a caravan who got it from a Khajiit from Corinthe. Of course this was before Elsweyr split into Anequina and Pelletine and became client states of the Dominion, so I have as little idea whether they could still be found there as I have as to whether they were ever there in the first place.” Jenassa gave Ma’zurah an apologetic look.

Ma’zurah’s mind whirled, and she looked like she was on the verge of tears. They had been looking for her. They had to have been. There was no other explanation.

Fayrl watched as Ma’zurah wavered between relief and anxiety. He understood some of that too, though it was far less likely than anyone he knew could possibly still be alive. It was extremely uncommon for Dunmer to live a whole millenia.

Still, he felt for her friends and lovers. Their fates were still relatively recent history. There might be a chance for some of them to still live, though they would have aged. It was only a couple of centuries between her time and this. In her place, Fayrl would certainly be trying to find any sign of them. If she sought after them, he would not stop her. He himself longed to visit his family’s tomb, to be able to speak with his son, with his parents. He wanted to visit Avon’s and Ervis’ as well. Ma’zurah was going through this with him, but it was not the same. She was a person of greatness, a hero of legend. He was just some stupid mer who picked up a fork and got thrown through time. Perhaps his being here was better for everyone back home.

The barkeeper came by with a bottle of wine and Fayrl let him refill his glass, then he took the bottle. He was not planning on letting himself stay sober for long. He drained another half of his glass and refilled it to the brim.

Jenassa looked at Ma’zurah curiously. “I gather that you lived in Vvardenfell for some time, but why do you care so much about the Velothi tribes?”

Ma’zurah took a deep breath. “This one is a clanfriend to all of them, and a full member of the Ahemmusa. They are her adopted family. See?” She smoothed the fur on her cheeks, revealing a line of dotted scars partially obscured by the fur underneath both eyes which indicated tribal membership in the Ahemmusa.

Jenassa’s eyebrows rose. “I see. Well then. Your next question?”

Fayrl leaned forward. “What is the current state of worship for the Spinner back in Morrowind? You mentioned that the True Tribunal has taken its rightful place. I wonder, how does that manifest itself? I cannot even imagine such a wonderful sight as free worship of the Three.”

Fayrl’s hand rested easily upon the hilt of the Ebony Blade. He had a hope swell in his chest to concentrate on the good that would come from a world where anyone could worship the true gods. More importantly, he wondered what to expect from the worship. Perhaps he could join in some of the fun if he only knew what to look for. Likely the old signs would have changed after so long a time.

Ma’zurah finished her drink and gestured for the bartender to come by. She leaned forward and murmured a request to him, and he nodded and went down to the cellar to retrieve it.

“Honestly,” Jenassa replied, “the worship for all three of the Blessed Triune is extensive across Morrowind. Certainly there are still a few holdouts for the False Tribunal, but they are generally quiet and don't make much of a nuisance of themselves anymore. All the temple buildings that had previously been dedicated to the False Tribunal are now rightfully dedicated to the Blessed Triune. I saw all this get built up gradually, so I'm sure it will be something of a shock for you if you get a chance to go to Morrowind. The worship itself is just as you would expect it. My personal favorite Temple visits are for the Orgies of Mephala, but there are other public sermons which the Preceptors give which require no initiation into the Secrets. For those that desire more, the Exemplars teach the Secrets to the Initiated and the Acolytes. And of course, the Ordinators are no more; the Ordinators Reformed became the Hands of Nerevar--”

Ma'zurah gave a sudden explosive snort. “Sorry! Sorry! Continue, please!” She stifled a laugh behind one hand and adopted an expression of rapt interest.

Jenassa looked at her in bemusement. “Well… Though the Temple wields no nominal political power, that is not to say they have no influence. The Redoran may be Morrowind’s guardian protectors and intermediaries to the rest of the world, but the Temple is the backbone of Dunmer society just as it was in the days of the False Tribunal. And personally, I don't believe for a second that Mephala and Boethiah do not influence political events both in and out of Morrowind; I've even heard rumors that there are secret orders within the Temple hierarchy dedicated to the Temple’s benefit which are beholden to none but the Blessed Triune themselves. It is one of my most cherished desires to receive an invitation to be initiated amongst the ranks of the Black Hands of Mephala.”

Ma'zurah barked a sudden laugh. “‘According to the Codes of Mephala, there is no difference between the theorist and the terrorist. Even the most cherished desire disappears in their hands. This is why Mephala has black hands.’ The best way to serve Mafala is not to wait for an invitation.” She gave the Dunmer a sly grin.

Jenassa blinked in startlement at Ma'zurah. “You certainly know your Lessons!”

Fayrl had a large grin spread across his face. “Do you speak truly? Are the great orgies really reinstated? I never thought I’d live to see the--” he stopped, his expression turning solemn. “I suppose in a way I don’t. That is, I didn’t. Not precisely. Still, this is happy news. To have the Black Hands back in power again. To know there are public sermons again. How I should love to meet with a Widow and discuss all that has changed in our worship since my time. There were so few in our nests back in those days.” He spoke wistfully. “I should very much like to see how things have changed.”

He shot a playful look to Ma’zurah. “How about it, my love, shall we join in prayer as in olden times? I would happily take your hand if it be your first time.” He was not above teasing her after she did so with Jenassa.

Ma’zurah shot Fayrl a flustered look. Jenassa laughed. “Who is this Khajiit? For someone so comfortable quoting the Sermons at me, she sure does look like a blushing virgin!” She smirked at Fayrl, then did a sudden double take. “Mephala! Is that the Ebony Blade?!”

Fayrl put an arm around Ma’zurah. “Watch your tongue, she is far more than meets the eye.” He pulled his companion close against him and absently stroked the hilt of the Ebony Blade. “Is that your question?” he teased.

Ma’zurah blinked at Fayrl, surprised, but not displeased at his unexpected initiation of contact. Jenassa looked frustrated. “Yes. No! Look. What in Oblivion is going on here? You two are too much to be believed. You’ve been an hour’s excellent entertainment, and I don’t think you’re lying or I’d have seen the signs, but I don’t think you’re telling me everything either. This is just getting ridiculous! Especially her.” She nodded at Ma’zurah. “Who are you, really? Why are you here? Now? What’s going on?” Jenassa paused for breath.

Fayrl was suddenly behind Jenassa. He spoke low into her ear. “I'm afraid that wasn't exactly the deal we had. You've asked at least five questions of us.” He did not like the tone the former assassin was taking about Ma’zurah. He clicked his teeth. “Whatever shall we do about her, my dear?” he asked Ma’zurah.

Jenassa froze and her training kicked in. She elbowed Fayrl in the gut and vanished. She reappeared a second later a few yards away looking horrified, holding out her hands in a pacifying gesture. “Oh gods! I’m so sorry! You were just.... I just--”

Ma’zurah burst out laughing. “Both of you sit down! This one doubts there is really any need for hostility. Or theatrics.” She gave Fayrl a pointed glance.

Fayrl laughed, coughing a little from the blow. He should have blocked it, but he had been sloppy. He was almost embarrassed at himself. He sauntered back to his spot at the table and poured himself another glass of wine, leaning back easily in the seat besides Ma’zurah. “My apologies,” he said flippantly, and sipped at his wine as if nothing had transpired.

Jenassa gave Fayrl a wary look, and resumed her own seat. The bartender came by with a bottle of wine, and uncorked it for Ma’zurah. She took it eagerly and poured herself a glass.

Jenassa took a breath. “I apologize. You startled me. I will attempt to keep my questions to one at a time.” She gave Fayrl a wry smile. “As for my immediate question, I suppose I shall settle for knowing how you came to possess that blade there.” She indicated the Ebony Blade.

“A lovely story. One of my life’s proudest moments.” Fayrl held up his glass to toast Ma’zurah. “I met someone in town--it would be impolite to say whom--that pointed me towards some information concerning a certain Whispering Lady. As they had acknowledged the symbol of my dear Prince, I was eager to follow up. Sure enough, we found a secret location where the Lady of Whispers spoke. I do not exaggerate when I say that I could tell at once that this was no stretch of truth. Many times I have heard the voice of the Lady. She has lifted me up before.

“We were given a task and retrieved the means by which to complete it without delay. Serving the Webspinner is always foremost in my life’s duties. We returned with the deed complete. Since we had proven ourselves to the Lady, we were rewarded for our service. At that point she named me Champion and gave me this token of service to carry out her will.”

Even just recalling the fact he had earned such a title, his heart was full to burst with pride. He could even feel himself being aroused at the echo of his Prince’s voice as he was given his title. “Does that answer your question fully?” he asked, this time without any malice in his voice.

“C-Champion? Truly? Mephala!” Jenassa passed a hand over her face, clearly somewhat shaken. “You know, I think perhaps it might be time for me to return home. I feel I’ve been afield too long. Yes, I think I will make preparations to return to Baan Malur and offer my service to the Temple.” She lapsed into silence.

“Well, have you any other questions for our dear friend, Ma’zurah, love?” He sipped at his wine. He was beginning to feel rather good from the alcohol, he was finally able to relax a bit since coming here. In fact, his mood was so good he was almost ready to pick back up his lute and play a bit more music. Perhaps he could even get himself a lovely little prize to send unto Mephala. It would be good to let the Ebony Blade have itself a full meal. Surely he could succeed in wrapping some gullible little thing around his finger. It had been a less successful first meal yesterday. He was eager to give the blade more power. What kind of Champion can’t do such a simple task within a day?

Ma’zurah had sobered at the mention of Fayrl’s status as Champion of Mephala. It only reminded her of her own duties to the gods. “Ma’zurah thinks perhaps she has delayed enough in preparing for her journey. She has made a list of things she will need, and she should go get them. Perhaps Ma’zurah will have time to ask more questions later.” She finished off the last of her wine, picked up her journal, and stood to leave. The bartender walked over, and she counted out his requested payment.

Fayrl stood. After all that about them not splitting up, was she now going to leave without him? There was certainly things he could complete without involving her, but she had been so adamant about not being apart. “Are we leaving then?” He downed the rest of his glass, just in case.

“Yes, we really should. Do not worry about the drinks. Ma’zurah took care of them.” She took Fayrl’s arm and smiled at him, slightly tipsy.

Jenassa stood up with a look of mild chagrin on her face at their eminent departure. “I hope we can do this again before you leave!”

Fayrl grinned, delighted at Ma’zurah’s spontaneous touch. “You are so generous, my dear. I will have to make it up to you somehow later, in whatever manner you desire.” He brushed a few strands of hair behind her ear.

She looked down, unsure how to respond to his flirting. Fayrl picked up his lute and the half empty bottle of wine from the table and turned to leave.

He paused at the door and glanced back at Jenassa. “If you would like to pray in the ancient way, my friend, come and find me this evening.” With that, the pair left the tavern.

Chapter Text

It was almost dark by the time the two of them made it back to the Bannered Mare, arms laden with purchases. They made their way through the crowded common room and up the stairs to their rented room, where Ma’zurah dropped her burden on the bed. She tugged off her new boots, and began organizing their supplies into manageable packs.

They’d had a busy day. They had returned most of Farengar’s books, sent Ma’zurah’s dirty traveling clothes to be washed, gotten Fayrl’s armor adjusted, picked up his newly sharpened daggers, sold most of Ma’zurah’s harvest of ingredients from the Shivering Isles--though she did hold back two pieces of amber she had found and four pieces of the dangerous, narcotic greenmote mushrooms--and procured all the necessities for life on the road, and then some. Ma’zurah had been amused to discover that Fayrl apparently intended to dazzle all the country folk of Skyrim with purchases of fancy clothing, but she still wasn’t sure how she felt about Fayrl’s apparent intention to cultivate a drinking habit--he’d gotten far more alcohol than was strictly necessary, and it put her in mind of Julan during the early parts of their relationship. Not necessarily the best of memories.

Thoughts of Julan inevitably led to thoughts of Vvardenfell and its troubles, and Ma’zurah suddenly felt like drinking, herself. She was not in the habit of using drinking as a coping device, but she had been through a lot in the past two days. Ma’zurah finished tying her newly purchased bedroll to her pack in preparation for the morrow, and stood with a sigh. “Ma’zurah could use a drink.” she told Fayrl tiredly.

Fayrl, who had been busying himself with restocking and meticulously tending to his stock of poisons and toiletries, perked up immediately at the prospect of drinking. There was so much about the activity he enjoyed. The silence had allowed his mind to drift to thoughts what he had left behind as well.

He had happened across a doll’s shoe in his bag that must have belonged to his son, Sildras; it had somehow wormed its way in amongst his belongings. His journal also sat beside him, chronicling the past six years of his life. He would normally have taken the opportunity to write in it, yet it seemed like, as a result of being thrown through time, perhaps it was best to have a separate book in which to put his thoughts to paper. His regular journal should remain for his own time. And when he returned, he could resume right where he had left off, as he planned to do.

He would return back to centuries before Ma’zurah had even been born. He hoped that he would still be able to remember her once he had returned. Would any of the things he procured in this time return with him? Surely not. Mephala had said herself, he was only her Champion in this time. The Ebony Blade was likely in the hands of another, more worthy Champion, in his time.

“I would be happy to accompany you if you would like to drink downstairs. If not, I am happy to simply order a couple of bottles from the innkeeper. There’s not much left in the bottle from earlier, I’m afraid.”

Mazurah nodded. “Ma’zurah thinks perhaps she would like to go downstairs. At least for a while. Nords are not the best company, but better than Ma’zurah’s thoughts right now.”

“Nords are lovely company for drinking. As long as they don’t feel in the mood for a fight they will just be loud and cheerful. I find it rather endearing.” Long were the nights Fayrl had spent in the company of Nords of all sorts. They were often put off by Dunmer, expecting the sort of pretentious snobbery his kind was so famous for. Yet a false attempt at trying to keep up with them and failing always succeeded at endearing himself to them. He never usually allowed himself let loose completely around those Nords, not until he knew he could trust them at least, but there were always exceptions. Some of those exceptions turned out to be his better lovers in Skyrim.

“If you want a Nord to like you, buy a few rounds of drinks and offer to match them, drink for drink, or even propose a drinking contest. It always puts them at ease. You don’t even have to keep up with them entirely--they do so love to prove they can handle their alcohol better than any other race. They like feeling that way; it makes them trusting, pliable.”

Ma'zurah held the door open for Fayrl and walked down the stairs. They pushed through the crowd and sidled up to the bar. Out of the corner of her eye Ma’zurah saw the bard, Mikael, duck into the kitchen with a panicked look on his face. She rolled her eyes.

“Ma’zurah could use a drink, please! Something sweet if you have it!” She told the barwoman. The woman nodded distractedly, and continued mixing a drink for another customer. She passed the drink over the counter to its owner, then ducked under the counter to retrieve a bottle labeled honeysuckle mead, which she passed to Ma’zurah. Ma’zurah tasted it, and perked up immediately. The barwoman chuckled and turned to Fayrl. “And what would you like, lovey? Fraid we don’t have anything from Morrowind, but we do have a few things imported from Cyrodiil.”

Fayrl smiled sweetly at the barwoman. “Do you have any brandy by chance?” A nice chilled brandy would be the perfect treat to end the day with. Perhaps he didn’t deserve it since he had not yet managed to secure a sacrifice for the Ebony Blade, but he had an Imperial that he was just waiting for the right opportunity to use for that purpose. And if not, there were always a few wretched souls on the streets late at night that got harassed by inconsiderate drunks who did not know how to accept denial. He had only to befriend one of said drunks and lead them away under false pretenses. He needed to shed blood soon.

“Oh I think we can find you something.” The barwoman wiped her hands on her apron and crouched to check under the counter again. After a moment, she stood. “Saadia!” A Redguard woman poked her head out of the kitchen. “Be a dear and check the cellar for some Colovian brandy for this darlin’ gentleman!” the barwoman instructed cheerfully. The Redguard, Saadia, bobbed her head and moved out of sight.

Fayrl smiled to himself. Colovian brandy would do just perfect. It was one of his favorites. Something about the way Imperials made their brandy always seemed to comfort him best. He could hardly explain why. It was sweeter than his palate normally had a taste for, and yet it did not bother him.

A dark haired man in a black robe stumbled up to the bar, bumping into Fayrl. “Oh excuse me--” the man cut himself off upon catching sight of Fayrl. “Oh! Well hello there!” the man drawled. He gave Fayrl an appreciative up and down look and grinned. “Aren't you somethin’! You don't look nearly drunk enough though. How would you feel about joining me for a drinking contest to win a staff? The name’s Sam!” The man steadied himself against the bar.

Ma'zurah gave the man an evaluative look. He was short--shorter than Fayrl or Ma'zurah, and his face was flushed slightly across his cheeks and nose. He was obviously already drunk. If the man’s slurred accent was anything to go by, the man was most likely Breton rather than Imperial. If they had been in Morrowind, Ma'zurah would have thought that the man’s simple black robe was an indication that he was a pilgrim, or possibly an independent mage of limited means, but in Skyrim, she had no idea what kind of people wore such attire.

Fayrl subtly checked to ensure his purse was still there, he did not suffer thieves lightly. When he found it to remain full and present, he donned a smile. “A drinking contest, eh?” Fayrl was sure this was a setup. A win that looked too good to be true often was precisely that. And yet, being away from his own mind for a bit seemed rather appealing at the moment. “I don't know that I need a staff. Ma’zurah,” he asked turning to her, “my love, do you want to play a game to win a staff? Sera Sam wants me to join him in a drinking competition.”

“Go for it.” Ma'zurah finished her mead and gestured for another.

“Oh-ho! I see you have the seal of approval!” Sam threw an arm around Fayrl and Ma'zurah’s shoulders. “I'll tell you what! You can be the judge! Or join in if you like! It’s all fine with me!” The man grinned at Ma'zurah. “And if it’s the staff that’s the problem,” he said turning to Fayrl, “we can just skip that part and do it for the hell of it! I find that raising the stakes makes it all that much more exciting though.” He giggled. “Get it? Stakes? Eh, eh?” He nudged Fayrl.

Ma'zurah snorted and accepted her mead from the barwoman. The Redguard cook came up from the cellar carrying a large bottle. “Sorry ma’am! The only bottles we have left are the large ones!”

“That’s fine Saadia, leave it here.” The barwoman said, and took out a glass to pour Fayrl some.

Fayrl was tempted to try touching Sam to learn his true intentions. And yet, if a guy like this was a real con artist, who knew how strange or awful those memories might be. He decided to avoid it.

The Breton seemed to remember something suddenly. “Say, what’s your names?”

“My name is Fayrl,” Fayrl replied with a grin. “And my beautiful wife here is Ma’zurah.” Fayrl turned to the barwoman. “Another brandy for my friend Sam here! It is only right if I pay for the first drink, after all.” The woman poured another glass and Fayrl took his brandy and handed the other to Sam.

“Oh nonono, that won't do at all! If you’re drinking with me, I'm paying!” Sam passed a sizable coinpurse to the barwoman with a flirtatious wink. “We’ll take the bottle!” The woman smiled and passed the bottle over.

Ma'zurah raised her eyebrows. The man was apparently not a mage of little means then.

“Lovely to meet you both!” The Breton turned to the pair brandishing the brandy bottle. “What say we get a table and do this all proper-like?”

Fayrl gave the man a clap on the back. That was the spirit he enjoyed about the drinking culture here in Skyrim, though he had not had such a quality of alcohol in such quantity since before he had been pretending to be a bard in Skyrim for six years. “A man after my own tastes! Let us do as you suggest. Though I wonder what it is you would ask for if by some slim chance you succeed?” His voice was lowered and suggestive as he spoke the question.

Sam held the bottle aloft and led the small party in a procession through the evening crowd to the last free table in the room. He settled into a seat. “Cheers!” he exclaimed, and knocked back his cup of brandy. He refilled it from the bottle with a flourish.

“Cheers!” called Fayrl and followed suit of downing the brandy in one. It burned, but that was what he wanted most right now. He didn't want to think about where he was or when he was. He just wanted to enjoy being.

Ma'zurah took her seat as well, grinning and nursing her bottle of mead. She was already starting to relax a bit, and the Breton seemed like interesting company.

“Now… what to do if you lose? How about a forfeit! Those are always fun! Honestly, I really am just in the mood for a contest, and you’re probably the only ones in the room I'd have any kind of chance against.” The man made an encompassing gesture to the rest of the room full of Nords, all probably a third again the body mass of the short Breton. He had a point, Ma'zurah realized with a smirk.

Fayrl gazed at the bulking collection of Nords. Certainly they did seem a rowdy bunch, and all looked as though they could drink half the keg each as easily as breathe. “I appreciate the sentiment, my friend, I do.” He leaned forward, hand on Sam's shoulder as he drew his face close. “So, what is the condition of defeat? Are we playing Skyrim rules, if you cannot hold any more liquor or you pass out you lose? That might make for a difficult time paying a forfeit.” Catching sight of Sam’s refilled glass, Fayrl held his out as well. “If you would be so kind.”

“Nah! That wouldn't be very fun now would it? We play until someone withdraws.” Sam refilled Fayrl’s cup. “Sound good? Wouldn't want to pass out before we get to the fun parts, right?”

Fayrl smiled. He hooked an arm around each of his companions. “Well, shall we begin then?”

Ma’zurah stood abruptly and downed her bottle of mead. “You know what! Why in the four hells not! Ma’zurah will join too!” She shouldered her way back to the bar and retrieved a glass amidst delighted laughter from the Breton. She returned and held her cup out to be filled.

“Now that is the kind of attitude I like to see!” Sam crowed, and filled the proffered mug. “Bottoms up!” he called and tipped the contents of his own mug into his mouth. Ma’zurah followed suit and finished off her drink with a noisy smack of her lips.

“Whoa!” she slurred tipsily, “That is stronger than Ma’zurah esspected!” She licked her whiskers and peered into her mug with one eye as though she expected to discover what made her drink so strong. “Sweeter too. Not bad!”

Fayrl cheered at Ma’zurah’s announcement to join. “Here, here!” He knocked back his brandy. Then grabbed the brandy to refill everyone’s glass.

“So, I take it you like it then?” Fayrl asked Ma’zurah, leaning his cheek on her shoulder while pulling Sam closer to him as well. “You can see why I prefer it to mead or wine or ale.” He nuzzled her shoulder. “You’re so soft.”

He leaned his head on Sam’s shoulder. “You’re less soft, my friend. You must need another drink.”

“Again!” called the Breton, and he drained his cup.

Ma’zurah finished her second mug of brandy and blinked at her companions through the fuzzy haze that had started to descend on her mind. She giggled. “Now why would you take brandy over those other shweet drinks you sayed? Ma’zurah steel pr’fers th’mead she had, but she is c’mpeting!” She shoved at Fayrl’s shoulder playfully.

Fayrl looked at Ma’zurah. “Can you not taste the more complex flavor profile? The notes of fruit and sweetness are more subtle, but smooth and crisp, with just a hint of citrus and spices. And the perfume of the spices, how could one resist?”

Sam grinned at Ma’zurah. “Y’know, I think I might have a drink that’s more to yer taste if ya wanna try it. Brewed it m’shelf! Strong and shweet, but not so shweet that even a great Dunmer like Fayrl here wouldn’t like it. Care ta try?” The Breton produced a large flask and removed the stopper, glancing between the two.

Fayrl turned with interest to Sam. “What sort of drink is this? You’re not trying to slip us something to take all our gold, are you, friend?” Fayrl’d had quite about enough of having someone slip things into his drinks. He was not eager to wake up naked in a mine again. Nor have to run through the snow and lose his favorite tunic along the way.

“What, no!” Sam’s expression appeared genuinely horrified. “I’ll take a shot too! I jusht thought y’might like to try it! Here, see?” He hastily filled his mug and drank the whole thing down, slopping a small amount of the liquid onto the table in the process.

Fayrl figured the worst that could be in there was a poison the Breton was immune to. Likely anything in that sort of poison Fayrl would have at least a minimal immunity to as well. He also had several cure poison potions in his bag. He had a couple on him now, just in case.

“Well, since you were so kind as to demonstrate the safety of your homebrew, it would be rude of us not to at least give it a sample, think you not, my dear?” He leaned against Ma’zurah and held out his glass. There was a hint of mischief in his voice. “Sam, you would do me an honor by allowing me to sample your brew.”

Sam filled their mugs and sat back and beamed as they accepted the liquor. “It’sa ver’ old shecret recipe. Y’can’t even get most’ve tha ingredientsh in Shkyrim!”

Ma’zurah sniffed her mug, and withdrew hastily with eyes watering. “Dear gods, that smells shtrong!”

“Probably th’shtrongest shtuff you’ll ever taste! But wait’ll ya taste it!” the man chortled.

Ma’zurah took a hesitant sip. “Oh! Iss shweet!”

“Yeah, but it’s tha aftertaste that’s th’besht. You gotta drink it in one go to get the full effect, shee?”

This whole thing seemed like a trap to Fayrl. A trick. A lie. This Sam fellow was entirely too giving.

And yet, Fayrl was inextricably drawn to it--the sense of danger, even knowing they would likely be unable to win, was thrilling. He had several weapons easy to reach if the man tried anything. Between him and Ma’zurah, they were likely in little danger. Maybe Sam was even as lonely and trying to forget as they were.

Fayrl took a sniff and then brightened. It smelled about as strong as he needed it to be. He knocked back the entire thing in one go. It burned like shalk fire, but as promised, it was sweet, then the aftertaste had something to it that he was not familiar with. He had tried many varieties of alcohol made from different materials, but this was the first time he had come across some of these flavors. And yet, something in the scent was familiar. He just couldn’t quite place it.

“This is delicious. Sweeter than I would normally go for, but such an expert blending that I have nothing but compliments for the flavor. I shall list them if you’d like. If not, just be content in the knowledge that I look forward to putting this masterpiece of yours in my mouth the rest of the evening.”

“You would do me the mosht honor by accepting another drink!” The man clumsily topped off their glasses, and then his own, quaffing his own drink with gusto. “Whoooa!” Sam shook his head as though to shake off the effects of the sudden rush of alcohol. “I think perhapsh I… I may have to consh… concsheede this contesht....” He stared at his flask longingly. “After thish nexsht round!”

Ma’zurah swayed slightly in her seat. “Ooh Shheggorath! Ma’zurah shhould sstop b’fore she throwss up…”

Sam drunkenly waved the flask in Fayrl’s direction. “That shettles it! You shuccesshf’ly take thish shot n’ you win th’shtaff!”

Fayrl snatched up his mug and downed it, slamming it onto the table afterwards, in the Nord fashion. He already had a tingling sensation in his fingertips and his lips. It made him feel good, really good. The stuff was strong, alright, normally he wouldn’t be this far gone for another few rounds. “There,” he proclaimed, listing a bit towards Ma’zurah in his seat. “I done it all.”

His eyelids were very heavy, he couldn’t seem to keep them open all the way. He hoped it made him look alluring more than sleepy. “M’ready for my prize, Sam.” He had to speak very deliberately and a bit slow in order to get the words to come out right. He did not want to appear as though he was as likely to fall over as he was.

And yet, a part of him wanted to stand up on the table and sing a song. He didn’t have his lute, but if he could convince some of the Nords to clap along, he could probably do a popular drinking song. Some of the old favorites from his time would surely still be around. A song like “She hides her tail” or “The cabbage farmer’s daughter” would be perfect for this crowd.

“C’ngratulashionsh m’friend!” Sam babbled, slapping Fayrl on the back. “Ya shhure earned it! What shhould we do now? I got a grate idea! I know thish lil’ plashe we could go, where tha wine flowsh like water!”

Ma’zurah squinted at Sam, suddenly feeling significantly more drunk than she had expected based on the amount of alcohol she had imbibed.

“Shaay, you don’t look sho grate. Are you feelin’ arright?” the Breton asked Ma’zurah.

Ma’zurah slumped against Fayrl, knocking him off balance. The last thing she remembered was waving a hand toward the Breton and drunkenly mumbling something about luggage in their room and feeling sleepy before the world went dark.

Chapter Text

“Wake up!”

Ma’zurah groaned and lifted her head, only to press her cheek back down against skin-warmed stone as the world seemed to spin around her.

“That’s right, it’s time to get up, you blasphemers!” the harsh female voice continued. Ma’zurah blinked up at the hazy figure. Her head was pounding, and she couldn’t think straight, and even the dim smoky lighting of the room she was laying in seemed too much to handle. She closed her eyes and groaned again.

Fayrl sat up, brushing his hair from his face. He looked around bleary eyed, his head spinning and his stomach feeling like a cliff strider had made its nest inside of it.

He could vaguely recall the drinking contest and winning. Yet as he looked about his surroundings it was clear that this was not the inn they had begun in.

As he began to rise to his feet, he became keenly aware of his lack of clothing. “Oh dear, not again,” he muttered, turning towards the source of his wakefulness once again. It occurred to him that she looked like a priestess and that this was likely a temple.

“My apologies,” he said, “I am afraid we have made a bit of a mess of things.” As he glanced around and noted the scattered clothing and other items, the gravity of his statement began to sink in. If only his head would stop pounding.

Ma’zurah’s eyes snapped open again at the sound of Fayrl’s voice. “Fuck… not a fucking dream,” she muttered, then whimpered at the sound of her own voice and the pounding of her head. She began to curl up against the stone floor, only to freeze when she realized she was naked, and only the fact of her lying face down against the floor prevented her from being exposed to whoever cared to look. “Wh… Where?”

“Of course you don’t remember getting here!” The irate woman threw her hands into the air in frustration. “I’m guessing you also don’t remember coming in here and fondling the statues of Dibella and blathering incoherently about marriage, or a goat! Which means you also don’t remember losing your temper and throwing trash all over the temple!”

“D-Dibella?” Ma’zurah’s voice cracked slightly and she winced and licked her dry lips. She lifted herself up slightly, just enough to free one arm from being trapped beneath her. She was not very familiar with this particular goddess, as she was not traditionally a part of the Khajiiti pantheon. Tired of her pounding head, Ma’zurah tried to concentrate to cast a cure poison spell. She fumbled the first attempt, but the second attempt brought sobriety down on her with terrifying clarity. She tried not to hyperventilate as she took in her unfamiliar surroundings.

The first thing she noticed was the complete change in the scent of the air. Rather than the earthy, farm-and-wet-dog smell that seemed to permeate the Whiterun area, this air seemed to smell of juniper and metal and incense. She looked around from her position on the floor and saw that the area was lit by a multitude of candles, emitting sweet smoke and a vague, omnidirectional orange light. Turning her head, she saw what appeared to be a huge stone altar, flanked by massive basins made of what seemed to be Dwemer bronze that were currently serving as braziers full of the ashy coals of sweet smelling wood. Ma’zurah spotted her pack in a far corner, spilling its contents onto the floor.

Ma’zurah looked up at the woman who had roused them. She was an attractive middle aged woman, wrapped in a short, decorative robe covered in embroidery depicting lotus flowers and nude women. She had her hands on her hips, and was glaring down at the pair.

Fayrl realized that he recognized the temple. The Dwemer architecture was a dead giveaway, even in as bad a shape as he was in. He gave a formal bow to the priestess. “My most sincere apologies for our terrible behavior. A dear friend of ours had arranged for us a sort of stag night, one he promised we would never forget. I am afraid that it has ended quite poorly. Though I promise, we shall make our amends and clean the temple and pay for any damages that may have been incurred while we were not ourselves.”

He looked around and spotted Ma’zurah and saw her distress. She was nude as well and considering the painful memories he had witnessed, it was little wonder that she might be in such a panicked state.

“Pardon me,” he said, as he slipped by the priestess to pick up a few items of clothing, her trousers he found, and his boots. He quickly made his way to her and handed her the trousers. “The rest must be around here somewhere. Just let me take care of it, no one has to see.”

Ma’zurah snatched the trousers from Fayrl, then tried to figure out how to put them on without exposing herself to him. She did not want to lose her only friend and ally here because of the manner in which he found out that she was not precisely female. She’d had a few bad experiences like that in the past.

The priestess wrinkled her nose at Fayrl’s exposed posterior, presented toward her as he bent over Ma’zurah. She sniffed and turned away. “Oh you must be nobility of some sort. Running around partying and paying others to clean it up. I don't think so. Clean up the mess you made of our temple and apologize afterwards and then I might be more willing to believe in your contrition.”

Fayrl straightened immediately at the words turning to the priestess with a pleading expression. He moved too fast--it made his head spin and he nearly lost his balance. “I merely meant that if we have broken anything, we will of course pay for it. We are very committed to making amends.” As a show of good faith, he began to clean up the debris that was scattered close to him, sliding one of Ma’zurah’s boots to her once he had fished it out from beneath a table. “I found the left one.”

Ma’zurah awkwardly wormed her way into her pants and stood up. Now covered to her own level of comfort, she had a hard time not staring at Fayrl’s nude form. She forced herself to look away.

Now that she was no longer observing the room from the level of the floor, she could take in her surroundings more properly. There were four massive statues of a nude goddess, apparently Dibella, holding aloft lotus blossoms. The statues were arranged in a square around what she had at first taken to be an altar which, she noted, was actually an ornate stone basin full of water with flower petals floating in it. On the ceiling there was a very odd chandelier made of Dwemer bronze which illuminated the room with a pair of steady green flames.

Ma’zurah picked up her boot, and cast around for the other one. She spotted it lying atop a piece of parchment on the far side of the room. She picked it up and squinted at the paper.

We need the following to repair the broken staff:
Giant's Toe
Holy Water
Hagraven Feather

-Sam

“Uh… Fayrl?” Ma’zurah held the paper out to him and tried not to stare when he turned toward her.

Fayrl took the paper and read it. “I knew there was something up with the staff. He gave it up with far too little fight. Thing is probably cursed on top of being broken. Where are we supposed to find Hagraven feathers? Are we supposed to just go up to one and say, pardon me dangerous creature of darkness, might I have a feather or two? I need to fix a random broken staff.”

He grumbled and continued to root around for their belongings and trash. He finally found his undergarment, draped artfully across one of the statues’ breasts. He stopped to make the intricate foldings and ties that kept his modesty covered, then he turned to get back to cleaning when he slipped on something, falling onto his back.

“B’vek!” he cried as he hit the cold ground. “What in Oblivion--” He spotted a huge severed toe by his foot. “Please tell me I did not have anything to do with that .”

Ma’zurah wandered up to Fayrl with a dark feather in one hand and a bottle of what was ostensibly wine, but smelled more like water in the other, and a bemused expression on her face. “Ma’zurah thinks maybe we found the things we needed to fix the staff already?”

She turned to face the priestess. “Was there a man named Sam with us when we got here?”

“Dibella teaches love and compassion, but that doesn't mean we're just going to tell you what you want to know and let you walk away from this. Finish picking up your mess, then apologize, and if we think you're sincere we'll consider lending you aid.” The woman crossed her arms across her chest and pursed her lips.

Fayrl held his head as he sat up. “Of course, sera. We were not going to leave before we have finished. Ma’zurah, I’ll leave you to… that thing.” He waved vaguely at the toe. “Since you’ve already got the rest presumably.”

Fayrl returned to his cleaning, managing at last to find his trousers and Ma’zurah’s dress, which was mud stained--at least, he hoped that was mud. He still did not see any sign of his tunic or belt, the latter of which he was very concerned about, as it had his satchel and blades strapped to it. He picked up trash as he frantically sought it out, eventually finding it around another of the statues. “By Boethiah’s right breast, why did I cover all the statues with my clothing?”

Ma’zurah snickered, and the priestess looked at Fayrl sharply. “Watch your tongue, blasphemer!” she snapped.

Just then a door at the back of the room opened and another middle aged priestess poked her head into the room. “Senna darling, the others are about ready to perform the morning ritual, did you get the situation sorted out?”

“Not yet. These two have been dawdling.”

“Alright. I’ll let the Mother know we need to give them a few more minutes.” The door closed again.

Ma’zurah groaned and stuffed her belongings and newfound ingredients into her pack and finished dressing in her freshly washed traveling clothes.

Fayrl was very curious about what the morning ritual might involve. He had heard plenty of rumors about the priestesses of Dibella, and he had to admit he was more than a little interested. Of course, he knew better than to say anything about the ritual directly, that would be rude.

“Please forgive us for interrupting your prayers,” Fayrl said, managing to get the last of the trash up from the floor. He still didn’t know where his tunic had gotten off to. Everything else he had accounted for. And thank the Three for it, if he had lost the Ebony Blade somehow he would have had to kill himself because he would have been unable to live with the embarrassment.

“Ma’zurah, have you seen my tunic anywhere? I can’t find the fetching thing.”

Ma’zurah finished buckling her pack and glanced around the room. She laughed. “Up there!” She pointed to the top of one of the massive statues. Sure enough, Fayrl’s tunic was draped across the top of the lotus, almost at the carved stone ceiling.

“Mephala’s left testicle! How did I even get it up there?” Fayrl unhooked his sword of flame from his belt and reached out to try and knock his tunic back down. He couldn’t reach it.

He tried again, jumping, but only managed to hit the edge of it. Nothing moved. It was firmly tangled on the sharp edges of the petals. “Ma’zurah, if you get on my shoulders, I think you can use my sword to get it down.”

The priestess continued to glare at Fayrl, who was apparently oblivious to her reprimands. Ma’zurah barked a laugh. “Oh gods, Fayrl! Here!” She cast telekinesis and gently lifted the tunic off the statue before dropping it on Fayrl’s head.

Fayrl looked on with a split second of surprise, having completely forgotten that Ma’zurah was capable of such feats. The tunic fell on his face while he was still thinking about how useful the spell was.

He pulled the tunic off his face and turned to the priestess. “I believe we have collected all of our belongings and the refuse we carelessly left in your beautiful center of worship. Is there anything else we can do to make our amends for our transgressions against you, your god, and your following?”

“Ugh… just get out of here and don’t infect the population with your Daedra worshipping ways…” The woman massaged her temples.

“Oh! Wait, please!” Ma'zurah said anxiously. “We are very sorry, but we do not even know how we got here, or where exactly here is! We need to know where we can find our friend Sam!”

The woman’s face softened very slightly. “You’re in the Markarth temple of Dibella. You were deep in your cups when you got here. Both of you were ranting, but most of it was slurred. You said something about Rorikstead. I’m afraid that’s all I know.”

“Okay! Thank you! Sorry!” Ma’zurah snatched up Fayrl’s pack and handed it to him, and hastily made her way to the front door of the temple.

Fayrl took his bag and walked to the door. “Ma’zurah, have you not been to Markarth before? Not heard of it’s enchanting Dwemer architecture?”

“Ma’zurah has never been anywhere in Skyrim before. She has been in plenty of Dwemer ruins in Morrowind, but they are very different. More metal, different colored stone, and less stone exposed. Not as ornate either.”

As soon as Ma'zurah opened the temple door, Fayrl winced, groaning at how the early morning light hurt his eyes and stabbed at his headache. He clumsily stepped into his trousers and pulled his tunic over his head, refastening his belt atop it.

Ma’zurah glanced sharply at Fayrl. She realized she had cured her own hangover, but had forgotten about Fayrl. She reached out and cast cure poison on him.

“Thank you,” Fayrl sighed when his head stopped hurting from her spell. Avon made him have to whine and beg and plead for him to cast it. Something about an abuse of magic? Ma’zurah was different though. He needed to try and remember that.

“Markarth is one of my favorite cities,” Fayrl said with a smile. “Why, I used to spend weeks and weeks here. Back in those days, Nabine and I--” he stopped cold, his eyes widening. Nabine was a sobering thought.

“There’s a great tavern here. Or there was,” he continued hastily, and began to make his way down the stone steps.

Ma’zurah paused and looked around at the city. They were at the top of a steep hill. The city looked like what Ma’zurah imagined a Dwemer city would have looked like if it had been open to the sky. It was beautiful, with the sunlight glinting on the exposed bronze fixtures and refracting prismatically through the waterfalls that fell from the mountainside opposite the temple. “Who is Nabine?” she asked.

“So, I suppose we should consider heading to Rorikstead to retrace our steps?” Fayrl said as though he hadn’t heard. “Though I should like to rest at the inn. The journey there is several days and I think we should be in our best shape before making our way across the mountains.”

Ma’zurah blinked at Fayrl’s sudden topic change. She caught up to Fayrl and hooked an arm under his elbow. “Hey. You okay? Who is Nabine?”

“Thanks to you I am feeling very well indeed. Oh, pardon me!”

Ma’zurah’s eyebrow quirked as Fayrl walked into a passing Nord, apparently intentionally to avoid answering her question. She would bring it up later when they were not in public and he was not in an avoidant mood.

“Watch where you’re going!” the Nord gumbled.

“I’m very sorry, sera,” Fayrl said as he hurried further down the stone steps. “That tavern, it should be somewhere around here…”

Ma’zurah paused and hefted her pack off her shoulder, pulling out her map. She located Markarth and Rorikstead in relation to Whiterun and High Hrothgar. It seemed that Rorikstead was on the path between Markarth and Whiterun. “Ma’zurah thinks we can certainly stop in Rorikstead and try to find out what happened. It is on the way.”

She froze with the map in hand as she suddenly realized that she was wearing an unfamiliar ring. She carefully rolled up her map and replaced it in her pack. She took the ring off and looked at it. “Does Fayrl know where this came from?” she asked slowly.

“Is that not the ring you wear for your lovers back in your time?” He had not paid much attention to her jewelry before, and was kicking himself from missing these small details. If he was not so overwhelmed with everything he would have noticed, he tried to comfort himself. Still, he was much happier to discuss this than to dwell on Nabine. Especially in this city of all places.

Ma’zurah pulled her necklace out from under the collar of her tunic and checked to make sure all her rings and amulets were there. Nothing seemed to be missing. “No, Ma’zurah has not seen this ring before…” She examined it closely. It was a simple gold band with no ornamentation. It appeared to be enchanted. She put it back on and sent a current of magicka through it to figure out the enchantment. “It is enchanted to assist in the casting of healing spells… You do not remember where Ma’zurah could have gotten it?”

Fayrl shrugged. “To be honest--and this is very unlike me--I cannot remember anything since we were in Whiterun. Last I recall, I was downing another mug of Sam’s brew. After that, just waking up in the temple.”

It was curious. He was not usually prone to such lapses in memory. He went to scratch his head and noticed his own band--the band that he had gotten from his daelekil, Qau-dar. Something was different. The one he had from Qau-dar had a small mark of Mara on it. He turned it around on his finger, looking closely to see if it had been somehow filed off.

“Show me your hand?” he asked, a trepidation rising in his chest.

Ma’zurah held out her hand, a feeling of dread rising in her throat. “Ma’zurah cannot remember anything either… The last she remembers, Sam said you had won the contest!”

Fayrl put his hand beside hers. He saw with horror that the rings matched. “Did we...?”

“Fuck…” Ma’zurah fumbled to take the ring from Fayrl. She put it on her own finger and sent a current of magicka through it as well. “Same enchantment! Oh gods…” She handed the ring back and clutched at her head.

“I suppose we won’t be lying about being married in future.” Fayrl looked away, feeling very awkward for having said anything. The joke did not feel funny now that it had left his mouth. How many Khajiit was he going to marry in Skyrim?

“No no no no no…” Ma’zurah was nearly hyperventilating. “Fayrl does not understand… Ma’zurah is engaged already! Ma’zurah cannot talk to her partners right now! What will they say?! Oh gods… She does not want to hurt them, to lose them! They are the best thing she has ever had!”

Fayrl put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s fine. So long as we have not consummated the marriage, it doesn’t count. Not by House Dunmer standards at any rate. Besides, I technically am already married, though I suppose death in this time may make the bond null and void. Still, I am sure we can find a way to annul the marriage. You do not have to worry. I am sure that your partners will understand given the unusual situation we have found ourselves in.”

Ma’zurah looked at Fayrl with pleading eyes. “Julan was so scared when Ayem asked this one to reforge Trueflame. He thought Ma’zurah would leave him! What will he say when he finds out Ma’zurah married someone before him…?”

Fayrl had to give himself a moment to wrap his head around that statement. Almalexia had the wedding sword reforged? It was little wonder why Ma’zurah’s partner might feel worried. He thought it best not to mention such things, however.

“We can have this thing dissolved before you return. In fact, it won’t have even happened yet once you get back to your time. Besides, it’s not like a real marriage. You can simply tell him it was a formality in order to complete your task here, that’s not even entirely a lie. I can write you a letter to bring back, if you should like. I am sure there will be some records of my House in your time, he can see that I am a good and upstanding individual and put his mind at ease. Besides, it’s not as if you plan on doing anything with me in that manner. What need should he have of worry?”

There was an awkward silence. Ma’zurah bit her lip and looked away. She certainly found Fayrl attractive, and had at least thought about it before--not that she was going to act on it.

“Ma’zurah would never leave him,” she said quietly.

“Then there is nothing to worry about. Come, let’s get a drink to take your mind off it,” Fayrl said, unthinkingly, as he headed towards where the tavern used to be.

Fayrl didn’t know much about Ma’zurah’s relationships. He would ask, but it was not an appropriate time now. She was certainly worried about things though. Had it been bad when this Julan fellow of hers had thought she was going to leave him? Hopefully there was no physical abuse. It made him angry just to think of the possibility.

No, Ma’zurah wouldn’t be with someone like that. She was the type who stood up for herself, surely. Still, he wasn’t very good at handling people’s emotions except usually to offer them a physical means to take their mind of things. That was the opposite of useful in this case.

He cursed his luck for not having a lute here to help him soothe her with music. Perhaps just a song might help? What could possibly work here?

They continued down the long winding stairs to the ground level of the city. Their path was suddenly blocked by a large Nord in fur and leather armor that barely covered his chest, and a shorter Imperial man wearing short pale blue hooded robes. The Imperial seemed to be interrogating the Nord. "So you don't know anything about this house?" The man gestured toward the ornate metal door they were standing in front of.

The Nord crossed his arms and glowered at the shorter man. "No."

The Imperial continued stubbornly. "Anyone seen entering or leaving? Any strange lights or unusual noises?"

"It’s abandoned and it's always been abandoned."

The Imperial caught sight of the approaching pair, and the Nord took advantage of the man’s distraction to make a hasty escape. “You there!” the Imperial addressed Fayrl and Ma’zurah. “Do you know anything about this house?”

Fayrl looked at Ma’zurah and began to walk in the other direction. If the Nord was running away, there was a reason. “Come, my dear, to the tavern like I promised you.”

He was making a point not to make any eye contact. In fact, he just radiated ‘do not talk to me I am busy’ energy as best as he could with his body language. “I hear there is a special on tonight.”

“Oh no you don’t!” The Imperial came and stood in front of the two, crossing his arms. “If you know anything about this house, the Vigilants of Stendarr need to know!”

Ma’zurah blinked at the man. “These two only just got to town. These two do not know whose house that is.”

“Oh. Well then.” The man seemed to deflate. “Nobody seems to know anything, and the ones that do refuse to talk to me. I have evidence that there are dangerous cultists in there, but nobody is willing to confirm it. I think I’m just going to need to go in and check, but I can’t do it without backup. You two wouldn’t happen to be for hire would you?”

Fayrl tilted his head, thinking. “That depends on exactly what you are going to pay us to accompany you.” He wasn’t about to go barreling into some possibly haunted or trapped house. For all he knew, it could be an old safehouse of the Morag Tong. Who knew what could be inside. It needed to be worth his while to pique his interest.

The man’s brow lowered in thought. “How does a hundred gold apiece sound for a morning’s work?”

“A hundred?” Fayrl scoffed. “Hardly seems worth it to me. Don’t you agree, my dear?”

Ma’zurah’s face took on a sly expression and she crossed her arms. “Two hundred.”

“A hundred and twenty is more than fair for less than a day’s work! For all we know there’s nothing in there at all! I suggest you accept.”

“As you say, there may be nothing at all and then you have wasted our time. One eighty.” Fayrl gave the man a flat look.

“A hundred and fifty, and that is all I can offer you! The Vigil will be breathing down my neck as it is.” The Imperial glanced to the side with a slightly guilty expression.

“I don’t know that it is worth it then. Only three hundred between us? I’ve earned more laying on my back.” Fayrl waved his hand dismissively.

Ma’zurah snickered. The man appeared taken aback. “I don’t know where you’ve been getting your work, but in Skyrim, a hundred and fifty is more than generous for an honest day’s work. I could always go check at the tavern if you’re not interested.”

“Oh fine!” Ma’zurah rolled her eyes. “As you seem to be so desperate for assistance, this one can help.”

Fayrl sighed. He was more than happy to let the annoying man go to the tavern. It was likely only a threat. “Well, I won’t have my wife heading off with some stranger into an abandoned house!”

He realized as soon as he had said it just how poor a choice of words he had made. He cringed internally and hoped that it did not rub salt into the fresh wound.

Ma’zurah choked at Fayrl’s comment, but turned it into a laugh.

“Well alright then.” The man appeared relieved to have them agree. “I’m Vigilant Tyranus. Come along.” He produced a key and opened the door, holding it open for them.

Fayrl’s hand was already on his blade. He had likely pissed off Ma’zurah and now he was being led into this dubious abandoned house, which would likely be unpleasant at best. “Oh no, you first. I insist.”

“Suit yourself!” The man entered the building, casting a magelight to illuminate the dark interior, and Fayrl and Ma’zurah followed.

Chapter Text

The inside of the house appeared to be a normal inhabited living space, which immediately put Ma’zurah on guard. She dropped her pack by the door and summoned frost to one hand.

The Vigilant had apparently had the same thought. “Fresh food,” he noted. “No wood rot on the furniture. Someone’s been here. Recently.” He drew his mace. “The people I asked said no one enters or leaves… The Jarl’s steward had the key available for house inspection.” He rifled through a cupboard, noting the lack of signs of age on the stored fruits and vegetables.

Ma’zurah opened a drawer, and raised her eyebrows at the finely tailored clothing she found within. She glanced around the room again. She could not see anything that might indicate what kind of cult the person or people living here might be member of. “So… Why are these Vigilants of S’rendarr hunting down cultists?”

Vigilant Tyranus paused his investigation of the contents of a chest, his arms full of blankets. “You haven’t heard of us? The Vigilants of Stendarr were founded after the Oblivion Crisis. We are dedicated to hunting down and eradicating all Daedra, Daedra worshippers, necromancers, vampires, werewolves, and any other unnatural abominations in Tamriel.”

Fayrl exchanged a look with Ma’zurah, resting his hand on the Ebony Blade. His hair was still held up with his spider silk tie, proclaiming him a devotee of Mephala to anyone who knew the secret identifier. Had they been chosen for this task on purpose, or was the man really so oblivious? For an organization seeking to get rid of everything to do with Daedra and the undead--two groups that need not be grouped together in Fayrl’s opinion--this man was not very good at identifying Daedra worshippers. And weren’t Dunmer in this era back to worshipping the True Tribunal? This man had not even paused for a moment to consider what Fayrl’s religious beliefs might be. It was foolish.

There was something about this house that unnerved Fayrl. He couldn’t put his finger on it. He dropped his pack and drew his sword and his dagger both. If something should happen, he would not be caught off guard.

Ma’zurah blinked in surprise at the Vigilant’s response. “Uh… Are we talking about the same god? S’rendarr, the God of Mercy? The patron of runts and the unfortunate? In Ma’zurah’s experience S’rendarr would not waste his energy on eradicating anything…”

The Imperial dumped the blankets back into the chest and closed the lid. “It is a mercy to the people of Tamriel to rid them of the abominations that are Daedra and the undead. It is hardly a waste of energy.”

Ma’zurah’s brow furrowed. “All Tamriel? Even Morrowind?”

Vigilant Tyranus’ face darkened. “The Vigil and Morrowind are not currently on civil terms--” Something drew the Vigilant’s attention. “Wait! Do you hear that? I think it came from this direction!” He ran into the next room just in time to see a basket roll across the floor. “That’s it! Something’s inside the house. Come on! We’re getting to the bottom of this!”

The man wrenched the next door open. “Come out! We know you’re here!”

Fayrl sighed. “This is why I did not want to get involved with this troublesome man,” he told Ma'zurah in Dunmeris. “He’s foolish and blind, even to his own faith it seems. Let’s just leave him. The money isn’t even worth it.”

“Really?” Ma’zurah muttered back to Fayrl in the same language. “This exact reason is why Fayrl did not want to get involved?” Her mouth quirked into a wry half smile. “Fayrl should have shared his prophetic abilities with Ma’zurah!”

Finding the room empty, the man rushed to the door of the next room. This door proved to be locked, and the Vigilant rattled the handle in frustration. “Damn! Would you see if you can get this open?”

Fayrl gave a loud and laborious sigh. “Fine. I’ll unlock it.”

He stepped forward and pulled out some of the pins from his hair, beginning to work the lock open.

Suddenly an ominous voice reverberated through the house, setting everyone's teeth on edge. “Weak. He's weak. You're strong. Crush him.”

As soon as the voice finished speaking, the house began to rattle and furniture started flinging itself across the room.

“Azura’s star! What in Oblivion is this?” Fayrl demanded of the Vigilant. “What are you playing at!”

The Vigilant’s eyes flashed a glowing blue. Ma'zurah recognized the spell as clairvoyance, the spell that allowed her to see into the spirit realm. She groaned. The man stared down and through the door. “Stendarr’s Mercy! This isn’t an ordinary Daedra! We have to get help!” He turned to the pair, and then issued a high pitched shriek. “Y-You tricked me! You… you… heretics! You abominations! Oh gods!” He ducked a flying basket and sprinted out of the room toward the front of the house.

Ma’zurah’s eyes glowed blue as well, and she started. “Molag’s balls! He was not kidding! This is not an ordinary Daedra! We have to get out of here!” She grabbed Fayrl’s arm.

“C’mon, this s’wit is clearly the cause of all of this,” Fayrl fumed. “He’s botched some spell or some nonsense and gotten us in this fetching situation. He has a lot to answer for.”

He marched back through the house, slicing furniture that got too close to him. He was still dealing with the last lingering feelings from his hangover, and the effects of being trapped in the wrong time, and of being in the same city in which he had lost Nabine, and now there was tension between himself and Ma’zurah. He’d had quite enough complication for one day. If this screaming pile of guar dung didn’t answer for his actions, Fayrl was tempted to end him and make his own life far more simple. Maybe killing him would appease whatever was upset in this house.

Ma’zurah clung to Fayrl’s arm, eyes wide and tail lashing. They reached the front of the house to find the terrified Vigilant pulling at the door in desperation. “Get out of my head, Daedra!”

“No. Kill him. Crush his bones. Tear at his flesh. You will kill. You will kill, or you will die!”

Well, perhaps the man was not purposefully putting them into this situation, Fayrl thought. Regardless, he was clearly a part of of the reason for this. It took little for him to agree to follow this Daedric voice.

Furniture flew around the room. Ma’zurah screamed and cast a bubble shield around herself and Fayrl, deflecting an incoming cast iron cauldron just in time. She had to do something to stop this. “This one greets you with thrice fold courtesies, great Prince of Domination, cornerstone of the House of Troubles, and says that she is Indoril Hlaalu Ma’zurah Nerevar Mora, and that her companion is Indoril Fayrl Indoril, and she begs you pass these ones by and take your trials and punishments to more welcoming recipients!” She held the shield in place against the assault of furniture and screamed her formal greeting to the room at large.

Fayrl could not believe what he was hearing! Molag Bal? Of all the Daedra it had to be one of the House of Troubles, of course! That was certainly a reason to be distressed. Still, to be lumped in with followers of Molag Bal was a grave insult indeed.

The Vigilant whirled toward the pair. “I don’t want to die! I can’t die here!” The man was positively hyperventilating. He drew his mace and advanced toward them. “The Daedra has us! It’s you or me!”

“It isn’t going to be us!” Fayrl sneered. In a flash he was behind the man, drawing his dagger across the man’s throat, splitting it open from left to right. His other hand held the man’s head in place so that he could not move; there were always convulsions. The blood arced before the man and spilled to the floor.

Fayrl let the body fall to the ground before him, pushing the man down face first. “Problem solved.”

There was an ominous rumbling laugh that set Ma'zurah’s fur on end, and the voice returned, this time pleased in its tone. “Yes. Your reward is waiting for you, mortal. Further down.”

Ma'zurah moved to the front door and tried the handle. It wouldn't budge. She cast dispel and the strongest unlocking spell she could manage with no more successful results. The door would not move.

She rounded on Fayrl. “Okay, here are the rules,” she said in a low voice. “Never, ever lie to a Daedric Prince. He will know. Never disrespect a Daedric Prince. Always show courtesy, and for Molag Bal, always offer a submissive attitude. If he offers a gift, do not reject it, as that would be rude, and he will use any excuse possible to disqualify us from the protection of the Covenant of the Three. Trust in the Three and follow the rules of the Covenant, and they will protect us.” She stepped over the Vigilant’s body and held out her hand to Fayrl. Though her face appeared preternaturally still and impassive, her hand shook slightly.

“Alright,” Fayrl replied, unnerved. “So we have to take this reward? We have no other choice?” He took her hand in his, forcing out the familiar taste of her memories. He gave it a reassuring squeeze. He remained calm, too overwhelmed to panic. Some part of him had recognized the danger and had, as he had long been trained to do, clamped down on the emotions, freezing them in place. It was time to formulate a plan. It was time to do what had to be done. “I suppose we also should not keep him waiting?”

“Right. He probably will not let us go until he gets what he wants. He cannot harm us so long as we follow the Covenant. Neither can he lie or offer us any true disrespect. He may try to bait us though. Remember, this is a trial. He does not want us to succeed.” Ma’zurah squeezed Fayrl’s hand tightly, still shaking, though whether from fear or adrenaline even she could not tell. She walked swiftly through the house, stepping over fallen furniture until they reached the door that had previously been locked.

Fayrl paused at the door. “Well, I guess this is it. I… Ma’zurah, I may struggle with this trial. What happens if… what sort of consequences are there if I make a mistake?”

“Ma'zurah does not know. He will likely kill us. Or worse.” Ma'zurah swallowed and looked at Fayrl with wide eyes.

“In light of that, I shall endeavor to remain silent. I have only ever conversed with the Spinner. Or to the other two of the Tribunal by giving prayer without anything in return. I do not wish to place you in further danger through my carelessness or ignorance.”

Ma'zurah nodded and pressed the door open. Once her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she found she could make out a set of stone steps descending into a cellar that had been hewn from the stone of the surrounding bedrock. Mist curled its way up from below, and Ma'zurah wrinkled her nose at the faint scent of mold and sulphur that emerged.

“Deeper, mortals!”

Fayrl took a deep breath and followed Ma’zurah down the stairs and into a larder of some sort. He could barely see. Everything was a wreck down here as well, with all sorts of items strewn about. He kept kicking things and nearly tripping in the darkness. He gave Ma'zurah’s hand another squeeze, more to reassure himself than her. The smell was awful, like scamps, but multiplied many times over. It did not mix well with the dankness of the place.

“Yes, that's it. You are so close now. Come deeper, down, down.” The voice made the pair shudder. Ma'zurah swished her tail in agitation.

They reached the far end of the larder, and found that one wall had been been broken open into a small natural cave. Ma'zurah ducked into it and led Fayrl through the curving passage until it opened into a cavern containing what looked like an ornate spiked altar to Molag Bal. It was slightly brighter down here. A narrow shaft of light made its way down to the altar from somewhere high above. The altar had a low, round pedestal in front of it, and a spiked rusty mace hanging over it. Ma'zurah gripped Fayrl’s hand tightly.

“Come, mortals, your prize awaits.”

Fayrl hesitated, lingering a moment behind Ma’zurah. The sight of the altar and the rusted and twisted spikes of the mace sitting before them filled him with foreboding. He looked at Ma'zurah with pleading eyes and shook his head. “This isn’t right. Nothing good can come of this,” he whispered to her. He stood planted in place, wanting nothing more than to run away.

Ma'zurah carefully approached the altar, not quite stepping onto the pedestal. “Oh fearsome Prince, Ma'zurah addresses you most respectfully! We do not wish to presume or step beyond the limits of what is expected of us! We beg that you tell us why you have brought us here, and what you require of us!”

“I had plans for that meddler of Stendarr. You two made it far more interesting. Take your prize and I shall tell you of what I require.”

Fayrl stepped forward so that he was besides Ma’zurah. He looked between her and the altar. Every part of him screamed that he should not be here. He had to force himself to remain silent.

Ma’zurah cringed at the thought of taking anything from Molag Bal, but she knew she could not refuse a gift from a Daedric Prince without appearing rude and ungrateful. He had specified that the prize was for both of them, so she wrapped her arm around Fayrl’s waist to steady herself and stepped forward onto the low pedestal to reach for the rusty mace, urging Fayrl forward with her. Better that they act as one than to have the Prince try to pit them against each other.

Fayrl felt a churning in the pit of his stomach as Ma’zurah pulled him forward. He did not fight it, knowing that she must surely be more experienced in such matters; her way of speaking proved that.

He gave Ma’zurah one last look to make sure she didn't seem somehow under the spell of Molag Bal. She seemed to be herself.

“There you are. Careful not to hurt yourselves on your prize.”

Fayrl closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Ma’zurah had said they could not be harmed so long as they followed the rules. He just had to have faith. The quivering of his muscles ceased. He opened his eyes again. Molag Bal would likely feed off of fear. He had to fight that.

Presuming that they would not be told anything until they took the supposed prize, Fayrl reached forward toward the mace.

As soon as his hand had touched the mace, there was a loud sound of metal slamming into place. Fayrl wrenched his hand back and bit his tongue, holding back all the curses that came to mind.

Ma'zurah choked back a scream and clung to Fayrl. “Azurah, zatay jer ma!” she whispered fervently. (Azurah, help your child!)

They were stuck inside of a cage of twisted black metal. Sharp barbs stuck out at all angles, making movement impossible without grave injury.

“Fools!” the voice mocked. “Did you think Molag Bal, the Lord of Domination, would so easily reward you? What do you see from that little cage? Speak!”

Ma'zurah reached under her collar and drew out her necklace, fingering the Ring of Azura. She tried to answer the Prince, but at first the only sound she could produce was an undignified squeak. “F-Forgive these ones if they have offended! No offense was intended! T-This one sees sh-sharp metal bars, a mace, a-and the altar of the fearsome Prince!”

The sound of ugly laughter filled both of their heads. “Yes, bars. Sharp, aren't they? This was the last thing many saw before they were sacrificed in my name. Men would come and sacrifice the wretched upon that altar in my name. The weak would be punished by the strong. But a Daedric Lord has his enemies, and my rival Boethiah had her priest desecrate it and the altar. So long since it's tasted blood. Until you came."

The fear drained from Fayrl. Perhaps something had simply snapped. He could feel little at the moment. Still, he knew now that this was a plot of Molag Bal to turn them against one of the Three. Treacherous; almost poetic in irony, sending followers of the Prince of Plots with a plot to harm her. “May I ask a question, Lord of Coldharbor, o’ Harvester of Souls, Prince of Schemes, and Master of Domination?”

“It speaks at last! Proceed mortal. You have shown your strength enough to earn a question.”

“What does the mighty Prince wish of us? What shall we do with your gift?”

“I should have one of your limbs ripped off for asking a double question. But since the answer is related and there are two of you, you may stay whole for now. Know that you have taken your companion’s question.”

Fayrl inclined his head as best as he could. “Thank you.”

“I want submission. I want the priest who did this to bend his knee and give me his soul. He comes by to perform Boethiah's insulting rites at my altar, but he's been missing. Captured and bound. Left to rot. Save him. Let him perform his rite one more time. And when he does, you will be waiting for him.”

Ma'zurah found her voice again. “What the fearsome Prince asks is not something these two can do. Not only does the Prince have no right to ask these ones to violate their allegiance to the Three, but doing so would put these two outside of the protection of the Covenant. Respectfully, these two must decline, and ask to be allowed to leave now.” Certainty lent Ma'zurah strength, and her trembling ceased.

There was only silence in answer to Ma’zurah’s request.

Fayrl looked around, expecting something to happen--for the bars of the cage to lower, or the voice to boom around them again. But everything was still; silent.

“Ma’zurah?” Fayrl asked uncertainly. “Is this supposed to happen?”

“Ma'zurah has no idea! He cannot harm us without risking the wrath of our gods, and keeping these two here would result in harm. Ma'zurah supposes we must just be patient.”

Fayrl stood in wait, pressed up against Ma'zurah’s side, unable to do anything else unless he wished himself harm.

After a moment he spoke again. “How long does this usually take?”

Ma’zurah glared at the altar. “He probably wants us to do something to submit, but Ma’zurah is not submitting to him . He cannot keep us here. Ma’zurah doubts he would even be able to keep us here past dusk. But just to make the point clear, we can always pray.”

Fayrl perked up at the thought. There was still hope. “Pray? Truly?”

“Ma’zurah would suggest a proper ritual of invocation, but she has no moon sugar, so prayer is likely the best option. Does Fayrl have any other ideas?”

“I have none. But prayer, that is an easy task.” He began to shuffle with the ties to his trousers, turning very slowly until his back was to her. “It’s rather cramped in here, so I must beg your pardon for that. I shall begin praying at once. I hope this will not bother your partners, but desperate times and all that.”

Ma'zurah glanced down at the movement of Fayrl’s hands and realized what he intended to do. “Oh! Sorry, Ma’zurah forgot… She is not used to spending so much time with the Dunmer devoted to Mafala. Ma’zurah’s partners also follow Azurah first.” Ma’zurah shifted hesitantly. “Um… Ma’zurah will just look this way and uh… also pray… to Azurah she means!”

Fayrl was surprised to hear the hesitation in her voice. And was that… embarrassment? They had been naked together just before this, what need had she to be shy now? Perhaps it was simply the idea of being trapped so close by while he did it.

“I will attempt to restrain my voice to prayer alone,” he said, hoping that would put her at ease. He managed to lower his trousers enough to slip out his cock. “Couldn’t beg you for a favor, could I?”

“Oh Mafala…” Ma’zurah whispered under her breath, hearing the telltale rustle of clothing. It seemed strange and awkward to be turned on next to a shrine of Molag Bal, and yet an undeniable bulge was already developing in the front of her trousers. Why did sexy Dunmer always seem to appear and tempt her at the most inopportune times?

She turned further away from Fayrl and cleared her throat. “What favor does Fayrl need?”

“Could you pass me a vial that’s in my pouch?” He motioned to the leather satchel on the back of his hip. “I need the one that is cobalt with a silver doht on the cap.” He needed his anointing oil to do this right if he was going to try praying.

Ma’zurah exhaled slowly and turned carefully back toward Fayrl. In the cramped quarters where they were pressed up against each other to avoid the sharp spikes of the cage, she did not want to out herself to him inadvertently in the most embarrassing manner.

She unlatched the pouch and found the vial and wordlessly passed it over Fayrl’s shoulder, looking resolutely toward the nearest stone wall and trying not to think about what praying entailed for Fayrl. It would just make things more difficult for her.

“Thank you.” He quickly poured out a small amount of the oil into his hand. He closed his eyes and began to recite the prayer, his hand moving in time with the rhythm of the words. “Ikalam am hla’yivohn, os almese Ohl de ku’or yi muhr edur lohara. Gahmerdehn am farayn, os jikhi de Ohl yi muhrmolkhun en yi albusehr.”

Ma’zurah stood with her back pressed against Fayrl’s to avoid the spikes of their prison. She could feel his movements in time with his words; could easily imagine him stroking his cock if she let herself. It was incredibly arousing. She had to focus.

She pushed the thoughts and fantasies of Fayrl out of her mind, concentrating on the memories she had of Azurah. It wasn’t too hard. Her experiences with Azurah were among her most cherished and vivid memories, and she was filled with warmth at the thought of the affection she had seen in the eyes of her Mother Goddess when she had finally fulfilled the prophecies in the heart of Red Mountain. She withdrew her necklace from beneath her collar and slipped Moon and Star and the Ring of Azura onto her fingers, allowing that feeling of warmth to fill her entire perception, knowing that this was what Azurah wanted from her followers--the unbridled adoration and love of her children.

Fayrl let the sensation of his hand stroking along his length wash over himself. His breath quickened. The cold of the metal cage where it pressed against his shoulder made him keenly aware of his inability to escape. And yet, the knowledge was in some strange way not unappealing. Yes, he was in a terrible situation, perhaps the worst possible. Regardless, he was going to show his faith in his patron Prince and it was going to free them. The better he could lose himself to this, the more powerful the prayer would be.

“Alma am minmer,” he continued, trying to stifle himself from moaning while Ma’zurah was so very close to him. If only she was not so committed to those partners of hers, he would have offered to do the prayer with her, it would have been even stronger with two instead of one of them involved.

“Serush Fado,” Ma’zurah prayed in a low voice, completely tuning out everything else around her, “jer ma pur jerali ketepajiitay di Molag Bal kalor jaj shijoh shabar karanoh. Serush Fado rabiba dan jaj zegatana an bakata rakizna akrai raj may'a, an jaj tonshe jaj Fado Azurah wo karana. Jer ma atarr jaji jer dan jaj korna lhajiito dal, yo saa'do, jaj atarr jaji jer pur dal wo Molag Bal an ka jan nas jaj an jaj trevan ravi jan may'a vadajnaiitay!”

(Beautiful Mother, your child speaks to you from the prison of Molag Bal where they sit in unhappiness. Beautiful Mother has given them the strength and tools to win against every evil, and they thank their Mother Azurah with joy! Your child asks that you give them the insight to escape now, or better, they ask that you speak now with Molag Bal and cause him to set them and their friend free from his evil domination!)

She paused, trying to think of something more she could say, but her concentration was broken when she heard Fayrl’s quickened breathing break into a stifled moan. The arousal she had felt suddenly rushed back and she could not contain a soft answering moan. She froze, realizing her mistake too late to take it back, certain Fayrl had heard her.

Lost in the feeling of his own arousal, the sound of Ma’zurah’s answering moan only urged Fayrl on. He did not even realize at first it was her. “Ist os manisehar yilad Ohl,” his voice raised as he continued to pray, lust coloring his words, “captu yi min gher Ohm baldefuur!”

He panted for a moment as he tried to steady his words. He knew the importance of speaking properly in these things. Still, his own enjoyment of the ritual lent it power.

The lust in Fayrl’s voice nearly made Ma’zurah dizzy. She had never been in a position like this before, where she was present for, but not participating in a sensual act, and the desire to do something, anything, to find relief was nearly overwhelming. She’d had no idea she would be so turned on by such a situation.

She held her breath and focused instead on Fayrl’s prayer, translating and comparing it to the few ritual prayers she knew in Ta’agra. It was much more formal, and promised much more to the Mother of Secrets than Khajiit usually offered. Khajiit had many gods, and less ritualistic relationships with them, so it was not surprising that Dunmer offered more to their fewer gods.

Fayrl was panting, and Ma’zurah’s thoughts scattered. She released her breath in a slow, even exhale to prevent herself from whimpering.

Fayr was reaching his climax. He was careful in his movements not to let himself forget the spikes that adorned the cage. It was difficult. He wanted to just let himself go, consequences be damned. Yet he knew better.

“Balori as set am as gan'tosh muhri nifi’ag ru Ohm khamir,” His voice was as much groans as it was prayer at this point. Each word, every syllable was punctuated with his arousal.

He could feel himself reaching his limit at last, perfectly practiced to match the prayer. He had to lean his head against the cold metal to balance himself.

“En yi,” he shuddered as he came, “demyr!”

Ma’zurah couldn’t help but give a long, soft whine as she listened to Fayrl come.

As soon as Fayrl’s prayer had ended the cage retracted into the floor, his whole weight going over at once. He only had a chance to brace himself with one arm and roll onto his back in reflex to break the fall.

Ma’zurah squeaked in surprise and fell forward on hands and knees, tail flailing wildly behind her in an attempt to maintain balance, and scuffing her palms against the stone floor of the cave on impact. She heard the soft thud and rush of breath as Fayrl landed behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, only to realize he had landed on his back, and whipped her head forward again, embarrassed. She had been trying to avoid seeing that.

She sat up onto her knees and examined her scraped palms, hissing softly as the sting registered. “Is Fayrl okay?” she called behind her, and cast the tiniest burst of healing magic around her hands to close the scrapes, causing gold light to swirl around her for a second.

Fayrl sat up, checking to make sure he had not gotten any injuries in his tumble. A couple of small nicks and some bruises, but nothing bad. His roll had saved him from hurting himself seriously in any way.

“I’m fine,” he replied, getting to his feet. “How are you? Any injuries?” He went to offer her a hand up--not the hand covered in oil and ejaculate.

Ma’zurah glanced up at Fayrl and began coughing uncontrollably. She curled into a ball and the coughing morphed into laughing--the absurdity of their situation and relief at being free catching up to her just as Fayrl approached her without bothering to tend to the state of his clothing first.

“Ma’zurah is fine!” she finally choked out, waving an arm in his direction.

Fayrl quirked an eyebrow. He didn’t know what set off Ma’zurah. But he was glad to see she was fine.

He hastily shoved his cock back into his pants and retrieved his vial of oil. He used a spare cloth from his satchel to wipe off his hand, and applied a cleansing oil. “Shall we see if we can finally get out of this fetching basement? The light of day may do us some good.”

Ma’zurah bounced to her feet cheerfully. Her arousal had receded and she felt elated at their freedom. “Yes please! And never speak to Molag Bal again!”

She headed to the front of the cave and ducked back into the larder, not even glancing back at the altar.

Fayrl made a beeline back to the larder and beyond. “You don’t have to worry about that from me. I never want to see this house or anything related to it ever again!”

Chapter Text

Fayrl could not be out of Molag Bal’s house soon enough. Finding the front door unlocked, he pushed out into the street, breathing in large gulps of air. It felt a relief. After a few breaths his knees quivered and buckled.

“Whoa!” Ma’zurah knelt in the street in front of Fayrl and put her hands on his shoulders. “It is okay! We are out now! The gods heard us and answered.” She peered into his face in concern.

Fayrl gave her a haphazard smile. “Guess I got a bit cramped up in that place.”

He tried to rise back up, but his knees still would not hold his weight. “Guess I need a minute,” he laughed.

Ma’zurah nodded, and leaned forward to give him a hug. “Ma’zurah takes it Fayrl has never met any Daedric Princes other than the Three before.”

He laughed again. “Not even once. Truth be told, of the Three, only one has ever spoken to me. But that’s different; I was chosen there. This time… a different story indeed.”

Fayrl appreciated Ma’zurah’s concern for him, but he did not understand it. He was perfectly fine, other than his knees not cooperating.

Still, her arms around him did feel pretty nice. And soothing.

Ma’zurah pulled back and gave Fayrl a wry smile. “You are doing very well then. Ma’zurah has spoken to several Princes before. She will have to tell Fayrl about the time she nearly pissed off Sheggorath…”

“By the Three, you didn’t!” He could hardly believe what he was hearing. He had already surmised her greater experience in these matters, but this would be far beyond what he had ever assumed. “I would love to hear of it!”

“Oh yes! He was the first Prince Ma’zurah ever met other than Azurah. It took Julan a long time to calm Ma’zurah down afterwards. She had already angered him before he spoke to her, so it was very scary.”

Ma’zurah stood and walked back through the open doorway of the house just enough to grab their fallen packs and search the dead Vigilant’s pockets. She found a sizable coinpurse and a key, as well as an amulet and several potions, all of which she took. She hooked the man’s steel mace to her belt and stepped out of the house again, locking the door behind her. She offered Fayrl a hand up, and gave him his pack. “Come on, we can talk on the way out of the city. Ma’zurah does not want to stay here any longer.”

Fayrl nodded, not sorry to see the end of Markarth for a little while. He loved the city, but too much had happened. Even if he could divorce himself from the most recent incident, he had a bit of a history here. He forced himself back to his feet, even as his legs trembled, making him sway as he stood.

“Alright,” Ma’zurah began, “the whole thing started when Ma’zurah made a pilgrimage to the Shrine of Azurah on Vvardenfell with Julan. Julan wanted to pray to Azurah himself, because his mother had not been receiving any visions giving him directions. Turns out she had never received any visions, but that is a different story.”

Ma’zurah wrapped an arm around Fayrl’s waist to steady him and began walking. “Anyway, we got to the shrine and began praying to Azurah, and suddenly she spoke to Ma’zurah. Just Ma’zurah--Julan was not happy about that. But Azurah told Ma’zurah that Sheggorath was cheating on a bet she had with him, and she wanted Ma’zurah to stop him.”

Fayrl’s head was spinning, and not just because he was feeling a bit weak right now. Helping in bets with gods? Was there any great deed which Ma’zurah had not come to be involved in? “You don’t say!”

He was also more and more fascinated by this Julan fellow. He seemed to be the closest to Ma’zurah. At least, his name continued to come up again and again.

“Yes, well apparently, Sheggorath argued that solitude causes madness, and Azurah argued that solitude is good because it allows for solace and meditation. So to solve the argument, Azurah bet Sheggorath that one of her priestesses could live for a hundred years by herself in a life of prayer and meditation without going mad.

“Azurah had almost won the bet, and Sheggorath decided to cheat and send his Daedra to bother the priestess. Azurah told Ma’zurah to kill the Daedra and bring back proof. So Ma’zurah went all the way back to Balmora to get Jasmine and Constance, and then all the way to the middle of the Sheogorad region and killed a whole bunch of Daedra outside the priestess’ cabin, including one very tough Aureal--er, golden saint--who it turned out was actually the commander of his Aureal guard. And possibly his daughter. Ma’zurah was never clear about that.”

Fayrl listened with rapt attention. He had so many questions to ask her once the story was over. He wanted to know all about her partners. How many were there? And also how she came to have them all in such a wonderful agreement.

“So I take it you helped Azura to succeed in her task?” he asked, leaning in close to her ear to speak. He was still feeling the after effects of his orgasm and he was curious if he could figure out what had happened with her back in the house. Had she really made those sounds? Or had he merely imagined it from what he might have wanted to come to pass.

“Yes. Staada--the Aureal--had the signet ring of Sheggorath on her, and Ma’zurah took it back to Azurah’s shrine and showed it to Azurah. And then Azurah gave Ma’zurah her Star and made her Azurah’s Champion, and also said she could keep the signet ring. See?”

She removed her necklace and withdrew one large, rectangular shaped ring that seemed to be carved out of wood. The ring had three faces carved into it, side by side, all very similar, but subtly different--the Faces of Madness: Hysteria, Rage, and Ecstasy. Sheogorath’s most well known icon. She showed the ring to Fayrl.

Fayrl looked on in awe. Ma’zurah was so remarkable. What had it been that had drawn the Webspinner to align their paths? Was it not something planned or significant?

“Did that spark his ire at all?” Fayrl asked. “Surely he was not pleased that you foiled his plans.”

“Well no. He was not happy. A couple weeks later, Ma’zurah was exploring the underworks of Vivec city looking for someone, and came across a shrine to Sheggorath with this huge statue of Sheggorath in it. She did not think anything of it at first, because she has seen many similar statues in Daedric ruins, but this time Sheggorath spoke to Ma’zurah. He said he was very angry at Ma’zurah for interfering, and he sent Staada and about four other Aureals to the shrine, and Ma’zurah had to fight her again. Sheggorath’s accent is probably the weirdest accent Ma’zurah has ever heard, by the way, and also, did you know there are male Aureals?”

Fayrl listened. The tale was so fantastical, he wondered how it might adapt into a song. He could certainly write one for her. And considering all the things she had done, he rather thought she was overdue for at least one song of her heroism.

“I’ve never encountered any golden saints. Glad to know there are males too.”

“Anyway, so Ma’zurah won with her companions’ help, which apparently pleased Sheggorath for some reason, and he said he would give Ma’zurah a chance to redeem herself, and sent Ma’zurah to find something he called the Fork of Horripilation.”

Fayrl’s eyebrows knit. “Wait, a fork?” With horror he began to surmise just what it might have been that he had stumbled upon.

“Ma’zurah knows what you are thinking. Yes, that fork. Sheggorath told Ma’zurah that an insane hermit Argonian by the name of Big Head had the fork, and that Ma’zurah should take the fork and use it to kill a giant bull netch near Big Head’s cabin. So Ma’zurah got her companions and travelled all the way back to the Sheogorad region, again , and did a lot of searching and asking around to find Big Head.

“Well, once Ma’zurah found him, she discovered that he was a total sweetheart who had stacks of furniture around his cabin, spoke only in poetry, and believed that the fork sang to him! And maybe it did. Who knows. Ma’zurah asked to borrow it, and he let her. So Ma’zurah took the fork, and then realized that she could not access her magicka at all while holding the damn thing! But she did not want Sheggorath to be angry at her, so she went searching for the giant bull netch.”

Fayrl did not wish to interrupt the story, he was very interested in how it continued. Yet he was confused that for her the Fork blocked magic, yet for him it teleported him to the Shivering Isles. He made a mental note to ask her about it when she finished her story if it did not come up before that.

“Now, Ma’zurah does not know if Fayrl has ever tried to fight a bull netch with a fork before, but it is a lot harder than it sounds, and it already sounds hard enough. First though, when Ma’zurah found the bull netch, she discovered that it was at least twice the size of normal bull netches, which meant that not only was it a lot tougher, but it was a lot higher off the ground as well. It had to have been at least thirty feet long and fifty feet tall, counting the tentacles. So Ma’zurah was not sure how exactly to reach the thing in the first place without levitating. Julan had not quite reached the level of Alteration mastery required to cast levitation on another person, and we were out of potions of levitation.”

Now this was definitely sounding like a good tavern song. Why, Fayrl could write an entire song about fighting a giant bull netch with a fork. He’d leave her race out of it, no need to add anything that could come out negative with the bigots. Still, the idea of a legendary hero fighting a netch with a fork was sure to be a hit. Should he cast the hero as the Nerevarine? Or perhaps Nerevar himself? He needed to hear more to make such a decision.

“After a lot of arguing, we realized that Ma’zurah could cast magic when she was not holding the fork, and then everybody felt stupid about arguing. So Ma’zurah cast the strongest levitation spell she could on herself, which, at the time, lasted for about two minutes, and then picked the fork back up.

“Ma’zurah was not sure whether Sheggorath wanted Ma’zurah to kill the giant bull netch with nothing but the fork, or merely to strike the death blow with the fork, but she was not going to risk it. So she had to come up with a way to kill the bull netch in less than two minutes with an iron fork, or try to juggle the fork between her companions and re-cast the spell with an angry giant bull netch chasing her. Ma’zurah thinks you can probably see the problems with this idea. Have you been around netches very much?”

Fayrl laughed. “Yes, I have. There are many in both Stonefalls, where I often traveled to visit my uncle, and the area around my home in Mournhold. Deshaan has them far greater in number than they are in most of Vvardenfell.”

Fayrl was trying to picture in his mind, Ma’zurah floating up to a giant bull netch with a fork in her hand trying to stab it into the beast. It was rather amusing, though he tried to keep his entertainment to a minimal so she would proceed.

“Well , Ma'zurah had not been around netches very much at the time, and she had no idea what the best way to kill a netch even was, much less a giant netch! So Ma'zurah floated up under the thing and stabbed it as hard as she could with the fork! Apparently Ma'zurah hit a weak spot in the skin of the vapor sack, and so she punctured it enough that her entire arm went in!

“That is the point at which Ma'zurah discovered where netch jelly comes from. She had not known before that netch vapor sacks were lined with jelly, but she found that out very quickly when her whole arm became coated in the stuff. Of course, she pulled her arm back immediately, which just released the vapor holding the whole thing afloat, and that is when things really started getting crazy!”

“Hah!” Fayrl put a hand over his mouth to hold back the raucous laughter that threatened to spill out. He could only picture too well how this scene was playing out. He’d had to fight a giant netch or two in his day. Though, never with a fork. The House of Troubles well earned their name. “Sorry, please go on!”

Ma'zurah cast an amused look at Fayrl. “Well, four separate things started happening at once at that point. First, the netch got really, really angry, and tried to attack Ma’zurah with its tentacles. Second, the netch started falling as the vapor got released. Falling on top of Ma’zurah. Third, have you ever heard that the contents of the vapor sack of every netch can have unique properties? Something about the tiny animals that are too small to see, even with most magnification spells, that live inside the sealed environment and cause it to glow and produce the jelly. The mix of animals is apparently different for every netch, so they are all unique. Well, the third thing that happened is that Ma’zurah started to hallucinate because she breathed the vapor and got the netch jelly on her arm. And fourth, Ma’zurah’s hand--and the fork--got stuck .”

Finally Fayrl couldn’t hold back his laughter any longer. “Oh gods!” he gasped. “You’re definitely not supposed to get anywhere near the vapor! It’s toxic as well as hallucinogenic! I cannot imagine what you may have seen after all of that!”

“Oh yes! But Ma’zurah did not find that out until afterwards!”

Ma’zurah started really getting into the story, and gestured wildly with the arm not occupied around Fayrl’s waist. “So there Ma’zurah was, floating almost fifty feet in the air, unable to access her magicka, with her hand clutching a fork as her only weapon, which was stuck inside the vapor sack of a very large, very angry bull netch! On top of that, Ma’zurah started seeing more netches out of the corners of her eyes. She couldn’t quite catch sight of them when she turned her head though. Her companions were yelling from the ground, and Ma’zurah could not tell what they were saying, so she thought they were trying to warn her that a herd of netches had moved in and was defending the giant bull netch. So Ma’zurah did the only thing she could think of. She braced one foot against the side of the bull netch and pulled until her hand and the fork came free.

“Of course this just sent Ma’zurah flying in the wrong direction. At that point she was convinced she was surrounded by a herd of netches on all sides except the front, so she started dodging in midair to avoid attacks she kept thinking she saw out of the corners of her eyes. This probably looked very strange from the ground, and Ma’zurah’s companions just kept yelling. Ma’zurah made it back to the giant bull netch just in time for her levitation spell to start wearing off. Ma’zurah was not thinking the most clearly at that point, so instead of making her way to the ground and tossing the fork to somebody else, she latched onto the netch with her claws and started trying to climb onto its back!”

By this point Fayrl could hardly walk he was laughing so hard. His body trembled, and tears of mirth were forming in his eyes. “Truly? You just…” he had to stop a moment to laugh and catch his breath, “--you tossed the fork? And started wrangling the netch?”

This was crazier than that time that he and Ervis had taken a drunken ride back to Balmora by silt strider and Ervis had ended up pushing the driver into Ervis’ seat, stolen his hat, and insisted that the mer had been trying to steal his wife!

“Oh no! Ma’zurah put the fork between her teeth like a Topal bay pirate, netch jelly and all!” Ma’zurah bared her teeth at Fayrl in a playful grimace.

“Of course, the netch was sinking that whole time, so by the time Ma’zurah fought off the tentacles with nothing but her claws and Sheggorath’s fork, and actually made it to the top of the netch, it had sunk completely to the ground. Then Ma’zurah’s companions rushed over and tried to pull her off the top of the netch, but Ma’zurah was hallucinating so much that she thought that everything that moved was a netch! So Ma’zurah tried to fight them off as well--with the fork! And they were fighting off the giant bull netch tentacles and yelling at Ma’zurah to stop taking swings at them, and Julan was swearing and calling Ma’zurah a little s’wit, but he finally got hold of Ma’zurah’s wrists and dragged her a distance away and poured a cure poison potion down her throat.

“Meanwhile, the netch was rolling around on the ground, tentacles flailing, and Constance and Jasmine were trying to hold the thing off long enough for Julan to cure Ma’zurah so she did not start throwing up in the middle of the fight. Ma’zurah finally realized that Julan was not a netch, and ran back toward the giant netch, yelling and wielding the fork most expertly! She stabbed it until the tentacles stopped trying to grab her, and just kind of lay there, twitching. Julan came up at that point and showed Ma’zurah how to pry open the carapace of the tail enough to get to the brains, and Ma’zurah then stabbed those until she was sure that the thing was dead. Then she had a very long nap and a very thorough bath, and returned the fork back to Big Head. And that is the story of how Ma’zurah nearly pissed off Sheggorath!” Ma’zurah gave a half bow, accompanied by a ridiculous, one-armed genuflection.

Fayrl wiped the tears from where they had begun to fall to his cheeks. “I can only imagine how pleased the God of Madness would be by such an affair. It is lucky you did not harm any of your companions in that state. And also that your Julan had the foresight to cure you of poison so soon.”

Ma’zurah cracked a grin. “Well… to be fair, Julan is Velothi, so he knows about netches. Ma’zurah should probably have asked him more about netches before she flew up to it and stabbed it in the vapor sack. That’s probably what he was yelling about while Ma’zurah was dodging invisible netches in midair.”

“Anyway, when Ma’zurah returned to the shrine of Sheggorath to report her success, he was so amused by it all that he let Ma’zurah keep his signet as well, as a token that Ma’zurah has free passage within the Shivering Isles whenever she wants. At the time she did not even know how to get to the Shivering Isles, but it turned out to be very useful later.”

Fayrl thought for a moment. “It is very lucky for me that you went through such an ordeal, else I might have been stranded in the Shivering Isles forever.” He shuddered, chilled by the thought.

Ma’zurah frowned. “Ma’zurah is not sure, but she thinks perhaps Fayrl would not have ended up in the Shivering Isles if Ma’zurah had not been there. It is too much of a coincidence to be an accident. Ma’zurah has to believe it was intervention of some kind…” She squeezed Fayrl gently.

Fayrl fiddled with a strand of hair that had come free from it’s tie. He realized belatedly that it was not as tight as it should be and probably looked an unsightly mess. “But why is it that we are connected like this? What do we have in common that might have caused this? The only connection we have is our worship of the True Tribunal and the fact that you are my reincarnated ancestor. Or perhaps that we have both been given direct missions from Almalexia.” She had mentioned that Almalexia had commanded her to reforge Nerevar’s wedding sword, Trueflame, Fayrl recalled. It was a flimsy connection at best.

“Reincarnated ancestor?” Ma’zurah barked a sudden laugh. “You know I never had children, right? Neither did Ayem. And despite her stolen divinity, she only had godlike powers , but never enough divinity to truly alter the course of fate. Only Vehk actually achieved that.”

Fayrl looked at Ma’zurah dumbly. “What? What are you talking about, Ma’zurah?”

Something was off. The way her hand gripped his waist felt different and there was a cadence to her voice that was not typical for her. And her words… those were not right. He felt instantly uncomfortable being so close to her.

Had she somehow had some aspect of Sheogorath rub off on her? She had spent a lot of time in Oblivion from the sound of it. How recently had the netch incident been? Those toxins were known to have all sorts of terribly long-lasting effects. He felt guilty for having laughed at her story, just in case that was the cause of this.

Ma’zurah’s face held a bemused and troubled expression. “Has my House really thought I was their direct ancestor all these centuries? I mean, I married into it from House Mora, for Boethiah’s sake!” Solid gold eyes met Fayrl’s red ones, not unkindly.

Fayrl was mesmerized by the golden eyes. They were not the eyes of Ma’zurah. And yet, he could not accept that he could possibly be walking down a Markarth street, two eras after his own time, with Indoril fetching Nerevar holding him around the waist.

“Who are you?” he breathed, his body still moving, though only automatically.

Ma’zurah looked amused. “You know this one’s name, you’ve heard it in full at least twice now.” She gave a pensive look and ran her free hand through her hair. “I’m sorry, that was silly of me. I’m not even sure why it bothers me. I guess I’m not used to the idea of being an ancestor, never even having had children. To answer your question, no it likely had nothing to do with my Tribunal. Even Vehk never pulled something of this magnitude. He’s not exactly a serious person. It was never his style, and this seems to have more gravity than I would expect of him.”

Fayrl was having difficulty in reconciling the fact that there was a saint holding him so close and intimately. He felt somehow as though he was overstepping his place to be there--to be spoken to so casually. He tried to formulate something intelligent to say, but found nothing left his mouth.

Gold eyes subtly shifted as Fayrl watched to an odd blend of gold and blue that looked more like hazel green with blue and golden flecks. “No, this one thinks it has the smell of prophecy, and would not be surprised to find one involved again. The Lady almost directly confirmed that it was not the True Tribunal--or not just them at least. Still, this one is glad you are here nonetheless.”

As Fayrl watched her eyes flick back to their usual blue color, Fayrl could almost convince himself that he had simply hallucinated the entire thing. Ma’zurah gave him a self deprecating smile and squeezed him again.

The squeeze startled him and he nearly jumped, his body jerking in her arms. He was instantly embarrassed.

The pair’s slow walk had finally reached the front entrance of the city, and a pair of guards stopped them at the gate.

“Hold!” said one, stepping forward, and leveling a faceless, masked gaze at Ma’zurah. “How did you get in here? Cats aren’t allowed in the city.”

Fayrl came out of his stupor at the words. That sort of insult always struck something of a nerve with him. He crossed his arms and took a step forward. “She’s with me. My wife. We walked in last night without anyone stopping us. I was informed that there would be no problem when I asked.” His voice was cold.

“Well obviously there has been some mistake. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave.” The guard motioned toward the gate.

“It is fine.” Ma'zurah said tiredly. “We were just leaving anyway.”

As they passed the guards, Fayrl tripped over a cobblestone and fell over into the arms of the guard closest to him. He whispered something into the guard’s ear, then straightened. “My apologies, sera.”

The guard turned to the other guard. “You’ve been sleeping with my wife, Yngar?!”

“What? No, Fjoki! You know I’d never--” The punch was thrown without waiting for the end of the response.

Fayrl took Ma’zurah’s arm and led her out the gate.

Ma'zurah allowed herself to be led out the gate, looking back over her shoulder in bemusement. “What did Fayrl do?” she whispered when they had moved a short distance away.

“I merely thought that if they were so eager for a fight, why not make it fair and fight one another? The guard seemed only too keen. Nords, do love a good brawl, don’t they? Some things really don’t ever change.”

Ma'zurah snorted and put her arm around Fayrl again.

Chapter Text

Fayrl led Ma'zurah away from the Markarth front gate and down the stairs towards where the stables had once been. Sure enough, they stood on the exact same spot.

As they drew near, a Breton man approached them looking unhappy. “You two!!” he shouted, shaking so hard with rage that his hat slipped off the side of his head.

Fayrl exchanged a glance with Ma'zurah. “Good day, sera,” he began gently, “we were wondering--”

“Instead of wondering, maybe you could take your pile of splinters with you and pay for the damages you caused!”

Fayrl did not know what the man was referring to, but if the incident at the temple was any indication, their drunken escapade had caused more than one scene of chaos.

“Oh no, not again…” Ma'zurah muttered. “Ah… would these two be allowed to inspect the damage at least?” she asked, stepping forward.

The man glared at them. “Be my guest. But I warn you, if you try to run, I will call the guard!” He pointed the to the side of the stone building where a half destroyed cart lay.

“Oh dear, this is worse than I thought,” Fayrl sighed.

“Do you little scamps have any idea how much trouble you caused beyond crashing your cart into the stables? You spooked all the horses! We had three escape during the commotion, one of whom is probably on a Forsworn campfire now! Banning has had a hell of a time with the dogs. No one wants a war dog with a nervous condition! And I expect you don’t even have the means to pay for the results of your little pleasure ride!”

“My good man, we will pay for the damages and are very sorry for our past actions.” Fayrl let go of Ma’zurah to approach the man. “I am also willing to do whatever else it takes to make up for the stress I have put you and your partner through.”

The man took a step back. “Oh no. I know far too well what you’re about, grey skin! You keep your distance. I want that broken pile of junk out of here, and I want you to pay for your damages, and then I never want to see you in my city ever again!”

Fayrl simply backed away and bowed his head. “My apologies.”

Ma'zurah stepped toward the crashed cart. There were ruts in the dirt where they had apparently tried to turn the cart at the last moment, and the entire right side of the cart was smashed, but for the most part, the cart seemed to be in one discrete piece. Their horse was not present, and Ma’zurah looked around for sign of it. Hoof-prints in the mud led around to the front of the stables. Wherever their horse was, at least it was not dead.

Ma’zurah turned back to the cart and barked a sudden laugh. Perched carefully atop the driver’s seat in a nest of empty wine bottles lay the lute Fayrl had procured in Whiterun. More empty bottles were strewn around the back of the cart, surprisingly few of which were cracked or broken. “Oh, Fayrl! Come here for a second!”

Fayrl gave the stablemaster a sheepish smile and came to see what had interested Ma'zurah. He was relieved to discover his lute. It was neither lost nor harmed. He stepped up to the front of the cart to retrieve it from the driver's seat.

"I'm going to have to ask you to stop there."

Fayrl turned back to discover the stablemaster standing behind them, arms folded across his chest.

"I only wished to check my lute for damage," explained Fayrl.

"Oh, you mean the glib gentleman you left in charge of your cart?” said the Breton bitterly. “As I recall, you informed me that he would be waiting with the cart, and that he would give me the coin for idling in the stables. As you may be able to see, he doesn't have any money, so he is in my employ, paying off your debt. Only after you pay the stable fee and damages will I allow you to have your companion back.”

Fayrl looked helplessly toward Ma'zurah. He did not recall any of this.

"Sera, I could surely help to soothe your animals from their stress if you would allow me to make use of the lute," Fayrl tried to reason.

The Breton seemed to want no part of it. "Damages and stable fee first."

Ma’zurah pressed a palm against her forehead and shook her head. “This one can move the cart a short distance, or burn it to clear it out of your way. Your choice,” she told the Breton. “How much are the damages and stable fee?”

“You can't set fire to a cart here! You're likely to set the hay ablaze and burn down the stable! Not to mention disrupt my business even further!” He grumbled to himself, “A bloody cat acting like a filthy Dark Elf, just what I need.”

Ma'zurah pressed her lips together. Fire might not be her elemental affinity, but she still had enough mastery to burn something without letting the blaze run amok. It seemed foolish to press the point though.

Fayrl put his hands up, trying to ignore the stablemaster’s racist comment. “So the fee?”

“Your physical damages come to about 1200 gold, plus 280 for the stable fee. That's 1500 gold total. But the damages to our business are well beyond what two drunken whores could hope to afford.”

Fayrl stared at the man. Why did he assume they were both whores? Likely more assumptions of the mannish races and their particular breed of racism. “I think you mean 1480 gold, which we will gladly pay. Ma’zurah can move the cart. I can see to helping your animals.”

The Breton held up his hand. “I want nothing more to do with you both until I see the color of your gold.”

Ma'zurah was trying to be patient. She was trying to ignore the insults. They had done this man wrong, even if she did not remember it. She was trying not to let herself be angry at the man’s disrespect. Fifteen hundred gold though… that was all the gold she had. She crossed her arms. “Ma'zurah has the gold, but she would like to inquire about the specifics of these so called ‘damages’.” Her tail flicked in annoyance behind her. “Ma'zurah does not see that the cart has caused so much as a crack in the wall of the stable.”

The man’s face began going red with anger. “You think we were going to leave the broken troughs and barrels simply lying around where the animals can be injured? Sorry if your drunken stupor prevented you from observing the extent of the carnage your little stunt left in its wake! But if you do not pay me my gold now, I am going to call the guards and they can sort everything out for us. And I doubt you will pay so little if I do!”

Fayrl took a deep breath and pictured slitting the man’s throat. He began to reach for his purse, hoping that at least a show of getting the money might work to calm the man.

“And it had better be gold!” the Breton spat. “I won't accept any of your foreign coins made of tin or who knows what strange garbage metals!”

Ma'zurah turned on her heel and walked wordlessly to the cart, snatching the lute from atop the driver’s seat. Concentrating, she cast the strongest telekinesis spell she could muster, and lifted the entire cart, holding it about fifteen feet in the air.

She turned back to the Breton, one arm held above her head to direct the cart, the lute dangling from her other hand belligerently. “Where do you want this?” she asked icily. Bottles rolled off the seat and fell to the ground behind her.

“Guards!” the man shrieked, running towards the city gate. “They're trying to kill me!”

Fayrl cursed. There was no way they could resolve this situation peacefully at this point. They also could not simply take their own cart and leave.

Fayrl pointed at the cart that was idling nearby waiting for passengers to board. The coachman wasn't anywhere to be seen. “New plan, let’s get out of here!”

He started sprinting for the cart. The horse nervously scraped at the ground with its hoof as it kept an eye on the floating cart.

Ma'zurah sighed and set the cart back down. “Ma'zurah would rather not be labeled a horsethief right now! We have our own horse here somewhere!” she yelled after Fayrl. She jogged around to the front of the stable, and spotted their horse munching placidly on hay in the far stall.

“Come on!” she called, snatching a coil of rope and a bridle from a hook on the wall. “Ma'zurah hopes Fayrl can ride, because Ma'zurah has not ridden anything since she rode the mooncows her fifteenth summer!”

Fayrl spun sharply on his heels, making for the stables. “Yes, I’m well learned in riding most any beast. Not just guar and men!”

He took the bridle from Ma'zurah, took a deep breath, and began to hum as he coaxed the horse to take the bit and slipped the throatlatch and noseband over the horse’s muzzle. He was trying to hurry without spooking the horse. He knew just how much greater the danger was of them being caught if they did something to scare the horse--a beast already prone to fright.

“We haven’t the time for a saddle,” he said, swinging himself up on the horse’s back and holding out a hand for Ma'zurah. “We’ll be sore after, but alive and out of jail.”

Ma’zurah awkwardly pulled herself up behind Fayrl and held on to his waist. She looked up the path toward the city gate, and caught sight of the Breton stablemaster in a heated argument with the two brawling guards in the open entryway, a crowd beginning to gather behind them. She squeaked and gripped Fayrl harder as he urged the horse down the road away from the city.

“Try not to talk too much. You don’t want to bite your tongue.” Fayrl summoned a giant web with spiders across the path behind them as he took them down the road. They wouldn’t stay for long, but it would be enough to buy them some time should the guards manage to come after them. If nothing else, the poison that the spiders would leave behind in the wake of their return to Mephala’s realm would be enough to slow down any pursuer.

As soon as Fayrl judged that they were far enough down the road, he slowed the horse and turned to Ma’zurah. “Are you alright? Do you have everything?”

“Yes. And your lute.” She smiled wryly and held it out to show him. Fayrl took the lute and put the strap around him, shifting the instrument to his front.

Ma'zurah shifted uncomfortably. “But, um, Fayrl's pack makes it very awkward to ride behind him. Fayrl can give it to Ma’zurah and she can wear both packs, or we can use the rope to turn them into saddlebags.” She glanced back down the road, looking for sign of pursuit. “Not now though! We should keep going for now. Here, Ma’zurah can cast invisibility for a while.”

Fayrl nodded and urged the horse into a trot. “Just let me know when you think it’s safe to stop again.” He wasn’t sure where they should go now. At least it was summer and a bit of wandering wasn’t going to put them through inclement weather, or leave an obvious trail to follow.

Ma’zurah cast invisibility on the horse and themselves, and nearly two hours elapsed as Ma’zurah and Fayrl rode in silence, following the riverside road. No signs of pursuit appeared, but Ma’zurah recast their invisibility spell every so often, just in case.

Fayrl felt at home as they rode in silence. It reminded him of the many years he had spent traveling these roads in his own time. Everything was both familiar and new. The landscape had changed much in a millennium. Erosion had worn the river wider. A sapling he had used as a trail marker now stood as the stump of a once mighty tree. He wondered what its life had been like.

It seemed everything had changed. It was only natural, of course, but sad as well. Only he remained the same, unchanged.

He wished he could sing. He had always sung while he traveled before. It kept the bears and sabre cats away. Yet he could not chance it, even as minutes grew into hours.

They passed a few farms tucked into the rocky river valley, and a mining settlement before they came to a fork in the path. Fayrl brought the horse to a halt a short distance ahead of the intersection.

“Ma’zurah needs to look at the map,” Ma’zurah said, dismounting and digging through her pack. She carefully unrolled the thick vellum map she had received from Farengar, and searched for their location. They had the choice of continuing eastward across a wide stone bridge, or turning north.

As she studied the map, Fayrl dismounted. He let down his hair and combed it out before putting it back up. Ma’zurah found their location and pointed it out to Fayrl.

“So if we are here,” she gestured, “then we should keep going eastward and turn north at the road to Old Hroldan to get to Rorikstead like the priestess said.”

She lowered the map and peered across the bridge to the east. “There might be a problem though.” She pointed across the river to a small encampment of tents set just back from the road. Blue banners flew over the largest of the tents, and Ma’zurah had a fairly good guess as to what kind of encampment this was. “It might be a better idea to take the north path and avoid them.”

“Well, it sounds like north is our road then.” Fayrl eyed the banners suspiciously. He did not know the faction associated with them, nor did he wish to find out. “They look more organized that your typical group of bandits. And I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

“They look like the rebels we almost got captured with outside Helgen. The color is the same at least. Ma’zurah cannot make out the symbol on those banners, but the Jarl we were in the cart with had a bear on his armor. Ma’zurah would rather not get close enough to see.”

“I do believe you’re right,” Fayrl said, scrutinizing the banners as best he could. “I shouldn’t like to be involved with them again.”

“Here. Help Ma’zurah with this rope.” Ma’zurah disentangled a blanket from the bedroll tied to her pack and started attempting to craft a makeshift saddle, to which she tied their packs. “Also, are you hungry? Ma’zurah has food.”

At the mention of food Fayrl’s stomach growled. He had completely neglected breakfast in the excitement of their morning. How long had it even been since last they had eaten? It was hard to tell. He tried to recall anything from after their drinking, but there was nothing to be found.

“I suppose I am a bit peckish,” he said. “A bit of whatever you have should do nicely.” A part of him wondered about how delicious a steak made of their current mount might be.

Ma’zurah dug through her pack and pulled out several waxed paper packages of preserved foods. “Ma’zurah has dried pheasant, venison jerky and pemmican, and dried smoked salmon. There is also… some bread, ironwood nuts, honey nut balls, jazbay raisins, dried snowberries, dried apples, some cheese, and dried mushrooms. And honeycomb.” Ma’zurah grinned. “Your choice!”

Fayrl looked excitedly at the spread of food. His stomach rumbled again. “I suppose I might have just a nibble of salmon and cheese. And maybe just a couple of mushrooms and jerky. A bite or two of the pheasant….” He stopped. He didn't want to sound greedy. “That’s too much. I’m only a bit peckish.” He took the salmon and cheese and bread and pulled out a knife to slice it all out, laying it down on a cloth he pulled out of the inside of his cuff. “Thank you for procuring so much food.”

“Of course! Ma’zurah was getting supplies to climb the Throat of the World. We should ration it by hunting though.” Ma’zurah took a handful of honey nut balls and dried fruits and put away the rest of the food. “Ma’zurah would like to keep moving, if that is alright. Eat on the horse?” Ma’zurah stroked the horse’s neck, and passed it a dried apple slice.

Fayrl thought about the futility of eating crumbly bread and holding salmon and cheese atop it while trying to ride. “Just a moment,” he said and turned around and crouched down. He took as big a bite as he could of each thing, eating as fast as he could. He would have loved a nice glass of brandy to help wash down the dry food, but he choked it all down as fast as he could and brushed the crumbs from his face with the cloth afterwards before turning back around and standing up. “Alright, shall we go?”

Ma’zurah paused with a piece of fruit halfway to her mouth and started giggling. “You could have wrapped it in the cloth! You did not have to eat it so fast!”

She tucked her food into a pocket and brushed off her hands. “Help Ma’zurah up?”

Fayrl swung himself up onto the horse. “Of course.” He smiled at her and held out his hands, helping her up onto the horse behind him. He was thankful for the thick blanket between him and the horse. Already his backside was feeling sore and to go much longer without would have made their subsequent travel all the harder. “You ready?”

Ma’zurah settled onto the horse and immediately tried to shift so that her groin was not rubbing up against Fayrl’s rear--a problem she had not had while Fayrl had been wearing his pack. “Um, yes. Ma’zurah is ready.”

Fayrl checked that all their bags were properly secured and that they did not appear to have left anything behind. As soon as he was certain they were ready, he gave a squeeze of his thighs and the horse took off at a trot.

He turned them northward, careful to give as wide a berth as he could to the bridge beyond which lay the camp with the blue banners. He was cautious not to ride the horse too fast while they passed. He directed the horse along the far side of the path where large juniper trees grew with low-hanging branches, trying to avoid the obvious line of sight. He leaned this way and that to avoid the branches tangling in his hair.

Ma’zurah clung to Fayrl’s waist, squirming to try not to press up against him while he was moving around so much, but the blanket saddle would not let her move farther away. The friction was making things difficult for her.

Fayrl smiled at the feeling of Ma’zurah’s arms around his waist. He was tempted to tease her about her first time on a horse but thought better of it. He could feel her pressing against him as they jostled their way along the path. Instinctively he leaned back against her. He knew it wasn’t something he should do; it was hardly nice while she had little choice in the matter, but he just couldn’t quite seem to stop himself.

Realizing that she could not avoid the contact, Ma’zurah closed her eyes and sat as still as she could, hoping that Fayrl would not notice the uncomfortable bulge in her trousers. Ma’zurah was not a person who got embarrassed easily, but it was embarrassing how aroused she was becoming. Fayrl just would not quit moving!

Feeling her stiffen behind him, Fayrl thought he would have just a little more fun with her before he stopped. They were out of sight of the suspicious camp, so Fayrl felt he could speed up a bit without attracting undue attention. His grin widened as he picked up the pace, knocking them together more with each clip of the horse’s hooves.

Ma’zurah’s breath caught as their pace increased, and she whimpered quietly at the friction, taking guilty pleasure in it. It got to be too much. “Sorry! Ma’zurah needs to stop for a little bit!” She slid off the horse as soon as they slowed, and ran to the edge of the path, finding a less steep area of embankment, and scrambling down toward the river. She hid behind a particularly large juniper tree and took a second to breathe.

Fayrl cursed under his breath. He had pushed her too much. Should he go after her? Maybe he should let her have a minute to herself first.

He got off the horse and gave it the chance to rest and browse the roadside grass, tying it to a nearby tree. He took his lute and sat on a rock beside the horse, deciding to sing a song while he thought.

He would let Ma'zurah have a few minutes, and if she wasn’t back, he would go and check on her--gently. He knew it was his fault that she had run off.

Five minutes later, Ma’zurah climbed back up to the road, looking sheepish. “Sorry about that…” She began to untie her bedroll pillow from her pack, hoping to use it as a temporary solution to this unexpected problem. She hoped Fayrl would not ask too many questions; it was easier to say that she wanted the pillow to ride more comfortably than to explain away the feeling of her arousal, should he ask.

Fayrl tilted his head. “Um… how are you doing?” he asked. “I’m sorry about all that. I got a bit carried away. You can sit in the front if it will make things easier for you.”

He wasn’t sure if the offer would actually make things any easier for her, but seeing her face caused him to feel the full weight of his guilt.

Ma’zurah’s face immediately took on an expression of guilt and anxiety. He’d noticed. “W-What?”

“Sorry about teasing you.” Fayrl looked at the ground, nudging a rock in the road with the toe of his boot. “I get a bit carried away sometimes. I shouldn’t have done it. Can you forgive me?”

“...Fayrl was teasing Ma’zurah?” Ma’zurah asked carefully, trying to discern his expression. He seemed unsurprised and unconcerned about her unusual anatomy, and his apology sounded sincere. Ma’zurah was confused.

Fayrl let out a sigh. “Yes. I was. I’m sorry.”

Ma’zurah’s brow furrowed. “...How long has Fayrl… known about Ma’zurah?”

Fayrl had expected her to be angry. This was not a reaction he had anticipated. “Since the first time we touched,” he said, initially confused, then with dawning realization, “I’m sorry, I forget that you wouldn’t have known what I had seen.”

Ma’zurah blinked at him, then sat down suddenly in the middle of the road. She grappled with the sudden urge to cry, the mix of emotions she was feeling almost overwhelming her. She felt relieved that she did not have to explain, grateful that he seemed to accept her without question, and embarrassed by the whole situation. He was the first person who was not Khajiit who hadn’t even had any questions for her.

Fayrl wasn’t sure how, but this seemed like an answer that only made things worse. She had an expression on her face that seemed somehow more upset than before. He sat down beside her. “Is there anything I can do? You want me to give you some space?”

All he hoped was that he wouldn’t be upsetting her more. He wasn’t good with dealing with people’s emotions. Not when he actually cared about them. He only knew one method of comfort, but it was currently inappropriate.

Ma’zurah leaned against Fayrl and hugged him, brushing her whiskers against his cheek. “Thank you…”

Fayrl had no idea what this meant, but he put an arm around her shoulders lightly. “You are… welcome…?”

“You are wonderful. Ma’zurah is so glad she has you here with her.” She stopped suddenly, realizing the implications of this statement. “Sorry… that probably makes Ma’zurah sound selfish… She is just glad that since she has to be here, now, she has someone as nice as you are with her.”

Fayrl wasn’t sure what had caused the sudden barrage of compliments. Had she not felt this way before? What had changed? He had no way of knowing. “I feel the same for you. I would not have been able to get so far without you. I mean, you’re a being of legend. I should be so lucky as to have such a powerful mage and Azura’s Champion at my side.”

He shifted his weight. “I am sorry for upsetting you. Will you forgive me for taking things too far? I enjoy teasing, but I did not mean to do anything that would hurt you. Surely if either of us be selfish, it is not you who has already saved Morrowind once before.”

Ma’zurah rubbed her face against his cheeks and purred. “You did not hurt Ma’zurah, and you did not upset her. There is nothing to forgive. Ma’zurah is just relieved that she does not have to hide from Fayrl!” She gave him a brilliant smile.

“Oh.” Fayrl looked away, then quickly back at her. “Oh!” He had been foolish not to have seen what she had meant before.

“You don’t have to hide anything from me. You said we should be honest after all, right?” He winked at her. “If there’s ever anything you need to talk about or… want to do, I’m here.”

Ma’zurah closed her eyes, a wistful smile on her lips. She desperately wanted to kiss him. She settled for rubbing her whiskers against his cheeks again. “You are a sweetheart,” she told him affectionately.

Fayrl had to restrain himself. He was getting some very intimate signals from her and his body was instantly ready to react. Yet, after what had happened on the horse, he did not want to risk teasing her only to scare her off again. He wasn’t sure how much was related to her fear of him finding out about her anatomy. Still, it was best not to chance these things.

He dropped his arm from around her. “You should see how sweet I am when I don’t mean it.”

“Ma’zurah prefers it when Fayrl is sincere.” Ma’zurah said with laughter in her eyes. “Come on! We should keep moving, but this time Ma’zurah is putting a pillow between herself and Fayrl!” She stood and offered her hand to him.

Fayrl laughed. “Well, if that will make you more comfortable. Less fun that way though.”

He strapped his lute back in front of him and climbed atop the horse before extending a hand to help Ma’zurah back up.

Ma’zurah settled into place, this time with a pillow preventing a repeat performance of her earlier embarrassment. She hugged Fayrl around the waist, still purring. “Tell Ma’zurah more about Fayrl?” she asked as they began moving again.

Fayrl would have enjoyed the hug, even more so the purring, if it had not been for the question. He had agreed to answer her honestly--something he was not used to doing when speaking about himself. He would have to think very carefully before he answered. He was so used to nesting his truths within many lies.

“Well, let’s see. I think you already know that I am from Morrowind and Indoril, born and raised in Mournhold. You already know of my religious beliefs. What else did you wish to know?”

“Oh everything! Anything! What are Fayrl’s favorite things? What kinds of things does Fayrl enjoy doing? What does Fayrl care about? What makes Fayrl laugh? That kind of thing!”

Fayrl suddenly felt rather warm. “Well, alright. I suppose I shall start with favorite things.”

He had to think for a moment to decide if the list that sprang to mind was genuine. “I enjoy hearing about the lives and experiences of others, particularly over a good mug of hard liquor. I enjoy singing but also listening to the music of others.”

He paused. Did he actually like watching the sunrise? How did he feel about eggs? Did he even enjoy taverns other than the attention and companionship they provided him?

“I care a lot for the reform of the Pact, though… I suppose that matters little now. Everything I had hoped to work towards fell apart.” He laughed as though it was a joke and not something heartbreaking. “I care for my family, although I am not always very good to them. My son, my brother, my husband, mother, even father. I care deeply for them.”

Fayrl took another deep breath. What was it that made him truly laugh? He had laughed at Ma’zurah’s story; that was genuine. But how could he qualify the exact set of things that brought him amusement? “What else was there?”

Ma’zurah hugged Fayrl gently at the mention of the Ebonheart Pact and his family. She had been trying to make lighthearted conversation, and hadn’t intended to remind him of things that might cause him pain. But now she was curious. “Fayrl has a brother?”

“Yes and no. B’vek, I didn’t mean to be so ambiguous. Avon and I are not brothers by blood, but rather by bond. We have known one another since childhood. He was my first friend. Mother took him with us to the Velothi camps to learn about the True Tribunal. As I followed Mephala, he took after mother and followed Azura. He became legal guardian of my son. I am sure that until I return he will be taking care of him. With mother’s help if need be, of course.”

Mazurah leaned her cheek against the back of Fayrl’s shoulder. “How old is Fayrl’s son? What is his son like?”

“He takes his sixth name day this year. I am sad to say he is a very shy boy. His mother treated him poorly while I was not around, and as a result he is slow to trust. He has terrible panics whenever I have to leave him. It took months before he could stand to sleep in his own room or to go to his tutors without me nearby. He is a sweet boy though. Incredibly bright. Very magically gifted, like mother. In many ways he is far more like Avon than he is like me, despite looking much as I did at that age.”

“You mentioned that your wife betrayed you and tried to have you assassinated… That was why you were not around?” Ma'zurah prompted. “How recently did you even find out you have a son?”

“When was it exactly?” He tried to think. It didn’t feel like it was a short time, yet it must have been. “Second Seed last year? Midyear perhaps? I was in Skyrim at the time.”

He thought back to when Avon had chased after him in Riften with a deep sense of guilt. How many times did he have to treat that mer less than he deserved? It was a wonder that Avon still stayed with him.

“So that is why you are familiar with Skyrim!” Ma'zurah exclaimed. “You were in Skyrim the whole time you were fleeing your wife’s assassins?”

“Well, I was familiar with Skyrim before that, but I would say that of the nearly six years I was away, I probably spent five of them in Skyrim.”

Ma’zurah nodded against Fayrl’s back. “What did you do while you were in Skyrim that whole time?”

“Well, mostly singing and whoring,” he replied nonchalantly. “Anything to keep a low profile.”

“Whoring?” Ma’zurah laughed. “Ma’zurah has always been good friends with the whores! She knew there was a reason she liked Fayrl!”

“I was never a certified whore.” Fayrl never had gone through the formal training and certification process. “I just do it as a source of income. Or for a room for the night. Or a hot meal and a mug of ale. Really, anything to get things for free. I do hate to spend money for no reason.”

Ma’zurah snorted. “Alright then! That explains some things! Good to know.” She was quiet for a moment, then she rested her forehead against Fayrl’s shoulder. “You do not ever have to do that while Ma’zurah is around unless you want to, alright? Kaaka rabi, raba. We share resources, like clan.” (What is mine is yours.)

Fayrl smiled. “I appreciate that. Please feel free to use anything I have as well. To be honest though, I enjoy the chance to pray and get something out of it. And for those who are particularly devious, I get to pray to another pillar as well.”

Ma’zurah nodded, suddenly understanding why Mafala chose him as her Champion and wielder of the Ebony Blade. “We need to come up with a more subtle method of communication than Dunmeris then, if you plan to use this method to fuel the Lady’s sword. And plans in case we get separated.”

“A brilliant idea. I take it you have some suggestion?” Fayrl was intrigued by what suggestions Ma'zurah might have. He wondered what--if any--magical means she might employ.

“Well… Ma’zurah has never been good at enchanting… but if we get two rings or amulets, and some filled soul gems, Ma’zurah will attempt to enchant a pair of telepathy rings like those Ma’zurah has for her friends and partners. It might be easier to find an enchanter though. In the meantime, we can pass notes, or use hand signals, or even phrases. What do you think?”

“Those all sound like good ideas. Only, I don’t have magical powers, so you’ll have to show me how to use the ring without it.” He hoped there was a way to use the telepathy rings or amulets without magicka, and that he could keep his own thoughts private in the process. “Is there a way to control precisely when the telepathy works?”

“You activate telepathy rings like any magickal item or scroll to talk to the person with the other ring. It does require some trust, because either person with the ring can hear what is going on in the background anytime they activate the ring, but they cannot read your thoughts unless you think them at the person through the ring. Since Fayrl knows how to channel magicka for fire spells and scrolls, Fayrl should not have any problems activating a magickal item.” Ma’zurah paused. “Not that it really matters right now. Ma’zurah does not know whether she will be able to create them or find an enchanter anytime soon. In the meantime, Ma’zurah can show you some combat signals that are quite useful.”

Fayrl shifted a bit in his seat. He was not feeling particularly confident about the situation. “Well, that sounds simple then. No need to worry.” He wondered if false confidence was technically a lie or not. “Please, do show me some of your more modern signals. I’m afraid mine are about a millennium too old to be of much use.”

“Alright. Here are the hand signals for how many enemies are ahead and what weapons they are using…”

---

By the time the sun had crossed the apex of the sky and begun to sink low towards the horizon, and the two realized they should probably stop to eat something, they had already agreed upon and begun to practice a set of signals to communicate silently in combat, multiple verbal and nonverbal indicators that they needed alone time for various reasons, including ways for Fayrl to indicate his intent to seduce someone or sacrifice someone with Mephala’s Blade, and various other subtle communication devices, both silly and serious. They had also come up with short and long term plans if they became separated: they would wait at the nearest inn for a week for the other to arrive, and then leave word for the other at that inn and send a courier to search for them before returning to Whiterun to wait another three months. If all else failed, they would leave a message for the other with Farengar, or his replacement should he lose his position.

Ma’zurah’s stomach grumbled, and she laughed. “Ma’zurah guesses she should not rely on honey nut balls to sustain her all day! We should probably stop and eat. There is a shallower portion of the river bank that the horse might be able to use up ahead, there.” Ma’zurah pointed.

Fayrl laughed. “I'm surprised you did not discover your hunger sooner. I'd have ended up eating the horse if I'd only eaten those little cloying nut balls. You need more sustenance for a full day of riding.”

He pulled the horse to the side of the road and brought it to a stop. He hopped off, then led it by the reins to the edge of the river bank before offering his hand to help Ma’zurah off the horse.

“We should also begin to consider how much longer we will ride before making camp,” he warned. “We have a small tent, but no one wants to have to set it up in the dark. The nights here get surprisingly cold and you want the tent up so you can retain some of the heat of the sun. You'll be thankful for it when the temperature drops.”

The evening had turned cloudy, and Ma’zurah took the opportunity to take in the landscape without the sun getting in her eyes. They were still heading northeast along a road sandwiched between a steep stone rise and the bank of the river. There was little flat space visible off the road, and Ma’zurah did not relish the thought of trying to camp in the road. To the north above the rise she thought she saw what might be the roofs of buildings, but no path made itself apparent. She pulled out her map while Fayrl watered the horse.

“Ma’zurah thinks that might be Karthwasten over there. If she is right, there should be a turnoff to it on the road ahead. See?” She turned and showed the map to Fayrl.

Fayrl glanced towards the map, still holding the reigns. He could not recall any place by that name in his time, but it was likely that a new stronghold or village could have started sometime in the last millennium.

“Let's hope they have an inn with a decent room then. I am still feeling a bit stiff from waking up on that stone floor. And who knows what else we got up to.”

“Oh gods!” Ma'zurah buried her face in one hand. “Ma'zurah does not even want to think about it! Who knows what she did! She wishes she could remember!”

She put away the map and dug through her pack again, assembling a meal of preserved meats, cheese, and mushrooms on bread, which she proceeded to toast carefully over a palmful of low flame. She handed Fayrl a portion.

“Thank you,” Fayrl said as he accepted the hot meal.

“Would Fayrl be interested in learning Ta’agra?” Ma'zurah asked after a comfortable silence.

“Will you be teaching me dirty words to say in the place of polite ones to make me look a fool?”

“No, that would defeat the purpose of giving us another method to communicate. But Ma'zurah will teach Fayrl the dirty words.”

Fayrl reached forward and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “I would love for you to teach me Ta’agra. Qau-dar always said there is a lot of tail and ear movements needed that I was lacking when I asked him to teach me some before.”

Fayrl hoped that Qau-dar and little Khes would have had good, long lasting lives. He missed them. He missed them more than he wanted to admit to himself.

Ma'zurah blinked at him. “This Qau-dar must not have wanted to teach Fayrl then. True, Fayrl will sound a bit flat and have to use more words to convey his meaning, but no more so than any Khajiit who has lost their tail or the Ohmes. The Ohmes tend to make up for it with large hand gestures.”

Fayrl looked wistfully toward the horizon. “He did always have a habit of thinking Khajiit were superior to non-Khajiit. He teased me mercilessly about one Ta’agra song I learned from a patron. I think hearing the words from a non-Khajiit just couldn't sound correct to him, no matter what else happened. It was one of his little quirks.”

Fayrl gave a deep sigh. He could remember the way Qau-dar often teased him about what he did that was different. Always saying how beautiful and perfect all Khajiit were. He never could figure out his daelekil. Even after all those months on the road. “To be honest, he never offered to teach me. And I never truly asked.”

Ma'zurah mumbled something unflattering under her breath. “You know what? Ma'zurah thinks maybe she does not like this Qau-dar. She has never liked anyone who thinks themselves superior on the basis of race, and this Qau-dar must either be a blind idiot or an uncaring s’wit not to see your interest in the language--not to mention him!” She cut herself off from further comment by shoving the last of her food in her mouth in one large bite, but her expression remained stormy.

Fayrl was taken aback. He had never meant for it to come off as though Qau-dar was unkind or close minded. He was sheltered and naive perhaps, but there was no malicious intent to his words or deeds.

“Qau-dar is my husband, Ma’zurah,” he said gently. “I mean, it is true he has not understood or not been interested in my advances. But you must understand, he had not had much exposure in his tribe to other races. It was his first time traveling away from home. I met him almost immediately after he had arrived in Skyrim. I was the first person to show him kindness since he left his family behind. He did not even understand what I was implying when I asked him to share my bed. His Cyrodiilic has improved much from when we first met. I spent so long having to explain various concepts. He did not even know or understand what slaves were; he probably still does not.” Fayrl sighed fondly, then sadly.

“Please do not be angry at him. He is a wonderful person. I’ve always found his way of thinking charming. It is so foreign to my own. Besides, it is not as though I am in love with him.”

Ma'zurah flashed Fayrl a skeptical look and swallowed her food. “So Fayrl says . What say we try to make that village up there before nightfall?” She gestured toward the indistinct rooftops nestled in the rocky rise to the north.

Fayrl saw that Ma’zurah could not be persuaded. He felt as though he had done a grave disservice to Qau-dar. Why couldn't she see from his description how wonderful he was? Perhaps he should have described Qau-dar’s beauty instead?

“As you say,” he replied. If Ma’zurah did not wish to discuss his husband any further, then so be it. He would rather not risk making him sound less wonderful than he was.

Ma'zurah remained quiet as Fayrl helped her remount their horse. In a sudden moment of introspection, she had begun to realize that she was in danger of falling for this mer, and she had no idea what to think. She had never needed to restrain her emotions like this before, and she recognized her protectiveness for what it was.

He had been nothing but deferential and kind to her--protective even. She found him immensely attractive and arousing, and she enjoyed talking to him. He had similar religious beliefs to her, and he seemed to hold the same attitudes about free sexuality that many Khajiit did. He did not carry the same racist attitudes as so many of his kin, and he had apparently accepted both her unusual biology and the worst of her personality and experiences without question when she had inadvertently shared them with him. It was hard to stop these feelings of protectiveness and the other strong emotions that accompanied them. She wasn't even sure she wanted to try.

She was fucked, she decided. So fucked. She sighed and rested her head against the back of his shoulder. She could only continue to do what she thought was right.

Fayrl stayed quiet as they remounted. He was worried she might be upset at him as well. It was a silly notion, he knew that, but he felt he was at fault. It was a strange feeling. He was used to having control over what others thought or believed about him.

When her head came to rest on his shoulder, he pretended to busy himself with adjusting the reigns and checking he had everything prepared to ride. The physical contact felt soothing, he wanted to stay connected like this longer. Yet it would do no good if they lost the light.

“Ready?” he asked her.

“Yes.” She nodded against his shoulder. Introspection made her tired, and they’d had a long day. She was ready to find a bed soon. She held Fayrl around the waist as he urged the horse into a trot.

Chapter Text

Dusk came swifter than Ma'zurah had expected, and she whispered a prayer against Fayrl’s shoulder, pleading insight from the Goddess of Dawn and Dusk. She did not expect a response; her Mother almost never answered, but Ma'zurah got the impression she liked to be asked, and enjoyed the love and devotion offered to her. Ma'zurah’s breathing began to slow, and she fell into a half dream state, lying against Fayrl’s back and sleepily staring out at the landscape as it passed in twilight.

Fayrl let his mind drift as they rode. He thought of home. His own time. Those who he knew and cared for. He thought of all the great moments in those people's lives he would miss; of how he was not there for them and what they might think of his absence. He would be presumed dead. Maybe he was dead.

The dark thoughts were not welcome, but he did not wish to risk angering Ma’zurah by speaking or singing to distract himself. He had done enough for one day. He would have to simply enjoy the feeling of her laying against him. It was almost like a hug. It helped to soften the anxiety his thoughts continuously brought down upon his mind. He had to fight off guilty feelings of lingering loss. In a way, he was mourning himself--his own passage from his place, from where he belonged. Even now he wasn't sure this was real; perhaps it was truly a dream and dream alone. There was still a chance he would wake up from all this and have everything back to normal.

The road remained monotonous, with the steep embankment down to the river on their right and the solid rise up the mountainside on their left. The rocky wall to their left opened suddenly into a steep path climbing away from the main road which doubled back to the north and west. They turned onto it.

Ma'zurah roused herself as the roofs of buildings again became visible ahead of them. A faint mist had begun to descend, and Ma'zurah could not be sure, but it seemed that the village had even fewer buildings than Ma'zurah had expected.

Fayrl's optimism for a nice inn dwindled. They would not be be likely to find a kind soul to recommend them lodging. It would be lucky if there was even a drinking shack. Why must he suffer another stroke of bad luck?

“It is smaller than Ma'zurah thought,” Ma'zurah murmured to Fayrl.

“Indeed,” he responded. “And we are losing the light. Be on alert for anything suspicious. They may not take kindly to strangers, let alone a Dunmer and a Khajiit.”

The village consisted of four large buildings and a handful of small, one-room cabins. The first building was evidently a house of some kind--the richest in the area, having a large covered porch lit by a string of lanterns. A group of people sat on the porch on wooden benches around a table, eating and laughing. Next to the first house lay two long, thin buildings, likely bunkhouses, and across the path lay what looked like a town hall or public house of some kind. The path split from the village center, one trail leading straight, the other veering to the right. Both trails led to small outdoor smelteries and wooden doors leading into the mountainside. The village was evidently a mining village.

A short, middle aged, balding man with huge brown muttonchop sideburns, wearing a nice set of quilted clothing stood up from the group of people on the porch as their horse neared and approached them. He raised his eyebrows as he registered their races. “Greetings. Welcome to Karthwasten. I'm Ainethach, the landowner here. Who might you be, and what is your business?”

Fayrl stopped the horse and hopped easily off, dropping immediately into an overly dramatic bow. “Hello sera, thank you for your hospitalitable welcome. My name is Fayrl and this is my wife Ma’zurah. We are traveling on our way to Rorikstead. My sister has work for us on her farm. Always has her hand in some new business or another. But the Three know I shouldn't say anything wrong about her, she's a good businessmer, far smarter than I could hope to be. She got all of father’s cunning, but I got all mother's good looks. Father says I talk far too much, but I've never had any complaints about any other ways I put my mouth to work.”

He held up his hand. “Now before you say anything, I realize now how that came out. And by the Three, that was not my intent. I am a bard. I sing, I recite poetry, I can even tell a joke or two if you give me a minute to speak. As for the other thing, the one I implied, I suppose I do a bit of that too, though I charge more for that. Less if it's just a hand. More though if you want more than that.”

He looked between those present. “I've gone and said too much, haven't I?”

Behind his back, Fayrl made the sign for ‘I'm going to lie’, as though it were not already obvious.

Behind him on the horse Ma'zurah burst into helpless laughter. ‘Going to lie’ indeed, as if it was even warranted with so little information! This was going to turn into yet another absolute wreck! Ma'zurah hid her face in her hands and peeked out between her fingers.

Several people seated on the porch hid snickers behind their hands, and one Orc guffawed and slapped her knee. Ainethach looked flabbergasted. “I don't know that we… uh… we are law abiding… that is…” he stammered, face growing red.

“Oh for pity’s sake! We just need a place to spend the night, and we have gold to pay for it,” Ma'zurah interrupted.

“What she said,” Fayrl agreed with a broad smile, as if he had not just scandalized the small community and its leader. “And as I had said before, if not gold, we are happy to help out to pay for things too. Whether it be a tune to work to or just a pair of hands to help out around the house, we are here to help.”

“Oh. Well. We put up visitors in the public house,” Ainethach said hastily.

Fayrl beamed at Ainethach. “Perhaps as the man in charge, you and I should find a time to discuss what we owe. Set up a payment plan. Do what we can to help. Here, let me demonstrate a bit of my skill. The singing kind mind you, not the other thing.”

“Wish you would!” catcalled the Orc, before breaking out into a reverberating belly laugh.

Beside her a burly Nord with a balding head and a bushy red beard smacked her arm lightly. “Don't encourage the new town fool, he's likely to go for it.”

Fayrl pulled his lute out and strummed a chord, the faces of those present appeared prepared for a voice as bad as his ability to stop talking.

“Every mornin' at the mine you could see him arrive,
He stood six foot six and weighed two forty-five,
Kinda broad at the shoulder and narrow at the hip,
And everybody knew ya didn't give no lip to Big Johann!”

The chatter stopped; Fayrl did not joke in his playing nor his singing, his fingers easily plucking the chords of the old mining song.

Ma'zurah quietly slid down from atop the horse, stretching to ward off encroaching soreness, and approached Ainethach, leading the horse by the reins. “Thank you for letting us stay. Is there someplace we could keep our horse, and maybe some oats we could give her?”

“I suppose I could let her stay with my gelding,” Ainethach replied. “I'll let you buy feed for her, but you’ll have to tend to her yourself.” The man directed her to an enclosed stall attached to the side of the public house, and Ma'zurah fished out the required payment and disappeared inside the stall.

The man’s gelding turned out to be an excitable young cream colored horse, who whickered a greeting to the newcomers. Ma'zurah patted his nose, and glanced around the stall. She had never cared for a horse before, but she had a general idea that they liked hay and oats, and needed grooming after a long day of walking.

She took the reins, packs, and makeshift blanket saddle off their mare and rubbed her down with a cloth, then a curry comb. She knew what she would do to her own fur coat after a long day of work, and hoped it would be enough. She found a bale of hay, and refilled the mostly empty feed basket on the wall. She found a small barrel of oats and soaked a portion in a bucket of clean water, heating the water with her magicka until she made a mash, and offered the result to the mare. The mare accepted the mash eagerly, and Ma'zurah stroked her neck as she ate.

“You know,” she told the horse, “you are a very good horse. You walked all day and did not complain, or try to buck us off or anything! You deserve a name!” She thoughtfully took a brush and started brushing the horse’s coat until its black hair shone glossy in the lamplight.

---

Fayrl finished his song and performed another at the call of the crowd. Someone had brought out mugs of ale and they were enjoying the free entertainment.

As soon as Fayrl had finished his song, the Orc approached him, clapping one large hand upon his shoulder and pushing a mug of ale into his grasp.

“So you weren't kiddin’ ‘bout that mouth of yours. Pretty voice you have there. What you say about bein’ willin’ to help out true too?”

Fayrl gave her a big smile. “I'm not in the habit of lying, sera. I might talk too much, but I'm not one for a lie. Some say that makes me a fool, I think it makes me an honest mer. Maybe there's not much difference between the two. I was never the philosophy sort. But if you have a job and are willing to negotiate an exchange, I'm your mer.”

She grinned at him. “How you feel about a job that'll get you down on your hands and knees?”

“I'm no stranger to such work, sera,” Fayrl replied earnestly. He was rather excited about the prospect of being with an Orsimer again after so long. The last Orsimer lady had managed to dislocate his hip. He hadn't even noticed until the next morning, it had been such a wonderful night. She had been kind enough to reset it for him. He had not regretted it in the slightest.

“Then it's settled. I'm Lash, and I'm offering you a job. I can pay you in meals, if you are fine with that.”

Fayrl nodded. “It is a deal.”

Lash led Fayrl to the bunkhouse she shared with some of the other miners. She showed him her part of the house. “This part is mine. Why don't you have a seat and make yourself comfortable while I grab a couple things you’ll need.”

Fayrl took a seat on the edge of the bed. He could feel himself growing excited already.

After a moment she came back with a bucket of water, some scraps of fabric, and broom.

This was turning out to be even more exciting than he had first expected. “How would you like me to start?”

She smiled at him. “So this is my side. That area next to it, that's Belchimac’s. I'm tired of having to threaten to break off his arm every time he says living next to me is unclean, so I want you to make my area super clean.”

Fayrl raised an eyebrow. This was not what he had been led to believe.

“Start with the cobwebs in the corners and then dust the shelves and then scrub the floors. I'll give you a meal for each of those tasks. A bonus if you do a really good job.”

Well, he had agreed already. “As you say, so it shall be done!” He took the broom and set to work, carefully getting the spiders out of the webs and letting them go outside before he destroyed their beautifully crafted homes. He would make extra prayers later.

As he worked, he sang several of his favorite songs. They helped him to take his mind off of just how filthy the work he was doing was. And if he was lucky, perhaps she would be generous enough to give him a proper bonus as well.

---

Ma'zurah finished brushing the mare, and left the stall, taking their packs and latching the door behind her. Full night had fallen, and the misty darkness was lit with flickering orange lamplight.

She found Ainethach still on the porch, though with a significantly smaller group of people, and no Fayrl. She approached. “Hello! Where are we to sleep, please?”

“It’s just in the public house there.” The man gestured. “There’s a bed on the second floor. The door’s unlocked. Head on inside if you like.”

She thanked him and went to the empty public hall in search of Fayrl. The hall was dark, but Ma'zurah found a lantern on the wall by the door and lit it. Finding the place empty, she set down their packs in the upstairs bedroom, and went to explore the nearest bunkhouse for her errant Dunmer companion.

The bunkhouse was nearly completely dark. One dim lantern held a dying candle in the center of the room, but no other lights had been lit.

There was a sharp sound that echoed off the walls, followed by the sucking of teeth.

“You think you can be a disgusting lewd Dunmer in my home and get away with it?” the Orc’s voice rang out.

There was a mumbling sound and then the loud thwack of a blunt object against flesh. “Not good enough!”

Ma'zurah froze at the entrance, door half closed behind her, and allowed her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. She wasn't sure whether the exchange she had just overheard had been consensual, and she couldn't just abandon Fayrl to be abused.

Fayrl's ankles had been tied, one each to a post of the wooden frame of the bed, forcing his legs apart. His trousers had been removed completely. His wrists were also tied to each of the posts at the opposite end of the bed. There was a rag shoved in his mouth and another tied across his eyes. Above him stood the Orc, broom in hand.

“You like being ordered around, don't you?” she asked.

He nodded.

“I bet you like being punished too, it's why you never stop running that big mouth of yours, isn't it? You just want someone to shove something into it.”

Fayrl nodded again, mumbling something into the gag.

Ma'zurah was most definitely in trouble, and very aroused too. Her eyes lingered on the curve of Fayrl’s freckled ass, on his smeared makeup, and his eager expression. This was not her exchange to watch, she realized abruptly, so she quietly retreated and closed the door behind her. She made her way up the stairs of the public house into the bedroom and flopped onto the bed with a groan.

He’d offered. More than once even. She hadn't taken him up on it, and now she had to live with her unfulfilled attraction and inconvenient arousal. Well, maybe she could do something about that last part at least. She took herself in hand and let the world fade away in favor of fantasy.

---

Fayrl had been brought a bucket of water to clean himself up with while Lash heated the first two meals she had promised for his work. When she was done, he took the bowls of hearty stew to the building they would be staying in, assuming that after so long, Ma’zurah would be awaiting him there.

He knocked upon the door. “Ma’zurah, you in there? I brought dinner.”

Ma'zurah was lost in fantasy and the sensation of her hands. “Oh Julan… Oh Sha… Ah!”

When Fayrl heard the first “Oh”, he had already opened the door, but he stopped in the doorway as he heard the obvious signs of what Ma’zurah was doing.

He listened to the names of her partners. Mentally noting them to inquire further about each one later.

Her cries grew more insistent as she approached her climax. “Ohgods! Ah! Julan! Shani! Faaayrl!” There was a long, drawn out moan.

Fayrl paused. Could it be a coincidence that he shared a name with one of her lovers? Or might she be calling his name out? Either way he enjoyed the sound of his name on her lips.

He toed off his boots quietly and set the wooden bowls out on the simple table near the door, resting the bowls atop a crude runner so as not to disturb Ma’zurah. There was no reason why she should not enjoy her own pleasure after he had enjoyed his. It would be rude and hypocritical.

Instead he took his seat by the table and waited for her to sound finished. He would shut the door audibly to announce his return after she was done.

Ma'zurah lay languidly in the aftermath of her pleasure, breathing deeply. She suddenly registered an unfamiliar smell in the public hall and stiffened, jumping to her feet. Without bothering to put her clothes back in order, she ran through the open door of the bedroom, and leaned over the balcony to discover Fayrl seated at a table with two steaming bowls of stew. She groaned and sank to the ground in mortification. “Oh gods… how long has Fayrl been listening…?” she called to him.

Fayrl pulled the door closed with one hand just as she was running out. “Good evening, dear. What a lovely surprise,” he said calmly, continuing to eat his stew as if this were nothing out of the ordinary. “I only just arrived and heard you finishing. I didn't want to disturb you, but I'd already taken off my boots, so I thought I would begin supper while I waited.” He took a languid sip of the broth and gestured for her to sit down before continuing. “This place is pretty boring, I understand the need to entertain yourself. Sorry for my lengthy absence, I was earning our dinner.”

Fuck. He’d heard. Ma'zurah’s face burned; if it had not been covered with fur, she would have been blushing. She stood and walked back into the bedroom and cleaned herself up, putting her clothes back on.

Taking a deep breath she walked back out, and down the stairs. She quietly sat down at the table and picked up her spoon, not meeting Fayrl’s eyes.

Fayrl noted her expression and behavior. She was uncomfortable. Next time he would announce himself.

Though, he could not deny he was curious about her lovers now. More even than before. He itched to ask. Instead he decided it was better to get her to talk about other things. He knew if he stared too long at her silently he might start teasing her again. He was already aroused, but that would not help matters any.

“Orsimer making stew in Skyrim. I think the meat tastes better than most Nord home cooking.” Fayrl laughed, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

Ma'zurah made a strangled noise and dropped her spoon at the mention of Fayrl’s play partner. That conjured images which were not exactly the most helpful right now. She hid her face in both hands, trying to calm herself.

Fayrl set down his spoon and gently placed a hand on her arm. “What's wrong?” he asked gently. “There's no reason to be ashamed of it in front of me. My patron god is all about such things. I just didn't want to keep you from enjoying yourself. It would be like a priest of Hircine stopping someone from finishing their hunt. Like telling the Velothi to not look at the stars. Telling a Nord they couldn't drink mead. I don't mind. You never have to be embarrassed about your desires in front of me.”

“Ma'zurah knows!” she whined. “Ma'zurah is not ashamed! But Ma'zurah has never been in an exclusive relationship before, and she loves her partners… She is trying to be good, and she wants to go back to them, but also she needs to talk to them now and she cannot! And Ma'zurah is embarrassed because she did not want Fayrl to know how much she…” she glanced up and met Fayrl’s eyes, then glanced away quickly. “How much she is in danger of… um… falling for him.” She swallowed. The truth was out.

So that was it was it? Fayrl laughed delightedly. “You have fallen for me already?” he asked, leaning forward across the table towards her.

This explained why she had been so upset on the horse and now again that he had heard her. His first inclination was to pull her in further, but he fought the urge. Ma’zurah did not feel she could pursue him because she could not speak to her partners. That was a fair reason and he respected her wishes, even though he wanted very much to find out what it might take to break her conviction. It was a flaw in his character to always want to push that one step too far, to see just how far he could go with a thing he should not, to get everyone involved in a situation that might spell out danger.

“Well, I shall do my best then not to tempt or tease you anymore. Though, you must know, by my very nature, I will be drawn to testing you. If you catch me slipping, you have but to say the word. I shall be as good as I can. I will even do my daily prayers out of sight and sound of you.”

“Ma'zurah appreciates Fayrl’s offer.” She smiled wistfully at him, then frowned. “Ma'zurah did not say she had fallen for Fayrl though, only that she is in danger of falling for Fayrl. It is not a comfortable position; Fayrl should not laugh…” She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “Fayrl is the first person not Khajiit who has just… accepted Ma'zurah without even any questions. You see Ma'zurah’s problem…”

Fayrl resumed eating his dinner. “Well, we can't go around having you fall for every beautifully handsome Dunmer with the voice of an ethereal being you come across. Nor do I wish for you to be in an uncomfortable position. Though I don't see why anyone should not accept you as you are. You're beautiful, well educated, and an accomplished mage. And that's without taking into account your status as Champion of Azura and the Nerevarine, hero of Morrowind. Oh, and Dragonborn too! You're a predestined hero, for the Three’s sake! What's not to like?”

He took his hair pins out and let his hair fall around him enjoying the feeling of letting it down after being it pulled back so tightly all day. “Besides, you accept me for what I am too. Only my brothers ever accepted me fully and…” he trailed off. “My own mother, worshipper of Azura though she was, never accepted me after I proved to be a disappointment to the family. You are special, Ma’zurah.”

Ma'zurah ignored Fayrl’s initial preening, and reached over to grasp Fayrl’s hand. “Fayrl does not understand. Not even Khajiit accept Ma'zurah. Has Fayrl never wondered what moon breed Ma'zurah is? She has the body of a Suthay Raht, the height of a Cathay, and the facial structure of an Ohmes Raht. Did Fayrl never wonder?”

Fayrl thought for a moment. “To be honest I know so little of Khajiit that I never thought to even try and assume. Is your birth an unusual birth sign? An eclipse or two full moons at once?”

“No no! It is not so unusual to be born under two full moons. That is every Senche. And eclipses reveal the third moon, the Mane’s moon, and cause the birth of a new Mane at the exact apex of the eclipse, though there are eclipses that do not reveal the Mane’s moon, but Ma’zurah has never met anyone born under those moon forms. No, Ma’zurah was not born into the Ja-Kha’jay, the lunar lattice at all. Ma’zurah is kha'jay k'sharraji. Moon cursed. If she had been born into the Ja-Kha’jay, she would have been Alfiq. Ma’zurah was exiled from Elsweyr when she came of age because she is moon cursed. Most Khajiit hate the moon cursed.”

“What does moon cursed mean?” asked Fayrl. He had only a very small idea of how Khajiit birth worked. But he had never heard of anything like a moon curse. “I can understand that with the word curse it would be seen as bad. But what is so terrible about it? What is the moon lattice?”

Ma’zurah’s head snapped up. “Wh-What is the Ja-Kha’jay?! Sweet Mother Azurah…” She shook her head. “Okay, short version. In the beginning there was only Ahnurr and Fadomai. Ahnurr and Fadomai had two litters of children before Ahnurr said no more. The first litter are generally known as the 'Aedra' and the second as the 'Daedra' by other races. But Khenarthi was lonely, and asked her mother Fadomai if she might have more siblings, so Fadomai caused Ahnurr to make her carry another litter in secret. When Fadomai gave birth, she birthed the moons and their motions--the Ja-Kha’jay--as well as Nirni and Azurah, who were rivals. But before she was done giving birth, Ahnurr found Fadomai and attacked her for disobeying him. So Fadomai went to the Great Darkness to finish giving birth, and gave birth to her final child, Lorkhaj. But because Lorkhaj was born in the Great Darkness, the Darkness was born inside of his Heart, and it knew itself to be named Namiira.

“But when Fadomai had finished giving birth, she knew her time was short, so she called her newly birthed children to her, and told them of their birthrights. To the Ja-Kha’jay she said, ‘to you I give the Lunar Lattice, for what can be more steady than the moons and their motions?’ And she charged the Ja-Kha’jay with the protection of all her children from the wrath of Ahnurr. When Ahnurr roared, he shook the Great Darkness, but he could not pass through the lattice.”

“Then Fadomai told Nirni that she would give birth to many children, and after that all of Fadomai’s children left except Azurah. Then Fadomai told Azurah her three great secrets, and instructed her to use these secrets to take some of Nirni’s children and create a new race to assist the Ja-Kha’jay in protecting all of Fadomai’s children from jealous Ahnurr, and to call this race the Khajiit. And then Fadomai died.

“Then Nirni asked Lorkhaj to make her a space for her children, but Lorkhaj was born with the Great Darkness in his Heart, and he trapped his siblings inside Nirni’s new realm. Some of them died to make the Bones of the Earth, but many of them escaped and became the Magra-Ge, the stars. Magrus himself, the architect who assisted Lorkhaj in designing Nirni’s Mundus, escaped and became the sun. The siblings that survived captured Lorkhaj and cursed him to walk Nirni for many phases. Then they ripped out his Heart and threw it across Tamriel, and the blood that fell from it became Ebony. Boethiah later led the Velothi to follow this trail to where Lorkhaj’s Heart landed and became Red Mountain.

“Then Nirni gave birth to her children, and filled her new world, but was sad because her favorite children, the forest people, did not know their forms. Azurah came to her and told her not to cry, because she would create a new people for Nirni, and so she took Fadomai's secrets, and gave the first secret to the Moons, and they allowed her to cross the Ja-Kha'jay into Nirni's Mundus. Then she took the best of the forest people, Nirni's favorites, and she tied them to the Ja-Kha'jay, and gave them different shapes, one for every purpose, and gave them her second secret, and taught them the value of secrets. And so the Khajiit were born, and they became Nirni's secret defenders. Then Azurah spoke the third secret, and caused the light of the moons to fall upon the marshes and the sands and become je'm'ath--moon sugar.

“But Y'ffer overheard Azurah tell the Moons the first secret, and told Nirni what Azurah was doing. And Nirni was jealous, and caused the sands to be too hot, and the forests to be wet and poisonous to the Khajiit. But Nirni told Y'ffer to take the remaining forest people and create a new race as well, and Y'ffer did, and named them Bosmer. Then Y'ffer shouted the first secret to all the heavens, and everyone heard it and knew how to cross the Ja-Kha'jay, except for Lorkhaj and Ahnurr, who Azurah wisely closed the ears of.

“So you see, the Ja-Kha'jay is the moons and their motions, and the barrier they create separates the Mundus from Oblivion. And the Khajiit are its secret defenders.”

Ma’zurah sighed. “Now for the moon curse. Sometime in the second era, a void opened up in the sky. Nobody knows why. The void broke the Ja-Kha’jay, and for one day a year, Khajiit born under the void are born moon cursed. But that is not all. Any child born to a moon cursed Khajiit is also moon cursed, no matter what their moon form should have been. The curse is terrible because it breaks the Khajiit connection to the Ja-Kha’jay. That is why Ma’zurah was abandoned at birth; that is why the clan that took her in dedicated her to Azurah so that she might have a mother; that is why Ma’zurah has not been to Elsweyr since her sixteenth birthday; that is why Khajiit do not accept Ma’zurah. Does Fayrl understand now?”

Fayrl sat in silence for a moment. Much of this story he had heard before. Some was similar to the tales his own people told. Yet there were differences too. “If you are cut off from the power of the moons, what does that mean for you then?” He wanted to understand why someone would abandon a healthy child. He needed to. He had so much anger for that sort of behavior, religiously motivated or not.

"It means Ma'zurah cannot hear the moons; cannot instinctively understand their motions, and the ways of the Moonpaths. That makes Ma'zurah… less than Khajiit. Any child of Ma'zurah's would spread the curse, and further disrupt the connection of the Khajiit to the Ja-Kha’jay. But Ma'zurah cannot have children, so the Clan Mothers of Ma'zurah's tribe argued that she should not be exiled, but the regional leaders did not want any moon cursed Khajiit in the province, unable to have litters or no. So Ma'zurah went, and one of the Clan Mothers went with Ma'zurah to Cyrodiil, and taught her the ways of the Clan Mothers until she died.

"Ma'zurah believes that Azurah would not have made Ma'zurah moon cursed without a purpose. Ma'zurah has met many moon cursed Khajiit who believe that the gods want to use the moon curse to break some great evil, or perform some great deed, and that only a moon cursed Khajiit can perform this deed. Ma'zurah does not know. She can only trust in the wisdom of the gods."

“Obviously I am ignorant to what this curse does besides keep you from your ties to the moons, but all things happen to a greater purpose,” Fayrl tried to reassure her. “Although we choose our own paths, the choices we make are from those which have been provided to us. The threads are all set out before we are even born. I would argue that you may not have your people’s traditional connection to the moons, but you are the chosen one of Azura, the Moon and Star, Nerevar reborn. Is that not a connection to the moons and the stars in and of itself? It is different, true. But did not you say all Khajiit are born for different functions? Why could it not be that there is a reason to be born without the connection to the moons?”

Fayrl laid his hand palm up beside hers. “I have no connection to the moons. And my people are cursed as well, by Azura no less. So, let’s stick together, shall we?”

Ma'zurah took Fayrl's hand, then stood and walked around the table and pulled him into a fierce hug. When she pulled back she brushed her whiskers against his cheek. "Ma'zurah thanks you for saying so..." she told him fervently, the rumble of a purr just audible in her voice. "Fayrl is a good companion..."

Fayrl smiled. Despite it all, he still felt, even in this tender moment, the compulsion to draw her in. He knew the right words to use, the right actions, and she would fall apart in his hands. But he had to resist. She was not some person he merely wanted to keep with him for a few weeks then move on. They had a bigger purpose here. And the gods had given them instructions. He must resist.

“I am honored that you think so,” said Fayrl, ignoring how aroused his body was at her closeness and the intimacy in her voice. “And if there’s anything I can do for you, you let me know. I am yours to command.”

Ma'zurah drew back and put her hands on Fayrl’s shoulders. “Hey, what did this one say before? We are both Champions; if you were in my army, we would be the same rank. We act as partners in this, alright?”

“That does not mean I am not here to--” Fayrl noticed the change in her eyes and felt something stir within him. She was different again. “We can both ask favors of one another. There is no need to speak of ranks and armies and all that nonsense. I simply mean, if you have something you would like from me, anything at all, just let me know. I hope you understand I mean this as a mutual sign of our friendship.”

He tried to just concentrate on Ma’zurah’s face, to push the knowledge of just who she was from his mind. It was too much pressure to think of all the things she was, what she represented, and to have her insist they were equal. It was simply untrue. It made him feel unworthy. It was easier to just think of them as two people, chosen by the gods, lost in time, and trying to get home. Anything more brought too many complicated feelings and thoughts to the forefront of his mind. He didn’t need that sort of thinking clouding his judgement in the moment.

“Alright.” Ma’zurah smiled and brushed her whiskers against Fayrl’s cheeks again. “You are a sweetheart.” She moved back to her seat and began eating again.

Fayrl liked the light sensation of her whiskers against his face. It tickled slightly, but in a pleasant way. He could get used to that.

All he could think about is what they might feel like upon the skin of other parts of his body. He was curious about her partners now too. He knew that Julan was an Ashlander. But what of Shani? What of the other names he’d heard before?

Yet to bring up her companions would be a sore topic. He knew it would be painful to answer similar questions, but more so after their conversation. He knew he should avoid it.

“So, once we leave here, we go to Rorikstead. Do you think we will find Sam there?”

“Um…” Ma'zurah paused to swallow a bite of food. “Ma'zurah has just as much idea as Fayrl. If we do not find Sam, we should probably just forget it and go to see the Greybeards, and track Sam down later. Ma'zurah is eager to figure out what she can do with Shouting.”

“That is a good idea. Perhaps we should simply give up on the idea of Rorikstead and head straight there. What does it matter if we find one Breton that has gotten us into trouble? You have a far more important meeting with the Greybeards.”

Ma'zurah held up her hand, showing the wedding ring she still wore. “It might be nice to figure out how this happened…” she said wryly. “But at this point, Rorikstead is actually on the way, so it is no big deal.”

“Right. That.” Fayrl fidgeted with his ring under the table. He had managed to put that out of his mind. He had married her and had no memory of it. Perhaps they should try to find that out.

Ma’zurah finished her stew and pushed the bowl back. “Ma’zurah is going to bed. Good night, Fayrl. Thank you for the supper.” She stood and made her way back up the stairs.

Fayrl took the bowls to a small basin of water for washing the face. He scooped a handful of water into their bowls and rinsed them out to keep the wood from becoming too badly stained and soiled, wiping them out thoroughly with a cloth.

Once he had set their bowls in a stack outside the door, he followed Ma’zurah up the stairs. He immediately realized there was only one bedroom with a single large bed. He padded to the bedside opposite her and pulled his tunic over his head, folding it over a chair so it would not be too severely wrinkled the next day.

He stopped before getting into the bed. “Ma’zurah, I wanted to ask you, would it be alright if I sleep beside you? If not, I can find a place upon the floor.”

“Ma'zurah does not mind.” came the muffled reply from under the blanket. Ma'zurah’s head came into view and she pulled back the blanket in invitation. “Fayrl should not have to sleep on the floor. And besides, Ma'zurah is not used to sleeping alone.”

“Thank you,” he replied, but continued to stand. “Might it be alright to sleep as I normally do? In light of everything, I understand if not.”

Ma'zurah cocked her head at him. “What?”

Fayrl tugged at his trouser legs.

Ma'zurah blinked at Fayrl. “Oh!” She retreated further into the blankets. “Um… Ma'zurah thinks it would probably be a bad idea to get completely naked…” Her eyes wandered over Fayrl’s shirtless form, and she looked away abruptly.

“I understand,” he said and slipped out of his trousers--but not his undergarment--before getting into the bed.

As soon as he was in he turned his back to her. “Good night, Ma’zurah.”

Ma'zurah snuggled up to him, resting her head against the back of his neck. “Good night, Fayrl,” she purred, and closed her eyes.

She fell asleep appreciating his higher natural body temperature and breathing in his faint scent.

Chapter Text

Fayrl awoke from his pleasant slumber to a creaking sound. He sat bolt upright in bed, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He lightly jumped into a crouch by the side of the bed, slipping on his boots and sword belt.

There was another creak, this time a floorboard for sure. He placed a hand over Ma’zurah’s mouth and motioned to her for silence.

Ma'zurah’s eyes snapped open and she nearly screamed. It had only been a couple of months since the Sixth House and the Dark Brotherhood had both finally ceased their attempts on her life, and she had only just started to relearn how to sleep peacefully. She glanced around the room with wide eyes, but saw only Fayrl pressing his hand over her mouth, gesturing for silence. She blinked at him, sleep slowed brain trying to figure out what he was doing.

Her keen ears picked up the sound of someone else in the house, and she tensed. Fayrl let her go and put his hair up in a quick bun, sticking as many pins into it as he could as the stair creaked again.

Fayrl teleported behind the door, loosening his blades from their sheathes and waiting.

The door opened slowly and in Fayrl’s night-adjusted vision he could make out a woman clad in the barest of clothes, scraps of conjoined furs covering her breasts and nethers. In each of her hands she carried large stone hatchets. She stopped once she was inside, seeming to wait for something--her eyes to adjust?--to survey if anyone was inside?--a signal? Fayrl could not tell.

There was a sudden explosion of sound. Drums thundered from all around. The woman rushed forward, but Fayrl was already behind her. He stabbed her through the small of her back with his sword and brought his dagger across her throat.

Ma'zurah only had just enough time to register the intruder’s strange appearance before the drums sounded from outside, and Fayrl stood over the dead body of the intruder with blood on his blades. The sounds of screams joined the drumming from the village. They were under attack.

The scent of blood and the sound of screams brought Ma'zurah to her feet in a surge of adrenaline. She snatched the chain containing most of her rings and amulets from the bedside table and hastily shoved it over her head. She was out the bedroom door and at Fayrl’s side in an instant, wielding a frost spell in both hands.

When they burst out of the house into the street, there were Nords everywhere in the same strange patchwork of skins and furs. At least, Fayrl assumed they were Nords. Several of the men had large animal-skull masks over their faces.

In the street, the miners had poured out of the two bunkhouses in one large crowd, and were trying to fend off their attackers with the tools they knew how to wield--shovels and pickaxes. But even against the crude looking wood-and-stone weapons of the attackers, they were not holding them off for long.

Fayrl spotted Lash a short distance from the other miners. She was doing better than most of the others, and had started to push back against the attackers. She took down one man in a fur loincloth, sending the pickaxe through his skull.

Glancing around again Fayrl saw Ainethach being backed up against the side of his house by two attackers. Fayrl used his teleport strike to bring himself behind the man closest to Ainethach and knock him down with a blow to the back of the head. He turned to the other attacker, and blocked her spiked stone sword with his own.

Ma’zurah sprinted to the group of miners, and positioned herself between them and their attackers. “Everybody get back!” she yelled, and cast a wall of frost on the ground in front of her, causing several attackers to slip on the suddenly icy gravel. The miners realized her strategy and formed a semicircle behind her around a small group of wounded, protecting them with shovels and pickaxes facing outward.

The attackers scrambled back from the sudden burst of frost and leveled bows at the group. Ma’zurah crouched and tried to build her fractal wall of frost crystals higher to slow or stop the incoming arrows.

Fayrl spread the fire of his enchanted sword up the blade of the woman attacking him, causing her to lean away from the searing heat and drop the sword as flames licked at her fingers. The moment her weapon was down, Fayrl dropped his dagger and grabbed her wrist, pulling her backwards, and bringing his sword across her throat. An arc of arterial spray splattered both Fayrl and a stunned Ainethach. Fayrl snatched up his dagger without pause and sprinted in the direction of Ma’zurah and the other miners.

In the background there was an inarticulate cry and the drums switched rhythms. The surviving attackers turned and ran back into the bushes and rocky crags that surrounded the village.

Fayrl remained alert, waiting with sword and dagger ready in case of a subsequent attack.

Ma’zurah’s eyes glowed blue and she gazed in a slow circle around the village. “They have retreated,” she declared. “We need a damage assessment and headcount. This one can tend to less serious injuries, but this one hopes to S’rendarr that somebody here is an actual healer!”

Ainethach sat on the ground a short distance away with an expression of shock on his face and blood soaking into his clothing. Ma’zurah caught sight of Fayrl and ran forward around her slowly melting crystalline wall, alarmed at the amount of blood that covered his naked chest. “Fayrl! Are you injured?” She stumbled, and nearly tripped in her haste and the aftermath of adrenaline.

Fayrl turned to her and spoke in quiet Dunmeris. “Me, hurt? They never stood a chance. I was a spy for decades. Guerilla tactics are something I know all too well.” He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, smearing some of the blood from his face. “We should be careful, we don’t know when they may come back. We have to find a way to fortify this place.”

The large Nord with the bushy red beard put down his pickaxe and helped some of the others up. “Come, let’s get everyone to the bunkhouses and tend to the wounded.”

Lash followed him. “Just our luck. They’ll be sending more blasted mercenaries to the mines now. I bet the Silver-Bloods will just love another excuse to try to buy Ainethach’s mine.”

“I just pray they don’t send complete thugs again this time to do it,” said the Nord with his head downward.

“Me too, Ragnar. Me too.” Lash replied, then caught sight of Fayrl. She eyed him up and down then winked. “Good work there, bard. Looks like you’re stronger than I thought.”

Fayrl smiled back at her. “I told you I’m a hard one to break.”

Lash barked a laugh and helped another dazed miner into the bunkhouse.

Satisfied that Fayrl was unharmed, Ma’zurah turned to the group of wounded and started assessing injuries. One man had an arrow to the stomach, another had an arrow to the shoulder. One woman had taken an axe to the hip. One had simply been knocked unconscious.

“Somebody bring healing potions!” Ma’zurah barked, and started healing the woman with the injured hip. She was not skilled enough to heal an arrow to the stomach; internal organs were too easy to damage in the process of active healing. The man would be better served by a healing potion which sped up the natural process of healing. If he was lucky, the wound had missed the major organs and would not become contaminated.

Fayrl knelt next to the man with the arrow to the stomach and pulled his satchel to the front of his belt to retrieve some sterile needles and thread. He didn’t have an easy time with sewing people up, but he had learned how from his own time in the field. You never knew when you might have a wound that needed immediate attention. He pulled out a healing potion and a small flask of strong alcohol. He really wished that there was a healer around who could take over for him. Ma’zurah probably would have healed the stomach wound if she could; it was the most serious injury. That she had not done so was not a good sign. She either though the man was too far gone to save, or she did not feel confident in her ability to heal him.

He wished he had a good stiff brandy to help give him courage before attempting this, but the alcohol he had was brewed for medical purposes, and he had no choice but to continue the process sober. There was no time. He just had to hope the adrenaline would get him through the nausea he often felt at examining such severe injuries.

The Nord, Ragnar, reappeared, and Fayrl handed him a hardened strip of leather. The man looked sturdy enough. “Coat this in a splash of alcohol and get it in his mouth,” he said after he had washed the blood from his hands with some of the alcohol. “Then I want you to hold back his arms as tight as you can.”

Fayrl threaded the needle and straddled the wounded man’s thighs. Taking a deep breath, he whispered in the man’s ear, “You are going to have a nice waking dream now. You’ll hear the gulls overhead as you sit on a nice sandy beach in the sun. You might feel some waves come over you. Just relax.”

He checked the man’s wound; the arrow had come clean out the other side. That was a relief. He just had to be gentle about getting the fletching off and then do his best to work quickly. As long as the arrow was in, the bleeding wouldn’t be bad. But as soon as it was out, the time to heal him would be short.

Ragnar looked anxious, hesitant to trust the previously mouthy bard to be any good at healing, but did as he was told.

Fayrl wrapped his hand around the fletching and began to sing a soft song as he carefully burned away the back end of the arrow.

Ainethach seemed to come out of his stupor and stumbled into his house, returning a moment later wearing a clean shirt and holding a small armful of bottles. He placed most of the bottles on the ground by Ma’zurah, and knelt next to the injured man Fayrl was attempting to heal. “I have a healing potion if it will help. What else needs to be done?”

Ma’zurah finished fusing the woman’s fractured hipbone and tipped a healing potion into her mouth. “We need someone to make sure we have everyone,” she called to Ainethach. “We were nearly ambushed in our sleep. Check the other houses to see if anyone else was ambushed, and conduct a headcount.” She moved to the man with the arrow in his shoulder and carefully removed the arrow before healing the punctured muscle and skin. It wasn’t a life threatening wound; just painful.

Ainethach looked startled at Ma’zurah’s commanding tone, but moved to comply.

With the fletching and a good portion of the shaft of the arrow burned off, Fayrl took a solid hold of the front of the arrow. “Ma’zurah, if you have a minute, I could use your help over here.”

Fayrl dipped the needle and thread into another vial, this one with a numbing agent. He knew he would have to work fast at this.

Ma’zurah stood from checking on the unconscious woman after determining that she was otherwise uninjured, and moved to kneel next to Fayrl. Her eyes glowed blue again. “This one will do the best she can, but if she tries to heal the internal organs she may cause as much damage as she heals. She can probably stop the bleeding though.”

“We need all we can get. This looks bad. There are a couple organs that might have been punctured and I’m going to have to pull the arrow through. As soon as it’s out, the bleeding is going to be bad. I can cauterise the entrance and exit wounds, but the internal damage is likely to be pretty severe. If it’s not successful….” He glanced at Ragnar and switched to Dunmeris. “He probably won’t make it either way.”

Ma’zurah met Fayrl’s gaze and nodded. She concentrated as Fayrl began removing the arrow. Golden light swirled around the man’s body.

The man’s body convulsed. “Hold him down,” Fayrl hissed at Ragnar, then began singing a children’s lullaby about not being afraid, this time in Dunmeris. The man’s body relaxed again.

“Damn mud crabs,” mumbled the man around the piece of leather.

Fayrl made sure to apply even pressure and pull at a slow, even pace. As soon as the arrow was out, he cast a small flame around the wound to cauterise it.

The man thrashed about and Fayrl had to bear down his full weight onto the man’s thighs to avoid being bucked off. Ragnar fought to keep the man’s arms down.

Ma’zurah gritted her teeth in concentration, and the glow got brighter. The wound began to close from the inside out and the bleeding slowed. The glow abruptly faded and Ma’zurah gasped. “No! Somebody get this one a magicka potion!” she cried. She tried casting again, and gasped as though she had been punched in the gut, curling in on herself.

Fayrl grabbed a healing potion and poured it into the wound in the hopes of stitching the wound closed before more damage could be done. The man flailed, brought out of the spell Fayrl had put him under, and knocked Fayrl onto his back. The needle flew out of his hand and was lost upon the ground out of reach.

The man screamed in agony and began to claw at his belly, tearing Ragnar’s hands away.

Fayrl felt nauseous. Old memories of his own internal injuries resurfaced from his time as a prisoner to the Aldmeri Dominion. He could almost hear the screams of the other captives. He drew the Ebony Blade. The man had no hope of survival, and Fayrl could not stand his suffering any longer.

“Muhri ouafluroua,” Fayrl commanded in an uncharacteristically deep voice. (Be calm.)

The man instantly ceased moving.

Fayrl knelt down beside him, looking into his eyes. He could see the pain twisting behind the man’s gaze; he would be able to break free of the hold that Fayrl had on him soon.

“Os ura ohl periud sut lo,” said Fayrl softly, stroking the man’s cheek with one hand. (I want you to smile for me.)

The man smiled.

Fayrl leaned in closer. “Hij, homa lo ist ohn daelha lo. Os daelha ohn.” (Now, tell me that you love me. I love you.)

“I love you, bard,” said the man in a strained voice.

Fayrl leaned forward and kissed the man, then pulled back. “Unira hij, yi daelha,” he said, and slit the man’s throat with the Ebony Blade. (Sleep now, my love.)

“By Kyne!” cried Ragnar, staring at the body before him.

Ma’zurah recovered from her attempt to channel more magicka than her spirit could withstand, and crawled forward on her knees. She put her hand on Fayrl’s shoulder. “Hey… you alright?”

Fayrl stood, wiping the Ebony Blade off on a cloth from his bag and resheathing it. He left without a word and headed into the public house. He could feel a pulse, something like a heartbeat, coming from the Blade. He half unsheathed it and saw the Blade glow faintly. If nothing else, he had managed to feed it something.

Ma’zurah cast an apologetic glance at Ragnar and trotted after Fayrl as he strode up the stairs. He began stripping out of his bloody underwear without looking at her and she retreated downstairs.

Fayrl left his now-ruined undergarment in the bedroom washbasin, taking the pitcher of water and going about the slow process of washing the blood from his skin.

“Fayrl?” Ma'zurah called, “Ma’zurah is here if you need her.”

“Thank you,” he called back cheerfully. “Though you don’t need to be shy. Nothing you haven’t seen before,” he teased.

Ma’zurah made a face. He wasn’t wrong, but she did not need the temptation of more memories of a naked Fayrl. “Put some trousers on and Ma’zurah will give you a hug.”

“I would, but I haven’t gotten all the blood off yet. I don’t want to stain my trousers. I already ruined my undergarments.”

“Oh. Okay.” Ma’zurah sat at the table and waited for Fayrl to finish.

Fayrl stood, staring at his reflection in the vanity mirror for a bit. When he did not hear Ma’zurah stir, he called out experimentally, “Ma’zurah?”

“Yes?”

Fayrl took a deep breath. “You wouldn’t be willing to bring me more water, would you?”

“Oh! Sure.” Ma’zurah glanced around awkwardly and located a bucket and filled it from the basin. She carried it upstairs to Fayrl, averting her eyes as she entered the bedroom.

Fayrl took the bucket and headed back to the mirror. He was glad she wasn’t looking. Despite his tone of voice, his face still betrayed his true feelings. He needed to clear his mind so that he could put the mask of the fool back on.

Ma’zurah noticed the body of the attacker that had woken them, and dragged the corpse down the stairs and out the front door. Deciding she would rather not be alone, she went back upstairs and sat down on the bed facing away from Fayrl and began poking through her pack, trying to distract herself from the distressing events that had taken place. She eyed the small blue vials of magicka potion, tempted to drink one just to feel the comfort of the flood of Aetherial magicka after the complete drain she had put herself through. There was no point though. She was already starting to regenerate, and she did not need to waste the potion for no purpose.

Fayrl finished wiping the blood from where it had dried to the front of his body. He turned this way and that before the mirror to make sure he hadn’t missed any, then turned around and looked over his shoulder to be certain the rest of his body was clean.

When he had finished, he went to his pack and began to search for a clean cloth to wrap around himself. He felt a sudden chill from the water drying on his bare skin. His nakedness felt more bare than usual.

He rummaged around his pack and located his spare tunic and a pair of hose. He must have forgotten to purchase another cloth for undergarments. It would be unlikely that he could find any silk or satin reams of fabric in such a small village. He would have to go without for now.

He picked up his trousers from where he had laid them over the back of a chair the previous evening. He put them on, then sat down in the chair, leaning back and closing his eyes to gather his composure.

Ma’zurah heard Fayrl stop moving, and glanced over her shoulder, catching sight of him out of the corner of her eye. She caught a hint of his bleak expression and turned toward him. “Oh, Fayrl…” She quickly moved to his side and put her arms around him. “It will be alright. Ma’zurah is here. It will be alright.”

Fayrl’s melancholy expression was gone as soon as it had been caught. “Of course it will!” he said, cheerful again.

He pulled back to look in her face. “Are you worried about something?” He smirked. “Worried about me?” He waggled his eyebrows at her playfully.

Ma’zurah gave him an unimpressed look. “Fayrl promised to be honest with Ma’zurah. This act of Fayrl’s is not honest. If Fayrl does not wish Ma’zurah to offer comfort, he does not have to be so dismissive about telling Ma'zurah so.” She began to pull away.

Fayrl’s body stiffened. He did not wish to lie, only to mislead. It was as much for him as it was for her. And yet he could tell his position here was precarious.

“Ma’zurah, I can’t--” He stopped himself and closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He stood and walked back to the mirror, pulling the Ebony Blade out of its sheath. He stared at the black metal. It seemed to him as if it was humming. It seemed as though it almost had its own feelings. He decided he would attempt to get the blood off the hilt, and busied himself with meticulously cleaning the leather of the grip to draw out the blood before it stained.

“Alright.” Ma’zurah’s face became closed off, and she went back to her side of the bed and curled up under the blanket, facing away from Fayrl. She hugged her chest miserably, feeling more alone than she had since she had first come to Skyrim.

Fayrl saw Ma’zurah pull into herself in the reflection of the mirror. He felt a pang of guilt, knowing that he was at fault for the reaction. And yet he did not know how to comfort her. He was not good at handling emotions, neither his own nor those of others. Sure, he was good at twisting them around for his own uses, but when it came to genuinely sorting them out, he was at a loss. He put away the sword and went downstairs. If he was out of the room, perhaps at least then she could forget about him. He wished he could forget about himself for a moment too.

Ma’zurah listened to Fayrl’s footsteps descend the stairs. “I can’t,” he had said. Can’t what? Be honest? Express himself? Accept comfort? Accept Ma’zurah? Maybe it was the culmination of everything that had happened in the past few days, but Ma’zurah’s optimism crumbled in the face of Fayrl’s apparent abandonment, and she just wanted to go home. A sob escaped her and she buried her face under her pillow.

Hearing the sound of crying only made Fayrl feel worse about what he had done. He rummaged around the room until he found a dusty bottle of something forgotten in a corner cabinet. He opened it and was hit with the pungent smell of homebrew. At this point he didn’t care about being picky. His tastebuds would just have to be silent. He took a deep drink straight from the bottle. He determined to finish the entire thing as quickly as possible. He just wanted to sleep. He didn’t want to be left alone with his own thoughts or feelings. He barely let himself draw breath, trying to get the drink into himself as quickly as possible, hoping for sweet oblivion.

Chapter Text

Fayrl awoke stiffly upon the wooden floor, his skin as cold as the boards he lay on. He could not move for all the chill that had seeped into his bones.

He blinked up at the ceiling. He wished he could go back to sleep, but the cold had woken him up. He wasn’t sure he could even feel his feet anymore.

Upstairs, Ma’zurah woke from a fitful sleep and stared blearily at the window, trying to figure out where she was. It was only just beginning to get light. Her eyes itched, and she suddenly remembered she had been crying, and why. She glanced around for Fayrl, but he was not in sight. He must have gone back to enjoy the company of the pretty Orc he had been with the evening before. She felt a rare flash of jealousy, one she would normally not have felt had their relationship not been strained.

She sighed and swung her legs over the side of the bed, determined to find some breakfast. She changed out of her shift and trousers and made her way down the stairs, toward the front door, only to pause upon catching sight of Fayrl, still dressed only in his trousers, lying on the floor with a mostly empty bottle of unspecified liquor. “Fayrl?”

Fayrl was torn between being glad to have a chance to receive assistance and get up off the cold, hard floor, and between being horribly embarrassed at being discovered in such an undignified position. If there had been anything left in the bottle but the stray dregs, he might have drunk them to deal with the situation. He weakly pawed at the bottle, but it was just out of reach and he could not pull himself up enough to grasp it.

He did not know how best to apologize for his behavior. He did not wish to make any excuses, but he did not know how to say anything sincere that would sound genuine. He looked up at Ma'zurah from his spot on the floor. “Good morning, Ma’zurah. Did you sleep well?”

Ma’zurah blinked at him. “Um… Not so great. What are you doing?” She padded closer to him.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Fayrl was truly sorry; he felt responsible for her state of unrest. “I fell asleep on the floor last night and can’t seem to get up.”

Ma’zurah’s brow furrowed and she offered him a hand up. “Why did you not come to bed? Were you here all night?” She suddenly felt foolish for her earlier burst of jealousy.

Fayrl groaned as he took a hold of her hand, his body protesting against the movement. “I don’t recall exactly when I went to sleep. I don’t even remember exactly how I got onto the floor.”

Ma’zurah helped Fayrl to a chair, holding him around the waist. Noticing his unsteadiness, she realized he must be hung over, so she cast cure poison on him. She moved a chair in front of him and seated herself. “Ma’zurah would have thought that after our last experience with excessive drinking, Fayrl would have been more determined to avoid alcohol,” she told him wryly. “Did you drink that whole thing?”

He shrugged as best as his body would allow. “It was hardly excessive. It was only a single bottle.” He recalled the taste; it was still in his mouth. He licked his lips. “Probably drank it all, or near enough. Awful stuff too. Feels like a skeever died in my mouth.”

Ma’zurah glanced at the bottle in question and wrinkled her nose. “Fayrl… Ma’zurah can smell the stuff from here. ‘Just a bottle’ is a relative thing.” She sat back and watched Fayrl for a moment. “Why did you do it?” she asked quietly. “Why did you abandon Ma’zurah to go drink awful alcohol by yourself down here?”

“To give you space. To clear my mind. It wasn’t abandoning, I just, came down for a bottle. It seemed like once I was gone you needed time. I didn’t want to interrupt a personal moment. We spend all our time together. I thought you might want a chance to be alone now and again.”

Tears pricked at Ma’zurah’s eyes at the memory of the crippling loneliness and isolation she had felt the previous night. She leaned forward and hugged Fayrl tightly, closing her eyes and drawing in a shuddering breath. “Does… does Fayrl need time alone? Is Ma’zurah crowding him too much?”

“I mean, maybe occasionally I need some time. But you’re not crowding me, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Fayrl was confused. He did not understand why she was so upset. Was she worried he had run off in the night and left her? “Listen, I said we would stick together and I mean it.” He hoped that would be reassuring.

Ma’zurah nodded against Fayrl’s shoulder. “Ma’zurah knows. Ma’zurah just felt so alone…” She clutched him tighter. “Ma’zurah had friends and lovers she could call clan in her own time... But here? Now? Fayrl is all Ma’zurah has. Ma’zurah thought…” She stopped, reluctant to voice the thought. She had thought he could not accept her and left because of it, but that was wrong, wasn’t it?

Fayrl was no stranger to the feeling of isolation and loneliness that came with being in a time so far from his own. He could understand why she felt that way; he felt that way too. He waited for her to finish, seeing she was having trouble voicing her concerns. He would be patient. Some things had to come out in their own time.

Ma’zurah gave Fayrl a pleading look. “Why could not Fayrl be honest when Ma’zurah asked? Why did he pretend to be cheerful? What was it he could not do?”

“I was not dishonest,” he said quickly. “I did not lie outright. I said I would not.”

He took another deep breath, he had to choose his words carefully. He still did not wish for her to know how shaken he had been by what had transpired. She needn't learn how weak he was. Yet he did not want to tip the scales from a stretched truth into an outright lie. “I just needed to collect myself.”

“Ma’zurah could tell Fayrl was upset… Ma’zurah was offering comfort. Ma’zurah cares about Fayrl. Fayrl does not need to hide such things from Ma’zurah. Fayrl is like clan. Clan will always support in times of distress. Fayrl does not have to suffer alone.” Ma’zurah gently brushed her whiskers against Fayrl’s cheek. “Was Ma’zurah’s comfort unwelcome then? If Fayrl wants Ma’zurah to stop something, he has only to ask; he does not need to put on an act to mislead and drive Ma’zurah away.”

Fayrl bit his lip. “I'm not good with… feelings. Genuine ones anyhow. It's hard for me to explain or to express them.”

“Oh Fayrl…” Ma’zurah pressed her cheek against Fayrl’s. “Just try then, and do not hide. There is no shame, and Ma'zurah can be patient. It is better than drinking…” She lightly brushed her lips against his cheek by the corner of his mouth. “Just do not push Ma'zurah away…”

Fayrl realized how easy it would be to kiss her; how natural it would be. It would certainly distract from their current conversation about expressing emotions. And yet… he knew she was struggling to be faithful to her partners. She was coming so close to letting go, and he badly wanted to cross that line with her, but it was not his decision to make. If they were to remain together for the entire duration of their stay in this time, he needed to help her in all respects, this one included. He wished the bottle on the ground was full again; just a sip of something would help him regain his composure, but it was not to be.

He had to take the right stance here. He closed his eyes, turning himself cold to the feeling of her whiskers on his cheek and her body so close to him. He had been taught by his masters how to do this; it was a survival skill, to shut off the ability to feel in order to be objective.

“I do not know how,” he finally replied, all emotion gone from his voice. He took her shoulders gently, holding her at a distance with a light grip that she could easily break free of. “I have spent a long time learning to not have my judgement clouded by such distractions. Feelings are there to be used as a cloak, a costume, a weapon when need be. They are a tool to get what is needed to survive.”

He looked away, not wanting to meet her gaze, not wanting to chance catching sight of her feelings. He had to keep himself from being swayed. They had tasks to their gods; they could not afford to get feelings tangled up in the process. Besides, they could not be together forever. They would return to their own times. If Fayrl managed to live long enough for Ma’zurah’s time to come, he would be an old mer. She would not recognize him nor have any interest in him. So why let any deeper bond form than they had to? It was reckless. It could only lead to pain for one or both of them. “I will stay with you. I promised you that. However, I cannot say that I will or can speak of my feelings. I'm not certain I am capable. Please, do not ask this of me.”

“Ma’zurah does not understand…” Ma’zurah pressed forward to hug him again. “How can you not know how to try? How can you live without relating to people without wanting die of despair? That sounds… awful!”

Fayrl knew that such words would usually sway him, but he had his emotions stored firmly away where he could not reach them. “I suppose I have tried in the past, but it ended in misery. I know I made the right choice, and yet I look back and see naught but regrets. Those are the experiences that such behaviors have led to. I can make myself feel anything if I have a need to, but that is not what you are asking of me.”

“Ma’zurah is not asking anything so difficult… Ma’zurah is only asking for Fayrl not to try to drive Ma’zurah away with false acts. Just because Fayrl has been hurt in the past does not mean Ma’zurah will hurt him... Ma’zurah does not know what to do with someone who is not an acquaintance, but treats her so distantly; not an enemy, but distrusts her like one; and refuses to relate to her like clan despite mutual promises of loyalty… What do you want Ma’zurah to do?”

“It is not about a lack of trust. Nothing so severe. I willingly put my life in your hands.” Fayrl paused while he tried to come up with a concise explanation. Usually he was so verbose, but he did not have to worry usually about people wanting to probe into his true feelings.

“That is not what Ma’zurah means…” Ma’zurah said in frustration. “Ma’zurah believes Fayrl that he trusts Ma’zurah with his life. But he does not seem to trust Ma’zurah with anything else! Ma’zurah does not understand! Ma’zurah does not know what to do with such a person! How can Ma’zurah do anything with Fayrl if that is all he gives her? Ma’zurah is so confused…” She rested her forehead against his and closed her eyes. “Ma’zurah gives Fayrl everything she gives anyone she cares about…”

“What do you want me to say?!” Fayrl cried, his emotions pulling free from his control with his frustration and fear of what she was asking of him. Once he started the flow of thoughts, he found he could not stop himself. “You want to know every horrible thing that has happened to me in my life? You want to know what it was like to suffer heartbreak, humiliation, or physical torture? Do you want to know how I felt every time I had to carve open a man’s chest on the battlefield, or each time I listened to the other nobles whisper about how I was destroying the name of our House single-handedly by being exactly the mer they asked me to be? Or what about how it was to be taken hostage? Or what of the time I had to kill my own brother? What part of those feelings could anyone ever want to hear about?!”

Ma’zurah’s eyes got wider as Fayrl spoke. “Yes!” she cried when he paused for breath. “Ma’zurah wants to know all those things because Ma’zurah cares about Fayrl! Those things are part of Fayrl! He should not have to carry them alone! That is what clan is for!” She hugged him tightly. “Ma’zurah is so sorry Fayrl had to go through all that….” she mumbled into his shoulder.

Fayrl started to pull back. He was embarrassed about letting his emotions get the better of him. “No! That’s not how you are supposed to react!”

He took another deep breath and pushed his emotions away as best he could. He had to use visualization to be successful this time--not a good sign. He was going to need an outlet if he wanted to maintain any more of his composure. She must already think him weak, why else would she be clinging to him so? She probably thought he was not capable of continuing. Maybe this was her way of verifying that he was not worthy. It would not be untrue.

Maybe that was the entire point of this test. Maybe she was a Daedra, or an aspect of one. Perhaps this was a test he was being put through for having dared to take something belonging to the Prince of Madness. She did seem to know an awful lot about how to deal with the House of Troubles. Wouldn’t it make more sense if she knew from working closely with them? How could he even be sure she was any of the things she said she was? She could be anyone! Anything! He stood, pulling out of her grasp and walking toward the door. “I think I need some fresh air.”

“How is Ma’zurah supposed to react?” Ma’zurah’s voice was beginning to betray her frustration. “Fayrl? Do not just walk away from this!”

Fayrl did not continue to walk away, but he did not move towards her either. “Get angry at me! Hit me if you have to! Storm off self-righteously! I don’t know! Why does it matter what has happened in the past? Everyone suffers. That’s what life is. You are born, you suffer to survive, and if you do it right, you live long enough to find some happiness before you die.”

Ma’zurah made a noise of frustration and gripped at her hair. “Fayrl! Why would you say that?! Have you learned nothing from Boethiah? From Mafala and Azurah? Yes, everyone suffers! But no, it is not for no purpose! And no, you do not have to do it alone! Ma’zurah knows that the Dunmer know there is more to life than what Fayrl just said!”

A sour feeling twisted in Fayrl’s gut. He could hear her unspoken words. He wasn’t worthy. He had failed this test. As far as she saw it, he was not even worthy of his own gods--of his own people. It was hardly the first time he had been told this. It was not the only time he had horribly disappointed those whose opinions mattered to him.

“So if it is so important to know about each other’s pasts, then why is it that you haven’t shared anything of yours with me?” he snapped. “Oh sure, I have seen it, felt some of it, but you have hardly spoken! If we are opening up wounds, let us open them all up! One for one, how about it? Shall we go with early wounds or later? Maybe one of each?”

He stalked back to her and grabbed her wrist, channelling the memories of his last mission to Cyrodiil to her through the gift of Mephala. He showed her flashes of memory--of waking up in a darkened wet cell; of pale golden hands on his body; of the needles of ice inserted into his skin, under fingernails and eyelids; of the terror of watching smug Altmeri faces peer into his as they sliced open his chest, torso, legs, plucked at nerves with their magicka, then just before his body would give up, heal everything over; of the days and nights of torture, the only rest being a lack of consciousness; of the way they spat in the wounds they made in him; of how they used his body for their every disgusting, humiliating whim; of hearing the screams and suffering of the other agent; of hearing the screams of the other agent’s servant, an innocent Argonian who had no clue what their master had been doing, being tortured to death; and of the third day, when he had seen an opening when only one of the Altmer had come, the others having gone off to dispose of the second body. From the way the mer had eyed him, he had known his only chance of escape was to use his body. He had broken the mer’s neck with his thighs. He had run, fighting off his captors with every object at hand, setting the building on fire and throwing buckets and flour and chairs. He had run long into the night, until his legs gave out, then dragged himself on his arms and knees. He had lain there in the night, and half into the next, listening, waiting for one of the Altmer to find him, always waiting for one to show up from behind the next stone or grass.

The memory ended and Fayrl let go of Ma’zurah’s wrist. He turned and walked to the cabinet at the side of the room, searching for a bottle of anything.

Tears soaked the fur of Ma’zurah’s face. She had never been tortured before; Fayrl’s pain and fear and anger and humiliation had been awful. A sob escaped her. She watched Fayrl’s retreating form through the haze of tears in shock. This was a part of his past? No wonder he tried to hide from it.

She understood now just what Fayrl had gone through when she first touched him, and was able to guess the exact memories he had seen. He had to go through this every time he touched someone for the first time? Did he have to bear the memories of hundreds of people like this--their worst experiences and fears? Mafala’s gift was a dubious one, however useful.

“Oh Fayrl…” She ran after him and caught him in a hug from behind. “Ma’zurah is so, so sorry that happened to you… Gods! Ma’zurah is so sorry you have been carrying this by yourself all this time! Thank you for sharing it with Ma’zurah!” She buried her face against the back of his shoulder.

Fayrl opened the cabinets above his head and rummaged through them for a drink. He desperately needed something to numb the pain of having to see and feel those memories again.

“I have shared the painful parts of my past with another before, though not like this. But there are three others I have shared my past with. One is dead, by my hand. One, I will never see again, even should I return to my time. The other is someone who means a great deal to me.”

He did not wish to dwell on these things. He did not want to talk about them. He hated talking about them. Fayrl had forced that pain and suffering on Ma'zurah in a moment of anger; he should have awaited permission before doing so. He was not proud of that. Lashing out when he felt emotional was not unusual for him, but it was shameful.

He had nothing more left in him. He could not comprehend why she was thanking him. Why would she want to go through all that? It was bizarre. It wasn’t right. She was fetching crying, for the Three’s sake! He could not stand to be around himself, yet she would not leave him alone. He did not know what to do.

“You are a very strong person, Fayrl, to have withstood such horrible experiences,” Ma’zurah told him earnestly. “Ma’zurah has no idea how Fayrl can stand to take the pain of other people every time he touches someone new. Mafala must have chosen very wisely, because Ma’zurah is not sure she could do it…” She squeezed him and drew in a shuddering breath. “Ma’zurah is so glad that Fayrl was willing to trust Ma’zurah with the memories. It always gets easier to bear after sharing with someone you trust.”

Fayrl took a step to the side to riffle through the other cabinets. This was all far too much on a sober mind. He needed something. Even a bottle of vinegar would be tempting right now.

“I am no stronger than any other spy need be who is set to spend a month, a year, a decade, in the field. We were prepared for risks. We were schooled on how to deal with being captured; how to survive the torture or to end our lives before the pain made us give up our secrets. It is simply the facts of the job I was chosen for, the only job I was ever suited to.”

He slammed the cabinet shut and opened up a crate on the counter. There had to be a bottle somewhere, yet he couldn’t find one! He spun on his heels to face Ma’zurah. “It is never easier to share it. The pain always lingers; it just brings it up again and again. Every telling you lose a part of the memory, a part of yourself. If that is somehow meaningful to you, I do not understand why.”

Ma’zurah recoiled from the sudden noise and Fayrl’s sharp words. “W-What?” She blinked rapidly, trying to will away fresh tears, not of empathy, but of hurt. “But… Fayrl did just as Ma’zurah asked… Fayrl shared himself without a mask or an act! Ma’zurah thought Fayrl understood!” She hugged her chest and searched Fayrl’s face.

“I am losing myself, Ma’zurah,” he told her. “Not that I know what--who I am. I thought I knew. Maybe it’s the hour. It’s early still. That must be it. I just need a stiff drink and a bite to eat.” He sat down on the floor. “Maybe just another moment of sleep.”

Ma’zurah blinked at Fayrl. He obviously was not coping well. “Ma’zurah agrees, Fayrl should eat something. Drinking does not help, but as Fayrl said, it is early still. If Fayrl wants to sleep for a few more hours, Ma’zurah understands. Come upstairs with Ma’zurah.” She held out a hand to him.

Fayrl did not move from his spot on the floor. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to eat anything or sleep at all. Mostly he just wanted to forget; to let all of this fade away. It was so embarrassing to have been brought to this point.

Ma’zurah sat on the floor next to Fayrl and put an arm around him. He looked so lost. “It is okay,” she said simply. “Ma’zurah understands.” She leaned her head against his shoulder.

Fayrl closed his eyes. He just couldn’t understand Ma’zurah’s attitude or point of view about this. Was she taking pity on him? Did she think of him as a child? Why would she be acting this way?

“Tell me something,” he said suddenly.

“Of course. What is it?”

“How did you meet your companions? The ones you were traveling with before all of this.”

“Um…” Ma’zurah blinked at the sudden topic change. Perhaps he wanted a distraction. “Ma’zurah met Constance outside Gnisis. She was waiting for someone who was supposed to meet her, but never showed up. She asked if Ma’zurah would let her come along, and then they became best friends. Ma’zurah met Jasmine when she was freeing slaves. Jasmine had been captured by slavers for scouting too close to their hideout. She did not feel safe living alone, so she wanted to stay with Ma’zurah. Ma’zurah told Fayrl how she met Julan; he was being attacked by clannfears outside of Ghostgate. Constance and Ma’zurah rescued him, and he was impressed with Ma’zurah’s magick and asked if she would train him. Ma’zurah met Shani later. Shani was Julan’s ex-girlfriend, and the first time Ma’zurah met her was at the Ahemmusa camp, and she and Julan immediately started yelling. The next time Ma’zurah saw her, she had gotten lost, and taken shelter from an ashstorm in a condemned mine and gotten trapped. Ma’zurah and Julan rescued her. Why does Fayrl ask?”

“I am just curious about those you have traveled with before, nothing more.” Fayrl pulled his knees up to his chest. “So, you have four lovers, one of whom is your current lover’s ex? Do they get on any better now?”

Ma’zurah barked a surprised laugh. “No! Ma’zurah has two lovers and two close friends! Jasmine is straight, and Constance is not interested in relationships. Julan and Shani get along well now. They still have fights, but it is a lot easier for them now that they are older and Julan is not trying to be the Nerevarine. The three of us have a relationship together. It works well.”

“I see,” said Fayrl, suddenly realizing much more clearly the meaning of hearing his own name the day before. He needed to avoid thinking about that right now. “So who did you convince first of the two of them?”

A fond, faraway smile spread across Ma’zurah’s face. “Julan. He came to see Ma’zurah after he had a horrible nightmare from Dagoth Ur, and when Ma’zurah offered him a hug, he kissed her neck. Then he got really shy and ran off when Ma’zurah asked why he was doing it, but Ma’zurah chased him back to his yurt and made him talk about it.”

“I see you have a habit of making Dunmer speak about their actions then,” Fayrl teased. “So how was it that you managed to convince your lady to join?”

“Well at first Shani was jealous because she was still in love with Julan. But then she admitted she was also attracted to Ma’zurah, so the two of us made a plan to get Julan to see things our way. We all went to Mournhold, and got into a lot of trouble and nearly got kicked out of the royal palace and arrested by Almalexia’s Hands, and Julan and Shani talked for a long time, and then we had amazing sex and decided we should be together, all three of us.” Ma’zurah grinned at Fayrl.

Fayrl nodded. It was easy to get into trouble with Almalexia’s Hands. He and his own brothers, the two boys he had grown up with, got into plenty of trouble in the Temple in Mournhold. It was only worse once they were all admitted to the Temple as acolytes. Fayrl could not even count on both hands how many of Almalexia’s Hands he had managed to stir up trouble with. “So it all turned out for the best then.”

“Well, we did have a few misunderstandings near the beginning. Shani kept phrasing things as ‘having fun’ and Ma’zurah did not realize that meant ‘not a real romantic relationship’ to her, so it came as a surprise to Ma’zurah and Julan when she got upset about Julan proposing to us both. We did get it worked out though. It helps that Ma’zurah grew up with the Clan Mothers, so she knows how to handle emotional problems and relationships.” Ma’zurah gave Fayrl a wry smile and squeezed his shoulders.

Fayrl pressed on, enjoying learning more, particularly when the center of this kind of attention was not on him. “So you are all three married then? Is it now legal in Morrowind?”

“No, we are not married. Shani decided she did not want to get married--not because she did not want to marry us, but because she did not want to marry anyone, ever. And Ma’zurah and Julan are still engaged, not yet married.” Ma’zurah paused and toyed with the necklace of rings and amulets she perpetually wore. “No, Morrowind law has not changed that much. But Julan is Velothi, in line to be Ashkhan of the Ahemmusa, and Ma’zurah is Nerevarine. We would be married in the sight of Azurah. Ma’zurah doubts that any Wise Woman would object, especially not Sinnammu Mirpal.”

Fayrl nodded. Everything about Ma’zurah’s life was incredible. Her life was every bit as fantastic as the lives of the heroes of great epics should be. And what chapter of her grand tale was this? The hero goes forward in time to sit on a floor and comfort an ordinary Dunmer? He let himself feel sorry for himself once again.

“So, what do your other companions think of your relationship?” he asked, trying to distract himself again. “I take it they are supportive to keep traveling with you.”

“Constance does not care either way. Romantic or sexual relationships are not interesting to her. She just goes with whatever Ma’zurah says. Jasmine was more skeptical at first, but she was more worried about how it would affect our dynamic as a group. Ma’zurah is lucky to have such Khajiiti friends.”

“Indeed. It is not often one chances upon such a happy arrangement. You must be proud.” Fayrl shifted on the hard floor. He wished he could have found a way to get Qau-dar to understand what he had been asking; to be able to convey his desire to make their relationship a sexual one. But it was not to be. Maybe one day. “I am sure you will have quite the tale to tell them when you return to your time.”

A look of sadness flashed across Ma’zurah’s face. “Can we get off the floor now? Ma’zurah is hungry.”

Fayrl realized his mistake. He had pushed her too much. “As you like.” He got to his feet. He had no appetite, but he would do as she asked if it would make her feel better.

Ma’zurah stood and dusted herself off. “You, ah… probably need a shirt,” she observed.

Fayrl looked down. “A shirt at breakfast? You sound like mother.” He flashed her a smile. “Lash owes me a couple of hot meals, what do you say we cash in on them?”

Ma’zurah didn’t know who Lash was, but she was unamused at the comparison to Fayrl’s mother. “Go put a shirt on, Fayrl.”

“Yes, yes.” Fayrl waved a hand lazily and padded up the stairs to go find himself a tunic to put on. He found the one he had worn the day before. It didn’t smell, to his great surprise, so he slipped it on and return downstairs, re-buckling his belt over the the tunic as he walked.

“Alright, you ready to go get yourself a hot meal?” he asked, leaning back against the wall.

Ma’zurah bounced to her feet. “Yes!” She held the door open for Fayrl and the two of them headed outside.

Chapter Text

The sun had risen above the horizon, and birds were singing and warbling like mad beings in the shrubbery. Miners milled about, repairing the damage done in the night and cleaning the area.

Fayrl squinted in the sunlight with eyes accustomed to the darkness of the house. After a moment, he saw Lash and Ragnar resetting a door onto its hinges. He approached them with a smile, Ma’zurah trailing behind him. “Good morning, my friends!” he called cheerfully.

“It is a morning. Not sure if it is a good one, save for having lived to see it,” muttered Lash as she hammered the last pin into the top hinge.

Ragnar did not meet Fayrl’s eyes, he simply gave a silent nod, still holding the door for Lash.

Fayrl felt the chill in Lash’s words and realized the gravity of the morning’s mood. They had lost people in the night. He had not considered it after spending so much time feeling sorry for himself. He decided to switch tactics. “My apologies. I try to stay on the positive side of these types of situations. We came to see if we could be of any help.”

“Had enough of your help,” grumbled Ragnar under his breath.

Fayrl took a step back. “We will see if we can help someone else.”

Ragnar snorted. “You do that.”

Fayrl motioned to Ma’zurah and moved out of earshot. “Sorry about breakfast,” he said in a whisper. “Guess we’ll have to call in that favor later.”

Ma’zurah frowned. She could see why the Nord would not be pleased to see them. She followed after Fayrl, searching for the landowner. She spotted him exiting the small horse stall attached to the public house, and realized that she had forgotten to check on their horse before she had fallen asleep. She walked forward and peeked into the stall while Ainethach watched her. Both horses were placidly munching on a freshly filled basket of hay. She turned back to Ainethach. “How are things going for you?”

“I’m fine, but a lot of my miners aren’t doing so great. We have several people still too injured to work, we lost one man, and one of the children is missing. We fear the worst.” He turned and gave Fayrl an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry to say that some of my people are asking that you leave immediately. I won’t hear of it though. You saved my life last night, and I’m grateful.”

Fayrl shook his head. “I failed in saving one of your men. I am not surprised that they should want us gone. I did what I could to ease his suffering, but not everyone is willing to accept such battlefield medicine. We can be gone in an hour if need be.” Fayrl still felt the sickly feeling of guilt twisting in his gut. He knew there had been no other choice; he had done what relieved the man’s suffering. He had even given the man a happy end to his life, but he had still ended the man’s life.

Ainethach gave a slow nod. “I heard what happened. You needn’t worry yourself too much. You’ve proven your worth in my eyes. I can’t really blame them though. We’re simple folk here. Battlefields are not a part of our lives. Or at least they shouldn’t be--damn Forsworn.” The man’s lips thinned.

“Is that the name of those who attacked you? The Forsworn?” Fayrl had a few things he would like to do to this group if he ever met with them face to face.

The man’s eyebrows rose. “Yes. You’ve not heard of them? That’s a surprise. They’ve only gotten worse in recent years. You’d best take care traveling through the Reach. Traders to Markarth have taken to hiring armed guards, and even so, shipments still get overrun. It’s been a sore drain on my business, I can tell you that.”

“I see,” Fayrl said gravely. “We shall be sure to keep an eye out for them. Do you think they would harm the child should the child have happened across them?”

Ainethach threw his hands in the air. “Who knows! They may be Reachmen, but they’re a devilish lot, all of them! They have strange, heathen rituals. Some say they consort with Hagravens, and some of them carve out their hearts and replace them with the heart of a briar! There’s no telling what they’re capable of. There’s not much we can do though. We’re simple folk here. We will have to call the guard and hope they’re willing to conduct a search. Enmon swears his daughter was sleeping soundly before the attack, and that the Forsworn must have taken her. If that’s the case, searching will be futile.”

Fayrl turned to Ma’zurah. “They attacked us in our bed last night. Or they tried.” He wasn’t sure what sort of rituals these Forsworn might follow, but he knew that nothing good could come from having a Hagraven rip your heart from your chest and put another one inside. That was a dangerous sort of magic. A child brought into all that was not likely to fare well at all. “If we find any sign of the girl, we will bring her back. No child should be left to face such terrors alone.”

“I know Enmon and Mena would be grateful if you found anything,” replied Ainethach. “Even a rumor would be better than nothing. The girl is named Fjotra. She’s seven years old, and she has brown eyes and brown hair about so long. She was last seen wearing a red tunic. I know it’s not much of a description, but it’s all we have.”

“We will do everything we can,” Fayrl assured him. “If we hear anything we will send word.”

“What is a Hagraven?” Ma’zurah asked suddenly. “Ma’zurah just thought it was some type of large bird.”

Fayrl turned to Ma’zurah incredulously. “They are witches! Crones more like. They make pacts with Daedric forces to gain power. Usually considered very dangerous and very evil. They love to prey on mortals. I hear they have a taste for mortal flesh. And I mean that in every sense of the word.”

Ma’zurah returned Fayrl’s incredulous look. “Ma’zurah thought that ‘witches’ was a religious slur for Daedra worshippers. Are you telling Ma’zurah that there are actually people who identify themselves as witches in Skyrim? Is that why Nords always seem so concerned about witches?”

Ainethach laughed and crossed his arms, watching the exchange in amusement.

“Witches are magic users who work for evil forces and seek to harm others,” explained Fayrl. “Though I suppose it might also be used as a slur. But that is not its original meaning. I hear that there are some rituals involved in becoming a witch and Hagraven too. Probably a moonlit orgy and eating a man’s heart or something similar if the children’s tales are to be believed.”

Ma’zurah stared at Fayrl. “Alright then…” She shook her head and turned to Ainethach. “Why are these Forsworn attacking you?”

“Well, it has to do with the history of the Reach, but it also has to do with the fact that I’m a Reachman. Basically, I’m the only Reach-native landowner around, and the Forsworn are convinced I must have sold them out to the Nords to have kept my land, nevermind that my family has owned this land for generations! On the other hand, the Nords are convinced that I must be working with the Forsworn not to have been driven off by now.” The man shook his head. “It’s a difficult situation.”

Fayrl nodded. “I see. Do you mind if I ask you about these Silver Veins, or whatever their names were? Your miners seemed concerned about them.”

“The Silver-bloods? They’re the richest family in Markarth. They own or have a stake in every mine in the Reach except my own. They’ve been try to get me to sell my mines to them for years now. It’s just been getting worse. Last time, they tried to intimidate me into selling by sending hired thugs.” Ainethach scowled.

“Ah yes, Silver-bloods.” Well, that explained all the complaints then. They were moving for a monopoly. That was always difficult to counter. And surely they would not stop if there was still a threat that they could use for leverage. Fayrl had seen similar situations in House politics in Morrowind. “So you are trapped between the battles of the Reachmen and the Nords then?”

“Well, not all Reachmen, just the Forsworn, really. There’s plenty of us Reachmen who are simply tired of the whole damn mess.” Ainethach ran his hands through his hair and sighed. “The Forsworn are really just a menace. They recaptured Markarth a few years back during the Great War, and when they were ousted by that Ulfric fellow--The Bear of Markarth they call him now I think--they just turned to terrorizing the countryside. Been doing it for nigh on twenty-five years now. There are few enough farmers in the area as it is, what with the terrain being what it is, but I think all but the last stubborn few were driven out by the damn Forsworn years ago.”

Now Ulfric was a fellow Fayrl could actually put face to name for, provided it be the same one they saw up for execution. The man seemed to be at the center of more than a single conflict. Fayrl would have to try and learn more about him. In the meantime, he felt sorry for Ainethach. Twenty-five years of dodging raids and being the focusing point for a political battle between two warring factions was no easy life. It was a wonder Ainethach had not decided to sell the mines purely to be done with the whole affair. “You’re a tough man, Ainethach. You call yourself simple folk, but you stand against a lot. I’m sorry we could not do more to protect your people. And we will look for this lost child. You have my word.”

“Thank you. We’ll be grateful if you do.” Ainethach paused and glanced between his two guests. “Anyhow, I've stood about boring you with my troubles for long enough. I've got to get back to work, but can I offer you some food before you leave? We traded for some potatoes, eggs, and a fresh butchered goat only a few days ago. I could cook you up an omelet with some cheese, garlic, and herbs in only a couple minutes.”

“You have not bored us,” Fayrl assured him. “Your troubles are a great burden and we have done little to alleviate them. We would be grateful for a meal however, but then we will go. We thank you for your hospitality.” Fayrl’s tone was somber. He was preoccupied with worry for the missing girl's safety. He did not like the idea of her spirited away in the night by Hagraven cultists. That was no fate for a child.

Ma'zurah’s eyes lit up at the mention of food. Ainethach ushered them to his house and cooked them the promised omelet, and when they had eaten their fill, they repacked their bags, mounted their horse, and proceeded on their way.

---

A few hours later, Fayrl’s ears perked up at the sound of running water. He wouldn’t mind stopping to cool himself down if a river was nearby.

As he directed the horse down the road, the sounds of water drew closer and louder until he caught sight of a bridge. It spanned a deep canyon with a rushing river far below. To their right flowed a tall waterfall, roaring like the sound of thundering horses’ hooves. Fayrl stopped their horse in the center of the bridge and hopped off. A breeze blew spray up onto the bridge and it felt cool on his cheeks. He sighed as he looked down into the canyon. “I wish the river was just a bit closer.”

Ma’zurah looked out over the edge of the ancient stone bridge. The waterfall was huge, and the sides of the gorge it had carved into the rock were lined with creeping vines. “It is beautiful though.” She slid off their horse and walked up next to him, sliding a hand into his. “Ma’zurah was enjoying your singing. Fayrl is a good bard.”

Fayrl smiled and gave her hand a squeeze. “Thank you. I don’t use my birth gifts alone to get people to pay for my music.” He lapsed silent, taking in the scenery; the rushing river and the creeping vines. “It’s so strange to see this place. I mean, I’ve seen this waterfall before, but the river is different. Deeper. Harder to see to the bottom. It is much cloudier than it once was.”

Ma’zurah squinted down at the river. “It looks like a normal river still to Ma’zurah. We should keep going. Help Ma’zurah back up?”

Fayrl sighed. He did not know how to explain the loss he felt from the extreme the passage of time. Rivers and trees, these were natural elements that moved on such incremental time scales; their changes were so miniscule that a mer would usually only notice them over a lifetime. And yet to witness such a profound change so short a time after his last visit here… it disturbed his sense of self--of place.

“Yes, let us go,” he replied with a shake of his head. He turned his back on the river and swung up onto the horse, holding out a hand to help Ma’zurah up.

Ma’zurah settled into place, resting her hands on Fayrl’s hips. “How did Fayrl learn to be a bard?” she asked, putting her chin on his shoulder. Her whiskers tickled his ear.

Fayrl shivered. The combined sensation of having her so close, her hands on his hips, her breath so close to his ears, and most of all, the light sensation of the whiskers against his ear, it was almost too much all at once. He was thankful that they neither were using a saddle with a horn, nor that she was in front of him. His body was reacting far faster than he would have cared for given how much longer they likely had to ride that day.

It was only fair, he supposed, after how he had tortured her just the day before. But he had always been far better at dispensing the teasing than at being on the receiving end. With any luck they would stop for lunch soon and he could excuse himself to pray.

“I started music as part of my formal education,” he replied, careful to keep his voice even. “My tutors felt I had a particular gift and I was encouraged to pursue music as a gentlemer’s hobby. Something to entertain at social occasions. Though, once I joined Indoril Intelligence, they found it was a skill that could easily be applied when sending me afield. And so I became officially a bard as part of that cover. I was certified under a false name in Vivec. I was also certified at the Bard’s College in Solitude and given special recommendation by the governor of Kvatch. All of these documents were used as a way to prove my identity and to get me into a variety of situations not afforded to the ordinary person.”

The horse reached the end of the bridge and the sound of roaring water slowly started diminishing. Ma’zurah purred against Fayrl’s back, happy to find him so ready to talk about himself. “So Ma’zurah gathers that Fayrl writes his own songs often. How many songs has Fayrl written?”

“A few dozen,” he said with an easy wave of his hand. “I have my song book if you’d like to look through it. It only has ones which I did not write as commissions, though there may be a couple of those in there as well that I wrote when I hadn’t enough parchment. Three of the songs I wrote for the Companions are in there. I wrote them eight, but only three are in there. Oh, and skip the earlier ones. Mostly work I did for the temple before they gave me a special book for just their compositions to go in. Feel free to flip through if you’re interested.”

“Maybe this evening!” Ma’zurah laughed. “Ma’zurah is not fluent enough in either Dunmeris or Daedric script to read and ride without much difficulty, and she does not want to damage Fayrl’s song book. Ma’zurah does appreciate the offer!” She rubbed her face against Fayrl’s cheek, then resumed her position with her chin on his shoulder.

Fayrl shivered as Ma’zurah moved against him again. Curse his people for having such sensitive ears! If he wasn’t careful he would let himself give in again to those desires which he knew Ma’zurah was trying to avoid.

“At least Fayrl seems to enjoy being a bard,” Ma’zurah said after a moment. “Indoril Intelligence could have picked worse options for Fayrl’s cover. Ma’zurah is lucky. She got to establish her own cover when she was working with the Blades, so she joined the Mage’s Guild. Also the Thieves Guild, but that was mostly because Ma’zurah had nothing at all on which to live when she was sent to Morrowind.”

“I have never had the opportunity to choose my own cover,” said Fayrl. “Well, I suppose I could have done so when I fled Morrowind, but I just had so many connections established with my old covers, I just sort of… picked up where I had left off before.” He tried to imagine what it would have been like to have known Ma’zurah the assassin. How differently might she have acted? He hadn’t figured her the type for hired murder. Yet what else could a group called ‘The Blades’ be? “I had other covers as well. But there were often more opportunities acting as a bard. I am sure your masters gave you a variety of tasks to complete in a variety of places?”

“Not really, no. Vvardenfell was quarantined as soon as Ma’zurah arrived, so Ma’zurah never left Vvardenfell after that until she had defeated Dagoth Ur. Well, that is not quite true. Ma’zurah found a mage willing to transport her to Mournhold to take care of the Dark Brotherhood assassins who were after her after the first House named her Hortator. But that was after Ma’zurah had no more contact with the Blades.

“Anyway, the Emperor wanted Ma’zurah for one thing, and one thing only, and that was to become the Nerevarine. Ma’zurah is still not sure if he knew that Ma’zurah was really Incarnate, because Ma’zurah did not even know it at the time, but all of Ma’zurah’s assignments were about the Nerevarine prophecies. First it was information gathering, then it was prophecy fulfilling. The Empire thought that if they made their own Nerevarine, they could better control Morrowind. Or something. They never really asked Ma’zurah to do anything except fulfill the prophecies though. This one probably would never have done anything they commanded after regaining the memories of Resdayn anyway.”

“Oh,” said Fayrl, sounding very small. He felt rather strange for his assumptions. It seemed the Blades were simply more Imperial spies. He had certainly dealt with enough of those in his time. He would never have suspected she had been used by the Imperials like that though. There was likely so much more to know of her. “And you were the Nerevarine after all that. What a stroke of luck for Morrowind.” He hoped it would be a more positive turn.

“Maybe.” Ma'zurah lapsed quiet, looking at the passing landscape. They were travelling in a shallow canyon now; down the road on the right side of the canyon wall there appeared to be some kind of stronghold built directly into the rock. It looked abandoned, and in sore need of repair. Watching revealed no activity, and Ma’zurah dismissed it in her dreary abstraction.

“When this one severed Dagoth Ur’s connection to the Heart of Lorkhaj,” Ma'zurah continued slowly, “she also severed Ayem, Seht, and Vehk’s source of godhood. This one is the reason that they no longer protect Morrowind; the reason that Ayem and Seht are dead and Baar Dau fell. It is… debatable whether or not that was a good thing, considering. The cost was much higher than Ma'zurah was prepared to pay. But Mafala said that Ma'zurah strengthened the Dunmer in the process, despite the death of so many countless thousands, and who is Ma'zurah to question Mafala?”

Fayrl stopped the horse. “Wait.”

He turned to her as best as he could on the horse. “You have to know that the end of the Almsivi was prophesied. What happened as a result was not your doing. Vivec could have done something about Baar Dau. He could have done something about it for centuries! But he didn't. He preferred to use it as a symbol of power, to force our people's fate. There is nothing you could have done about that. You saved Morrowind. We returned to the true faith. You stopped Dagoth Ur from doing who knows what unspeakable things to our land. You're a hero, Ma’zurah. Don't let anyone make you doubt it. Not even yourself.”

“Thanks Fayrl…” Ma'zurah hugged him around the waist and pressed her cheek against his shoulder.

There was a sudden whistling rush of air as an arrow flew past Ma'zurah’s ear. She snapped her head up with a curse.

“Shit!” Fayrl pulled the horse to the side of the road to avoid the arrows, leaping off and leading it behind a boulder. He kicked himself for letting his guard down. He knew better! He had been trained better than this! What a stupid thing to do.

Ma’zurah hunkered down at the horse’s side, hastily untying the horse’s makeshift blanket saddle and their packs while trying to catch a glimpse of their attacker. She did not want to get caught in combat without her potions again, but she also did not want their horse to get shot. She caught sight of three figures on the walls of the fortress, and two more on the ground outside the front door, and realized that the place was not nearly as abandoned as she had assumed. She slipped the bit out of the horse’s mouth, cast the longest invisibility spell she knew on it, and gave its flank a sharp slap, sending it galloping off the way they had come.

Fayrl had his blades out and ready. He crouched down with an aura of shadow around him. “I can’t reach anyone up above, but I can take care of the two on the ground. Think you can get rid of the archers? I might be able to ensnare the closest one for you.”

“Ma’zurah can hit them with ice spikes.” She cast chameleon on herself and pulled a few potions out of her pack, slipping them into a more easily accessible pocket before shouldering her pack. She pressed Fayrl’s pack into the lee of the boulder, covering it with the blanket. “Watch out, they are headed this way!” she hissed to Fayrl.

The two enemies on the ground were indeed heading toward them, intent on investigating the area in which they had last been seen. Ma’zurah turned her focus to the enemies on the walls. More Forsworn, she realized. Her eyes narrowed and she slipped stealthily out of the shelter of the boulder to find a better vantage point from which to cast. She worked to gather moisture into ice spikes while she waited for an opportunity to snipe at one of the Forsworn on the walls.

Fayrl had come to the same conclusion. He licked his lips. He had wanted to pay these bastards back for the night before. Now he was going to get the chance. He only hoped he could slaughter them all.

He whispered quietly under his breath in Dunmeris as he made himself invisible and slipped around behind the two heading their way.

“Lady of Whispers, these lives I take for myself.
To You I give the new shape of the Web,
The now-severed strands ripe for the taking,
The fate that was in motion now changed to one of my choosing.”

He drove his sword into the back of the man with an axe in hand, bringing his dagger to stab the man repeatedly around his gut. He vanished from sight again, and a circle of thorned vines erupted from the ground around the Forsworn woman who had been approaching her fallen companion’s position with arrow nocked on bowstring.

“Now!” shouted Fayrl, dodging out of the way of arrows flying blindly in the direction of his voice.

Ma’zurah spotted all three of the archers on the walls duck out of cover as Fayrl momentarily betrayed his position. She sent three ice spikes, one after the other, toward the archers, catching two in the chest and one in the arm. All three dropped out of sight atop the wall, but Ma’zurah could not tell whether they were all completely neutralized. She cursed silently and made a break for the front door of the fortress, letting her camouflage drop as she entered the cover of the doorway. They would have to go up there to check, and she still hadn’t gotten the knack of casting levitation on other people. She knew better than to split up without some means of communicating with Fayrl.

Fayrl appeared again behind the ensnared woman thrusting his sword up through her ribs and pulling up, her body pulled by his force against the brambles holding her down. She pulled out a knife and with the last of her strength, furiously attempted to cut away Fayrl behind her. The knife ripped through the sleeve of Fayrl’s tunic as he pulled his blade away and let the woman’s body fall to a heap on the ground. He vanished again.

He reappeared beside the door, body flat against the stone of the fortress, his chest heaving as he drew breath, a smile plastered upon his face. He enjoyed the familiar pumping of blood as he fought. He wanted to take these bastards out. “Beautifully done, my dear. Shall we go inside and see who else we can find to say hello to?” Fayrl suddenly remembered the girl; she might still be alive in there. If these were the Forsworn who had taken her, she might well be here.

Ma’zurah nodded, then noted the tear in Fayrl’s sleeve. She stopped him and examined the cut. It was not particularly deep, but she healed it anyway to prevent it from becoming contaminated. “This is why Fayrl should wear that damn armor he got!” she chided him quietly. “Go get it! Fayrl’s pack is behind the rock!”

He waved a hand at her and disappeared from view to retrieve his pack only appearing once he had grabbed it from beneath the blanket. He threw off his tunic and slipped on the fur-lined armor, laughing mentally at his own image. What tacky armor!

He pulled his tunic back atop the armor and returned to the door. “Ready to rescue a girl and kill some Forsworn?”

Ma’zurah blinked at him, realizing that she had forgotten about the lost girl of Karthwasten in the surprise of the attack. She might very well be here. All the more reason to go inside then.

“Ready,” Ma’zurah whispered, and slowly cracked open the door to the fortress.

Chapter Text

To Ma’zurah’s surprise, the door was unlocked. She opened it as silently as she could.

Her caution was unnecessary, as the smoky, torch-lit entrance hall was vacant. What an entrance hall it was though! Ma’zurah’s first impression was of the overwhelming stench of rot and blood. She wrinkled her nose and tried to breathe through her mouth as she took in the rest of the room.

It was a rectangular open space with two closed doors on either side, and a wide stone stairway at the back, leading up to an open set of double doors and a long hall. On either side of every door hung the severed head of a goat, and what Ma’zurah recognized from her time on Solstheim to be the head of a spriggan. The goat heads appeared to have been hacked off without care taken to preserve them, and a few of them still oozed blood into mostly dried puddles on the stone floor.

Over the double doors back into the fortress hung an abomination of iconography--an amalgamate totem comprised of a picked-clean humanoid rib cage, parenthesized on either side by massive arms of carved mammoth tusk, and topped by the rotting, untaxidermied head of a massive bull elk, its antlers almost as wide as Ma’zurah was tall. From the bottom of the totem’s grotesque torso hung a messy net containing a pair of knotted spriggan taproots, bundled together like a set of strange, glowing testicles.

In the center of the floor lay the dried remains of some sort of ritual. A complicated summoning circle had been drawn in blood within a hexagram of burnt-out tallow candles. Large dark feathers had been pasted to the floor with blood at each intersecting ley line, and a gnawed looking humanoid heart lay at the center. Ma’zurah narrowed her eyes at the ritual and her eyes glowed first with a casting of clairvoyance and then of detect magic to determine its effects. She glanced around the room. Whatever the ritual had been designed to do, it was no longer doing it.

Ma’zurah took a careful step into the room and glanced back. The walls beside the front door were lined with racks of weapons--the kinds of weapons designed by people without regular access to metal or a smeltery: curved wooden longbows hung next to quivers of rough arrows made with arrowheads of bone or the ivory of sabertooth cats; swords made of long sticks lined on either side with a row of the sharp, serrated edges of carved animal teeth; spears, halberds, and maces also of wood, bone, and ivory. Ma’zurah signaled to Fayrl that it was safe to enter.

Fayrl walked in and wrinkled his nose. He had been in Daedric ruins and torture chambers before, but the sheer uncleanliness of this place topped even those gruesome experiences. It gave him a sickening, hollow feeling in his gut. His old traumatic experiences gave him ample fuel to imagine just what could have happened to the victims whose heart and ribs had been left on ghastly display. He was overcome for a moment with a visceral reaction of nausea as the memory overtook his perception. He moved away from the worst of the gore and took a couple of deep breaths in an attempt to compose himself. He was going to make these bastards pay.

“It looks like they make a habit of waylaying travelers,” Ma’zurah observed quietly, gesturing toward the weapons racks. “Do you want to take the sides or go up first? Up is likely the path to the walls.”

“Let’s take the sides first. I want to end all these fetchers as soon as possible.” Fayrl’s voice was rough with uncharacteristic anger. His body trembled and he drew in quick breaths.

He channelled all of his fear and pain into one singular purpose: to eliminate those responsible for this travesty. The lack of care the bodies had been given reminded him of how carelessly his Altmer tormentors had dumped bodies in that torture house. It reminded him of the way they kicked and joked with the dead while Fayrl and the other two captives had been forced to watch. He could all too easily picture such a scene happening here.

Ma’zurah raised her eyebrows at Fayrl. “Is Fayrl alright?” she murmured, stepping closer to him.

He avoided the question. “Lead the way. I am right behind you.”

Ma’zurah gave Fayrl a worried look. She could only guess what might be going through his head based on the memories he had passed to her that morning. She readied another handful of ice spikes and cast chameleon again. She stood before the door on the right and took one last disgusted look at the room behind her before summoning the detached calm of a Chimer general preparing for battle, steeling herself against more bloody atrocities. Whatever lay behind the door, she would be able to react without hesitation or emotion.

She opened the door just wide enough to reveal a dormitory of some kind, with a row of beds along either wall containing several passed out figures, and one preoccupied pair of rutting lovers. She moved to the side to allow Fayrl a chance to see.

Fayrl smirked at the opportunity presented. The two before him were caught unawares. He teleported onto the bed and grabbed the woman from where she sat atop a man, jumping backwards to put distance between himself and the man, and twisting her head as he went. He had to keep twisting harder than he expected. It took more pressure than he had recalled, or maybe his muscles were just fatigued. He jerked again and there was a loud crack.

He tossed the woman’s body to the floor and summoned his spiders to bind the man and gag him with silk.

As Fayrl flashed forward, Ma’zurah sent her ice spikes into the prone figures on the beds, dispatching them before they could wake and attack.

The bound man wrestled to get free of the webbing, attempting to shout at the spiders who were crawling towards him. The spiders dug their fangs into the man’s leg and he screamed from behind his silken gag.

Fayrl leaped into a kneeling position over the man’s chest and leaned in, pulling the man towards him. He had a target for all of the anger and frustration that had built up inside of him at his decades of dealing with painful memories, and he wanted to take it all out on this one single man. He took a pin from his hair, jammed it into the man’s jugular, and left it there.

“If I leave this in, you’ll die slowly of poison. If I take it out you’ll die in moments. What do you say? It’s your choice,” he told the man.

The man issued a muffled yell and his eyes bulged in his head.

Fayrl drew his dagger and began cutting the man a single slice at a time, starting at the elbow and working towards the wrist, alternating between left and right arm. “Sands are running low on your hourglass.”

The man began to struggle harder and his nostrils flared wide with his rapid, panicked breathing.

Ma’zurah searched the room with detached calm. Her mind was busy trying to assess what kind of fortress they had wandered into. She cast a glance between Fayrl and the door, trying to discover if the noise of their attack had alerted anyone--though it had not been loud. A muffled banging noise sounded from deeper within the fortress. “Fayrl,” Ma’zurah said in a low voice.

“Perhaps we should treat you like you treat your victims,” Fayrl told the man. “Shall I carve out your heart next?”

“Fayrl!” Ma’zurah repeated slightly louder.

Fayrl looked at her. He wanted to make the man suffer more. “I’m in the middle of something,” he said, drawing his blade along one of the man’s legs.

“We are not the only ones in here,” she warned.

Fayrl hissed through his teeth in frustration. “Looks like I’ll have to come back and play with you later,” he told the man, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

He hopped off the bed and grabbed the man’s ankle, twisting it, and dislocating it with a loud pop. He repeated the process with the other leg and stepped away, allowing the spell binding the man to dissipate. The spiders and webbing both disappeared in a cloud of smoke, and the man cried out as he was splashed with sudden poison.

“There we are, my pet,” said Fayrl. “Now you can just wait here. I expect you’ll still be here when I return. If you don’t want to wait, you can pull that pin from your throat and be done with it.”

Ma’zurah kept her calm firmly in place and glanced around the room again. She had seen nothing she wanted to keep, and there were no more exits in this direction. She walked out the door into the entrance hall again.

Fayrl kicked the man hard in the face and joined Ma’zurah, looking about for any signs of life. Every one of these fetching Forsworn deserved long, painful deaths. He was eager to proceed. He spied the door across the room and rushed ahead, stopping to listen at the door for voices or movement.

He smiled. “At least two more in here.”

Without waiting for Ma’zurah to say anything, he opened the door wide to reveal what appeared to be a moderately sized storage room lit by a pair of candles. Inside, two women shuffled about with crates.

The women looked up at them, and Ma'zurah reacted, sending her ice spikes flying at both of them, one after the other. Her aim was good, and they both fell, clutching spikes in their throats.

Fayrl pouted. “You could have given me at least one to play with.”

Ma'zurah’s grip on her facade of calm slipped and she lowered her brows at him. “Ma'zurah hopes that Fayrl is not speaking of violation. They may be despicable, but so is violation.”

Fayrl growled and stalked out of the storage room. How dare she accuse him of that! As if he would seek to defile himself in an act so heinous! Evil deserved to be punished in turn, but that did not mean he needed to resort to such base and vile methods with which to do so.

He was going to find the next set of these Forsworn and deal with them in his own way, of that there was no mistake. Yet his methods were more elegant, more refined. He would give them the deaths they so rightly deserved for what they had done. The punishment would be in his own methods--methods befitting one who took orders from a higher power; methods that were not so perverse and disgusting as those of Hagravens and their thralls.

Fayrl’s lack of response gave Ma'zurah pause. She knew she had a tendency to assume the best of people until proven wrong. She realized suddenly that despite her attraction to him, she did not know Fayrl well enough to discern his true character. She would have to question him more later--cautiously. She padded after him up the stairs into a long hallway.

A door on the right side of the hall opened suddenly, and a young boy of about thirteen stepped out. The boy’s eyes widened at the sight of the two, and he drew a dagger made of flint.

Fayrl reacted out of reflex, teleporting behind the boy, his blade to the child’s throat. His mind caught up with his actions and his body shook with indecision. Could he condemn this boy to death for being raised in this terrible way?

Ma’zurah froze with wide eyes. She had never been in a situation in which enemy children were involved. Her mind raced, trying to summon Nerevar’s memories about enemy noncombatants. She knew she would never be able to bring herself to kill the boy, but if they killed everyone except the boy, they would leave him an orphan with no one to care for him, which would be equally cruel. What would Fayrl do?

The boy took their hesitation as a sign to defend himself, bringing the flint dagger down into Fayrl’s thigh. Fayrl grabbed the boy’s other arm, holding him in place and preventing him from escaping.

The boy twisted the knife and Fayrl grunted, holding back the pain. He flicked his dagger away and retrieved a bottle from his bag, popping the stopper off with his thumb to roll away across the floor. He held the open bottle under the boy’s nose. The boy’s struggle slowed, then left him completely and he slumped in Fayrl’s arms. Fayrl laid the boy gently on the ground.

Ma'zurah let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. She hadn't misjudged Fayrl after all. The boy’s chest still rose and fell; he was alive. Fayrl’s leg was bleeding profusely she realized, and she rushed forward to cast a healing spell. The lacerated muscle knit together and the wound closed, leaving a spectacular purple bruise in its place under the torn cloth of his trousers.

Fayrl lunged forward as soon as Ma'zurah’s spell faded and grabbed up the little bottle’s lost stopper, corking it before the fumes knocked him out too. He tucked it back into his satchel, already feeling lightheaded from the exposure to the powerful sedative.

Ma'zurah stared down at the boy. “Gods! What are we going to do with him?”

Feeling overwhelmed, Fayrl sat down on the ground and put his head in his hands. “Just give me a minute to think. I just need a minute.”

How old was this boy, Fayrl wondered? About the age he had been when he first started training? Maybe a bit younger? If he listened to his master’s training now, they would have told him that age did not matter; an enemy was anyone with a weapon intent on harming you. But that couldn’t be right. He had been given a weapon and sent into the field, and no one had shown him mercy, but he knew what it had been like for himself then; how hard his first kill had been. If the woman he had ambushed hadn’t been surprised because of his age, she would have killed him. Would it have been better if she had? Should he kill the boy now before he grew up to a life of vengeance and murder? If he survived, he would have to live through all the pain of having his family killed. Who wouldn’t want to track down the killer after an experience like that? Could the boy still be considered innocent? If he had been raised to follow in the religious footsteps of those living here, he would not easily adapt to normal life. At what age did a fanatical upbringing cause change to become impossible?

“Just a minute, then we will go and look for the girl. I just need a minute. Just a minute.” The words flowed from Fayrl's mouth like a mantra. He felt like he had no control.

Ma’zurah opened the door the boy had emerged from just a crack and peeked inside. Three more children slept in rough wooden beds. They ranged from around age ten to approximately fifteen. She closed the door and sat down on the floor next to Fayrl.

“There are three more in there,” she stated in a flat voice. “This one does not know what to do. If this were Resdayn, I would take them to a temple. Do temples even take wards in Skyrim?”

“More children….” Fayrl shook his head to try and focus. “I believe the Temple of Mara takes in orphans. Or it did. Let’s set the boy in there and lock the children in. When we leave we can try and find a place for them. Someplace without all this death.”

Ma’zurah nodded and stood, fumbling for a magicka potion. She had begun to feel her access to magicka lessen, and she didn’t want to drop the boy when she moved him. She broke the seal of the potion, drank it, and tucked the bottle into her pack. She slowly opened the door, trying not to wake the sleeping children, and cast telekinesis on the boy, lifting him into a bed. She examined the door, but the lock required a key on both sides. “Ma’zurah does not know any locking spells,” she admitted quietly, turning back to Fayrl. She noticed him shaking his head in disorientation. “Fayrl? Are you alright?”

He stood up. He was letting the situation get the better of him. He had to pull himself together. He thought of the first master he had been apprenticed to, and the advice he had given him for times when continuing seemed impossible. “Do the mission to the letter. Be instrument of its completion and deal with the rest when you’re safe.”

Fayrl took out two more hair pins and shut the door, slipping the tools into the lock and fumbling until he heard the click of pins dropping into place. “We must not forget them,” he said in a voice that contained nothing but emotionless calm.

"Be the instrument,” he repeated in his head.

Ma'zurah blinked at Fayrl. “Of course we will not forget them.” He was acting strangely, but she couldn't tell if it was more strange than usual. “Did Fayrl get the sleeping poison on him?”

“No.” Fayrl shook his head and returned the pins to his hair, walking further down the hall. As soon as his hair was arranged again, he had his weapons back in hand. “Do the mission to the letter,” he repeated to himself. “Be the instrument of its completion.”

He would slay all enemies. They would rescue anyone in need. They would take the children someplace safe. That was the job. “Be the instrument.”

“Alright.” Ma’zurah walked to the door opposite the children’s room, and opened it to find another bedroom, this time a private room containing one large bed. The room was empty, so she closed the door and moved down the hall.

The next door on the right proved to be a messy kitchen, with one Forsworn man passed out in a chair at a table with a mug of something pungent in front of him.

As soon as Fayrl saw the man he wasted no time in dispatching him, slipping up behind him, grabbing his forehead in one hand, and slitting his throat with his dagger in the other. He wiped off his blade on the convulsing man’s rough linen shirt and headed back out of the room with a deliberate stride. He silently cracked open the door on the opposite side of the hall to get a look inside.

It was worse than the entrance hall had been.

A series of long feast tables had been set in a straight line down the center of the room. The table overflowed with food, bottles, and bodies. There were apples and cheese and legs of goat on the floor where they had toppled from the tabletop. The benches had several occupants, some still gorging themselves on food and drink, other passed out or vomiting onto the floor, and still others did not appear to be alive at all.

On the far side of the room two women were feeding one another stew while a man penetrated them both with drinking horns.

Closer to the door knelt a man in a headdress of ram’s horns who was violently and intimately engaged with a man who had ceased to be--whether from the act or not it was hard to tell. The body had a pair of bottles shoved in its mouth and a boar’s head behind it. Every time the man thrust forward, the corpse’s limp head lolled into the mouth of the boar’s head.

There were legs and arms scattered among the rest of the food. A man and woman fought over a human heart they wanted to eat.

There were seven total that Fayrl could see. It would be best to knock out the lighting. Khajiit had night vision, so Ma'zurah would be able to see in the dark. Fayrl would simply have to be careful.

He leaned away from the crack in the door and glanced back at Ma'zurah. “Seven in there,” he whispered. “It’s gruesome. Worse than before.” Fayrl’s demeanor was cold and calculating. “If you can take out all the lights with magic, we can have the advantage.”

Ma’zurah traded places with Fayrl, and looked through the crack in the door. Her eyes widened. She clamped down hard on her reaction to the gruesome scene and looked around the room for light sources. A chandelier made of horns provided the majority of the light, supplemented by scattered candles, also made of horns. She didn’t think she could get them all at once, not as far apart as they were, so she searched for other potential strategies. The room was long and comparatively narrow. If she could get to one end, she could cast a blizzard toward the far side of the room, and catch all the Forsworn seated at the long table in the blast.

She withdrew from the door and turned back to Fayrl. She gestured to a spot out of sight of the door and made the sign for “wait there”.

“I will await your command.” Fayrl moved to the indicated spot immediately, staying perfectly still with weapons at the ready for Ma'zurah’s signal. These people deserved no pity. It would be a service to all of Nirn to rid it of these twisted fetchers.

Ma’zurah recast her chameleon spell and ever so slowly inched the door open, hoping that those within were too drunk or preoccupied to notice. Once it was wide enough open for her to slip through, she cast muffle and invisibility as well, just to make sure she was completely undetectable. She edged her way through the door to one end of the room, gathering magickal potential to herself in preparation for the strongest blizzard spell she could cast.

Fayrl waited for Ma’zurah to signal him. His fingers itched on the hilts of his blades. He wanted to personally slay each and every one of those inside that room. He was impatient. He knew impatience was dangerous so he stayed in his spot, but it was taking most of his self restraint to do so.

“Be the instrument.” He had to focus on that. As soon as Ma’zurah told him to go, he would complete his task. He would be the instrument and fulfill the mission.

Ma'zurah reached the end of the room and took aim along the length of the table. She released the spell and jumped back as the blizzard expanded into a massive whirlwind of icy particles. Her invisibility spell dissipated, but her chameleon spell left her still mostly hidden.

Fayrl heard a sudden noise like the rushing of wind in a tunnel, accompanied by the sound of things breaking and many crashes and yells. After several seconds of this noise, there came a sharp whistle which pitched up at the end--one of the signals Fayrl and Ma'zurah had agreed upon.

Fayrl burst through the door, noting how dim the room now was. The entire contents of the tabletops had been blown over, then frosted, and the cultists partially frozen in the positions they had been in. He knew with so many people, he might need extra assistance. He unsheathed the Ebony Blade. It sang as it left its scabbard, spurring him forward. It felt lighter in his hand since the last time he had used it.

He concentrated, making a fist with his left hand and brought forth two shadow versions of himself, one of the more powerful techniques he had been taught, sending them towards the man and two women on the far side of the room, one of them still eating amongst the wreckage. He swung his sword and took the head clean off the man who had been sodomizing a corpse. Blood splattered against the frozen spread on the table.

Ma’zurah crouched at the opposite end of the room, mentally exhausted from the exertion of casting such a high level destruction spell. She gathered more moisture into ice spikes and watched as Fayrl made quick work of the mostly incapacitated Forsworn. She sent a spike into one that seemed more lucid than the others.

Fayrl moved forward carefully, trying not to slip on the frosted, bloodsoaked floor. He cast flame cloak around himself in an attempt to give himself more traction. It was the most powerful spell he knew how to cast, but he could see no reason to hold himself back.

Fayrl threw a dagger into a partially frozen woman who was still only half awakened from her drunken stupor by the frost spell. His shadows made quick work of the women at the far end of the room, and Fayrl felt the ghostly pleasure of their actions within his mind and muscles.

Two left.

Fayrl plunged his sword into the man who had been fighting for his portion of heart and, with his shadows’ assistance, sent a fiery slash across the chest of the man’s female companion. She clawed at Fayrl, fingers finding no purchase in his skin, protected by armor as it was, but ripping ragged slashes in his tunic with her fingernails.

The woman pitched backwards, grabbing a cleaver from the frozen table and came at him in close range. Even as the two shadow figures threw spectral daggers into her sides, she bore down on him, knocking him backwards. Fayrl took the fall, rolling her weight from above him so that he could push himself into an upright position and regain his feet. The woman lost the cleaver in the scuffle. She was more resilient than Fayrl had expected; it was clearly the work of something unnatural.

Ma’zurah gingerly picked her way forward, hastily glancing over corpses for signs of life as she moved toward Fayrl’s position. She couldn’t get a good aim on the woman he was grappling without risk of hitting him. If she was to assist him, she needed to get close enough to touch the woman. The woman lunged for Fayrl’s neck, and Ma’zurah grabbed the woman's side, digging her claws into her skin and casting a sustained frostbite spell.

Fayrl slashed at the woman’s throat, but it did no good; her blood poured down his face and chest but still she gripped his neck. He raked the blade across her face, gouging out her eyes, but the pressure continued.

His assailant suddenly fell still.

Fayrl tried to pry her off, struggling to break the fingers still tightly grasped on his throat, even as they went ice cold, but he could not shake her grip on him.

He tried to call to Ma’zurah, but he could not get the words out. He kicked frantically at the woman’s torso as hard as he could.

Her frozen body cracked at the waist and Fayrl suddenly found himself being pulled down to his knees from the weight of half a human body attached to his throat.

Ma’zurah summoned her mace to her hand and brought it down on the frozen corpse of the woman, shattering it completely. “Fayrl! Are you alright?”

Fayrl gasped for breath, ripping off the remaining fragments of frozen fingers from his skin.

It took him a moment to be able to speak, but when he did at last, his voice was ragged. “Have you checked for anyone we may have missed?”

Ma’zurah cast detect life, but the only living things within range of her sight were herself and Fayrl. “We got them all.” She crouched next to Fayrl.

He nodded, taking the moment to catch his breath and stand back up, his flame cloak and shadow clones both dissipating. He felt tired--almost sleepy.

His eyes snapped open and he glanced at his side. There was a large shard of glass and a few smaller ones protruding from the small gap between the front and back pieces of his armor. This was bad. He might have been poisoned, or maybe he was just cold from all that blood trickling down his side. Was he cold from the frost spell or blood loss?

“Fetch it all,” he cursed, retrieving a vial from his satchel and pouring it over the wound, cringing as the alcohol stung. “Know any anti-poison spells by chance?”

Ma’zurah immediately cast cure poison on Fayrl, moving to examine the wound.

“Thank you,” he said and pulled out a pair of tweezers from his kit. He got the big piece of glass out easily, but struggled with the smaller ones.

He sucked his teeth as the metal tweezers slipped in his blood and pushed a sliver further in. “Guess that’s as good as we can do for now. I’ll fish the rest out with a needle later. Let’s get moving.”

“No, if you get it out, Ma’zurah can close the wound so it does not get contaminated. Would you like Ma’zurah to try? It may hurt more, but it will be gone.” She unsheathed the claws of one hand as explanation.

He poured some of the alcohol over her claws, then took a seat on the frozen bench beside a pile of apples and a human arm. “If it must be done, then do it.”

Ma’zurah flicked the slivers of glass out of his skin with swift, deft movements, and healed the wound closed, leaving only a bruise and tender, new skin.

“There. Done.” She brushed her whiskers against Fayrl’s blood splattered cheek in reassurance and turned to the exit again.

Fayrl closed his eyes, panting. He needed to take a moment to mentally distance himself from his pain and the horrors this room had brought. They had already cleared a large number of enemies from this place. They couldn’t have too much more to go. He had to stay positive--had to keep moving.

“Be the instrument.”

Chapter Text

The pair moved out into the hallway, around a corner to the left, and up a flight of stairs. At the top of the stairs, a door opened into the sudden bright sunlight of late morning. Out on the roof were two corpses with holes in their chests, but nothing moved.

Fayrl walked cautiously. He did not know what to expect. He moved towards the door on the other side of the roof, weapons ready for any sign of movement. He motioned for Ma'zurah to be prepared and opened the door.

He waited. There was no immediate sign of anyone, so he took a tentative step inside. The dark stairway appeared to be empty, but he could hear the sound of voices further above. He could just make out a doorway opening up into a large room at the top of the stair, but could not see into the room from the angle at which he was standing.

He signaled to Ma'zurah that there were enemies ahead and she cast a detect life spell. Three--four--five figures stood in the room above them, three clustered together, and two on opposite sides of the room as far as she could tell. One figure was smaller than the others--likely a child. She narrowed her eyes, and signed to Fayrl to expect five people, and tried to communicate through gestures that one was a child.

Fayrl brightened. Perhaps the girl from Karthwasten was here! There was yet hope! He let Ma'zurah lead the way. She cast a muffling spell on them both, then took Fayrl’s arm and cast invisibility so they could creep forward together.

As they proceeded up the stair, the acrid scent of blood in the air became more noticeable. They paused in the doorway of a circular room and discovered the source of the stench.

Every surface had been painted and splattered with blood. On the far side of the room stood a statue of Dibella twice the height of a person that appeared to have had blood poured over it. On the dais surrounding the statue lay a small altar to Dibella, bowls and plates of silver containing viscera and organs, over a dozen lit tallow candles, and an entire humanoid spine and rib cage that had been stripped of flesh, but not cleaned.

In front of the statue stood four figures. The first was a naked, heavily pregnant woman who was in the process of having runes drawn on her belly in blood by a second naked woman. The third figure, a shirtless man with blood smeared across one arm, clutched at his shoulder as he watching the proceedings with interest. The fourth figure, also shirtless, but wearing an elaborate headdress with antlers, stood abnormally still facing the desecrated shrine of Dibella with his back to the entryway.

In a far alcove sat a cylindrical, wrought iron cage that looked hardly large enough to hold a child, much less the sneering man with a wrinkled face, white beard, and grey robe that hugged his knees within.

Now that she was closer, Ma’zurah could could see the small glow of life within the belly of the pregnant woman. She also noted that the child sized glow of life she had seen from the entryway sat behind a door in the opposite wall to the right of the desecrated shrine. The figure in front of the shrine appeared to have no life signs at all.

Fayrl took one look at this scene and his blood ran hot. The man in the headdress seemed the most likely to be armed and the leader of this abhorrent group, if the headdress and position in which he stood were any indication.

He slipped his hand from Ma’zurah’s hold. It was time to cut off the head of this snake. But before he did so, he needed to make preparations. He did not want to take any more chances. He still felt weak--less vital than he should, though he could not quite identify why. Perhaps it was merely overexertion from using so many skills, all of which required a high level of concentration. But there was no time to rest; he needed to use something powerful, something that would provide him and Ma’zurah the energy to fight for a sustained amount of time, should the need arise. Ma’zurah had used a potion, that meant her magicka must be running lower. He had to give her every advantage possible.

He raised both his arms, calling forth the greatest power he could muster. The floor glowed red; Daedric script flowed along the floor in a large circle. The cultist seemed delighted by the initial appearance of the writing.

A large fountain emerged at the center of the circle, red liquid flowing from its center. The man clutching his arm approached it cautiously, and the pair of women stopping to look on. In his cage, the imprisoned man gave a single harsh crow of laughter, but fell silent before he drew any more attention to himself.

Ma'zurah stepped back in alarm at the appearance of the unfamiliar ritual, then readied herself to fight as she realized that Fayrl was the caster.

As soon as the siphoning fountain was erected, Fayrl’s invisibility broke. He teleported behind the man in the headdress and, in a single smooth motion, drew the Ebony Blade and brought it down on the back of the man’s neck. It struck bone lodged there.

Fayrl's antlered opponent whipped around with force strong enough to rip the Ebony Blade from his spine and cause Fayrl to sidestep to keep his balance. Apparently unphased by what should have been a fatal injury, the man drew a rough looking blade made of some green metal and began swinging wildly in Fayrl's direction. Fayrl dodged backwards, narrowly missing a bowl of entrails on the floor by his foot, and brought the Ebony Blade up just in time to parry a blow to his head.

Ma'zurah leapt forward and caught the other man and the woman who was not pregnant by the shoulder, digging in her claws and casting frostbite with both hands.

Fayrl swept the legs from under his opponent, knocking the man to his knees, but with hardly a pause the man swung himself back to a standing position with uncanny dexterity. Fayrl felt a sudden chill as he realized that something was eerily off about his opponent. The alacrity of his movements and his ability to ignore blows that to a normal human would have been incapacitating from reminded him of the woman in the previous room. These people must have done something--though whether by some sort of enhancing elixir or Daedric power, he did not know.

Ma'zurah’s two opponents dropped, frozen solid, their skin blackened from frostbite where Ma'zurah had gripped them. The pregnant woman screamed and ran at Ma'zurah with clutching fingers, but Ma'zurah got off a paralysis spell at her before she came within reach.

As soon as the woman fell, Ma'zurah whirled to assist Fayrl. “Watch out! It is undead!” she yelled, and ran at the antlered man with her summoned mace. She struck a glancing blow off the undead man’s skull, drawing his attention.

Her be-antlered foe swung his sword at Ma'zurah with supernatural swiftness, and Ma'zurah cast a sanctuary spell just in time to dodge the blow. With horror, Ma'zurah noticed a gaping, bloody hole on one side of the man’s chest, with sawed off ribs exposed, and a strange, spiked plant tied in place with knotted strings where his heart should have been.

Fayrl looked at his opponent again with dawning realization. Undead?! No wonder the fetcher wouldn't take a hit and stay down! Fayrl knew a little about what undead did not like though. He used what little magic he knew to wreathe fire around the Ebony Blade, shoving it through the undead creature’s back and out the front of its chest. The man issued an unnatural scream and flailed wildly, pulling off of the flaming blade.

Fayrl had not noticed a reaction of pain from any other blow. This was clearly the way to take care of him. Undead were the same everywhere it seemed. How fortunate. Ma’zurah was more powerful with the elements than he was; she could easily aid him here. “Ma’zurah, use fire! They are weak to it!”

The undead man swung his sword at Ma'zurah again, and Ma'zurah danced out of the way a hair too slowly to avoid the blow completely. The tip of his sword raked her forearm in a shallow gash, and Ma'zurah yowled and hissed. With brain momentarily overloaded from the pain and unable to think well enough to cast, she lashed out with her claws, raking the man across the chest. Her fingers caught on exposed ribs and her claws severed several strands suspending the spiked plant in the man’s chest. He sagged, dropping his sword with a bellow as his arms and legs turned limp. He fell writhing to the floor, and Ma’zurah pounced on him with teeth bared and ripped the plant from his chest.

A split second later, the bubbling blood fountain in the center of the room glowed, absorbing the lingering life energy from fallen combatants and channeling it to Ma’zurah, imbuing her with vitality, then dissipating in a fading red glow.

Fayrl walked to her side and lobbed off the undead man’s head for good measure. He didn’t want to take any chances. “Are you alright?” he asked Ma'zurah, wiping the Blade off on his already blood splattered tunic and sheathing it.

Ma'zurah knelt on the ground next to the corpse of the undead man, and examined her forearm. It appeared healed. Whatever Fayrl’s ritual had done left only a line of torn fur and new skin. “Yes,” she responded tentatively.

A slow clap from the corner drew Ma'zurah’s attention. “About time somebody took these slackwits down a few notches!” the old man in the cage sneered.

Mazurah opened her mouth to respond, but movement out of the corner of her eye made her turn. The paralysis spell on the pregnant woman had worn off, and she had crawled forward to grab the undead man’s discarded sword, scrambled to her feet, and was aiming a swing at Fayrl.

Fayrl followed Ma'zurah’s line of sight and saw the swing just in time, rolling to the side and grabbing the woman by the hair. He caught her wrist and turned the sword she held back toward herself. "Stop,” he commanded in her ear.

The woman raged at Fayrl in a language he didn't recognize, then switched to accented Cyrodiilic. “May Hircine hunt you down, Sanguine fuck your eye sockets, and Namira rot your corpse!” she spat.

Fayrl raised an eyebrow. Well. That was a new curse. And what a trio! “If you care for the life within your belly, you will drop the weapon and surrender.”

The woman growled and dropped the sword. Ma’zurah scuttled forward and grabbed it, tossing it out of reach.

“Alright. Slowly now. Down on your knees, hands on the floor where I can see them.” Fayrl watched her carefully. He wanted her occupied so he could draw a weapon.

The woman held her hands out in front of her and took a step away from Fayrl, then whirled suddenly, a dagger appearing in her hands which she thrust at Fayrl. Ma’zurah yelled in warning and lunged forward.

Fayrl leaned back and vanished from sight, reflexively pulling his throwing knives from his belt and launching a volley at the woman. They struck her in an arc from forehead to breast.

Ma’zurah brought herself up short with wide eyes as the woman staggered and fell, a blade lodged in her throat.

Fayrl became visible once more and stared at the woman. His face paled.

He took a step back and glanced over to Ma’zurah. His resolve was diminishing in light of his actions. “Be the instrument,” he repeated in his head in his master’s voice. It felt more hollow now than before. He stared at the woman’s fallen body in silence, trying to repeat his mantra until it felt strong within him once more. The mantra was his armor and he needed it on. Who knew how many more enemies there might still be. What if more undead awaited them in the next room?

The man in the cage started cackling. “Took the bitch down before she could take herself down, that’s rich!” he crowed.

Ma’zurah whirled toward the man. “What does that mean?” she hissed.

“Ooh! So fierce!” The man pretended to cower from his cramped confinement. “Are you here to kill me too? Slay the mighty Logrolf while he sits caged and helpless?”

Fayrl closed his eyes and envisioned his body becoming a blade. “Be the instrument. Be the instrument. Be the instrument.” He screamed it in his mind as loud as he could. He tamped down on all the rest of the feelings that threatened to spill out and then opened his eyes again.

“And just who is the mighty Logrolf, anyway?” Ma’zurah asked, narrowing her eyes. “Why is he here?”

“Logrolf the Willful, Priest, at your service!” The man dipped his head in the closest facsimile of a mocking bow he could make in his cage.

“Priest?” Ma’zurah asked, startled. Her eyes glowed blue. “Oh! You are the priest of Boethiah then.” She turned back to Fayrl and gave him a helpless look.

“Boethiah?” asked Fayrl, snapping his attention onto the man. It something on which he could focus at least. He strode to the cage and pulled the pins from his hair to unlock the cage. “We will have you free in a moment.”

Logrolf narrowed his eyes and glanced between his mysterious rescuers. “And just who are you? ”

The lock on the door came free and Fayrl let the cage open. “We are followers of the True Tribunal. Beyond that is of little importance. We offer you our aid in escaping. Though I must ask of you, have you seen a child, a young girl here?”

The man crawled out of his cramped confinement and stretched his limbs, casting a wary glance at Fayrl. “You’re a what? And yeah. They brought the brat in last night. She’s in there.” He pointed at a door with one gnarled finger.

Fayrl did not answer the man, only giving him a slight bow as he went towards the other door. “Child, are you here? Are you unharmed?”

A quiet voice floated out of the darkness beyond the door of the tiny cell. “Yes?” The girl’s brown hair and dirt streaked face appeared behind the bars a moment later. “Are you one of them? Please don’t hurt me.”

Fayrl was struck by her young face, not so different from his own son’s. He knelt down by the door, trying to show he was not a threat to her. “No, we aren’t with the Forsworn. We were sent by your parents and the other miners to bring you home. And as soon as I’ve opened this door, we are going to take you back home, alright?”

He slid the picks into the lock and immediately began to work the tumblers to free her.

She gave him a small smile. “I knew someone would come to rescue me. I dreamt of it. Only, I thought it would be a pretty lady with big furry ears.”

“Pretty lady. Pah.” Logrolf muttered.

Ma’zurah walked over to the door and crouched in front of the child. “Perhaps this one? It would not be the first time Ma’zurah’s Mother has sent her to rescue someone unawares.”

The girl brightened. “You were in my dream!” she cried in delight. “You will take me home.”

Fayrl got the door open and let the girl out, helping her up to her feet. “Do you need help, child? Can you walk?”

“My name is Fjotra,” said the girl, “and I am fine.” She stood and walked to Ma’zurah. “You will take me home now.” She held out a hand for Ma’zurah to take.

Ma’zurah took the girl’s hand gravely. “This one is named Ma’zurah, and that one is Fayrl. He is nice too.” She cast a glance over her shoulder at the Priest of Boethiah who was examining the dropped sword. “And that over there is apparently Logrolf the Willful.”

The girl just beamed up at Ma’zurah. “Can we go now? I don’t like this place. It smells bad.”

Fayrl felt a little dejected at being ignored, but he understood. Children picked who they liked and it could not be helped through wishing. It took time and effort to win their affections. These were things that could not be spared right now. It was more important that one of them had the girl’s trust and they could bring her back home.

“Let us go,” said Fayrl, heading back towards the door to the outside.

Ma’zurah glanced around the room. It was a shame to leave the shrine desecrated like this. She pursed her lips and looked around for things she could take. “Fjotra, will you go with Fayrl please?” She let go of the girl’s hand and picked up the discarded spiky plant-thing she had pulled from the undead man. It almost looked like a pine cone made of thorns. She tucked it into a pocket to examine later.

The girl looked disappointed, but did as she was told, taking the hand Fayrl held out for her.

“Shall we go, Fjorta?” he asked gently. She nodded.

He led her to the doorway, calling over his shoulder as he went. “Come, priest of Boethiah. Unless you would prefer to stay behind with your captors.”

Ma’zurah decided that even if she did not have time to purify the shrine, she could take some of the things for a better use. She tried to lift the small altar itself, but discovered it was much heavier than she could carry easily. She sighed and dumped the viscera and organs off the silver bowls and plates and wiped them down with the discarded Forsworn clothing.

“What are you doing?” Logrolf asked, eyeing her skeptically.

“The gods should be respected. If we cannot stay to purify this shrine, we can at least take her artifacts out of this horrible place,” Ma’zurah explained tersely, cleaning the small gold statue of Dibella next to the shrine. She tucked the items into her pack.

She stood and shouldered her pack to join Fayrl and the girl, but paused, noticing an ancient looking book in the corner. She picked it up. “Liminal Bridges: A Discourse On The Theory and Praxis of Travelling Between Mundus and Oblivion,” she read aloud.

Fayrl listened from the doorway. Magic was decidedly not his area of expertise, and had no idea what the book might be about. He was distracted by a tug at his sleeve. He looked down at the earnest face of the girl at his side.

“Mazura is pretty and nice. Are you her husband?”

Fayrl laughed easily. “It is true. And I am very lucky to have her. You must be very smart. How did you guess?”

The girl beamed. “Father says I am smart too. I could tell because you wait for her to tell you what to do. That’s what father does with mommy.”

Ma’zurah glanced through the book. It seemed to contain instructions for traveling to Oblivion, which could be useful. She tucked it into her pack as well, and turned to leave. The belligerent priest followed her.

Fayrl looked up and nodded to Ma'zurah, not wanting to disclose anything about their situation in front of the priest of Boethiah. Something about him rubbed Fayrl the wrong way. Instead he led the girl down the stairs and out into the light of day, making his way into the other part of the fortress. He kept the girl talking and tried to distract her from the horror of the place in which she had been imprisoned.

They reached the door behind which they had locked the children. Ma’zurah cast an unlocking spell and carefully opened the door. The children were all still asleep. “How should we handle this?” she asked Fayrl.

Fayrl could feel panic attempting to rise up within him. The boy that had attacked him was old enough to fight, and to know who it was he should be trying to fight. The other children had not yet seen his face. He wavered over what they should do.

“We should take the other three with us. Leave the boy,” he finally said in Dunmeris to Ma'zurah.

“What? No!” Ma’zurah looked horrified. “If we can find the horse we can let the boy remain unconscious. It is only an hour or two to Karthwasten. We can ask Ainethach to contact the Temple to retrieve them.”

Fayrl glared at Ma’zurah. She was letting her voice betray too much emotion in front of this unfamiliar priest and the girl! He tried again in a calm voice. “The boy will seek vengeance. We have to kill him or leave him. The others will be fine. And keep your voice down or you will wake them.”

“The boy will not know what happened! He will be unconscious! He does not know what happened to the others here! We need to go find the horse now.”

“B’vek! Fine! I leave the children to you then. I shall get the horse.”

Fayrl turned to Fjorta. “Want to help me get our horse?” he asked pleasantly.

She looked over to Ma’zurah as though seeking permission.

Ma’zurah smiled and nodded to the girl, then tapped Logrolf’s shoulder and gestured for him to follow her. He shot her a sour look, but did not protest.

Fayrl led Fjorta down and out of the fortress, lifting her up over the blood soaked entrance and making an excuse about spilled stew that sounded lame even to his own ears. He hoped she would not look at the bloody ritual too closely.

Once they were outside, he led the girl away from the fallen corpses and towards the rock where the blanket and his lute were waiting. “Do you like to sing, Fjorta?”

“Yes!” The girl grinned. “Are you in trouble? Is that why she sent you out here?”

Fayrl smiled, picking up his lute gingerly and unwrapping the blanket from around it. “I’m not in trouble, we just had a small disagreement about who was going to get to go outside and play with the horse and who got to be the hero and rescue the other children.”

“Father always says that when he gets into trouble with Mommy.”

Fayrl strummed a chord to check if the lute hadn’t been jostled and the tuning pegs knocked out of key. “Now, I am going to use ancient Dunmer magic to summon us the horse. But I need your help to perform it, alright?”

The girl shot him a skeptical glance “Magic? Mommy says magic is bad.”

“It’s not like that scary magic. This is more of a trick. A way to speak to horses. If you don’t help me, I guess I could try on my own. But it may not work without a very smart person around. And horses like pretty girls. I don’t think they’d find me very pretty. Do you think I am very pretty, Fjorta?”

“Boys can’t be pretty!” Fjotra giggled.

Fayrl looked at her and tilted his head. “What do you mean boys can’t be pretty?”

“Only girls are pretty! Boys are supposed to be handsome!”

“Well why not?”

“That’s just how it is! You’re supposed to know that!”

“Well, I don’t know that. For Dunmer girls can be handsome and boys can be pretty. It all depends on your looks. Have you not seen a very strong and muscular warrior who is a girl?”

“Um. Yes! Lash is like that!” Fjotra grinned. “Lash is nice. She gives me rides.”

“There you are. Lash is very tough and strong. I would say she is very handsome. If she were a boy, would you not call her handsome?”

“Um. I guess.” Fjotra peered down the road, and spotted the horse grazing on a small patch of grass. “I found it! I found the horse!” she said, pointing excitedly.

“Excellent spotting!” cried Fayrl. “Now, to lure it back, I want you to sing, ‘horsey, horsey, come to me.’” He sang the notes for her. “Got it?”

Fjotra gave him a flat look. “That’s dumb.”

“Fine,” said Fayrl in mock hurt. “I shall do it all on my own then.”

He wiped a pretend tear from his eye and then began playing a haunting tune. Since the child was not going to help him, he used the Dunmeris lyrics, calling to the horse to be calm and to come to him.

“Hey!” Fjotra cried indignantly. “That’s not what you told me to sing!”

Fayrl kept playing and the horse’s ears swiveled around, turning its head toward the sound. Fayrl took a step along the road and the horse trailed slowly towards him with interest.

Fjotra watched the horse get closer. “Can I pet it? Please?”

Fayrl nodded to her. “Just move very slow and gently, alright?” he said, then continued to sing the horse towards them.

Fjotra held out her hand and walked forward until the horse whickered and nosed at her hand.

Fayrl put his lute onto his back and gave the horse a slow firm stroke along the side of its neck. “That’s a good girl,” he told the horse, then set about putting the bridle and makeshift saddle back onto her. “Do you like horses, Fjotra?”

“Yes. Mister Ainethach sometimes lets me pet his horse too.” She patted the horse’s nose.

Fayrl led the horse up to the door of the fortress and tied the reins to a torch post. He sat down on the front step of the fortress, readjusted his lute, and began to play soothing music.

Chapter Text

Ma'zurah led Logrolf down the hall from the room of sleeping children to the entrance hall. “Ma'zurah needs to talk to you. Ma'zurah has to warn you that Molag Bal is determined to make you submit. He tried to get Fayrl and Ma'zurah to bring you to him.”

“So you have heard of me,” Logrolf laughed. “Well, of course you have! I am sure that Molag Bal did ask that of you. I have desecrated his altar on multiple occasions and he has been powerless to prevent me! Lady Boethiah gives her faithful her protection, so I am free to spit in the face of her enemies. Once I have gathered the necessary reagents, I will venerate his altar in Boethiah's name, as I did before.”

Ma'zurah looked alarmed. The man might be rude, but he didn't deserve to be subjected to whatever Molag Bal had planned for him. No one did. “The House of Troubles are not Princes to be trifled with! They provide trials to be endured and survived! Even with the protection of the Covenant, dealings with them walk the edge of a knife! And Mazurah can assure you, desecrating their altars is not under the Covenant!”

“You do not understand. How could you? A Khajiit would have no understanding of the power of such a god.” Logrolf looked at Ma’zurah with smug sympathy. “You think the pitiful Molag Bal can best Boethiah's faithful? I have won this contest before! I leave the rescuing of children to you, but you leave the work of the Queen of Shadows to those who know her best."

Ma'zurah bared her teeth. How dare he?! She was trying to help him! She had numbered him among her allies and he was questioning even her competence! “Logrolf knows not to whom he speaks. Ma'zurah is the Champion of Azurah. Ma'zurah is well aware of the power of Azurah’s brother-sister, and she is giving Logrolf this warning: to become involved in the wars of the gods is to risk becoming crushed between them. Ma'zurah speaks from firsthand experience. She provides this warning out of the respect she holds Lord Boethiah and his teachings.”

“Champion? You?” Logrolf curled his lip at her in derision. “I think you misunderstand the meaning of the term. And even were you using it correctly, you are still young. I have a lot of experience in these matters. I understand the risks and rewards involved. The Queen of Deceit has shown her pleasure with my efforts! Your warnings are unnecessary. Though I suppose I should thank you for using so much of your mental faculties to relay them.”

Heat rushed to Mazurah’s face and she was filled with a blind need to make this man respect her authority. Her tail puffed and she gave a low warning growl. “You will show respect! This one is at least four times older than you could ever hope to live! She has learned more than you could ever hope to learn! She has spoken with Princes and Gods and retained both her loyalty and her sanity!”

“Not as though you had much to lose,” Logrolf scoffed. “Still, you have proven your usefulness in freeing me from my confines at the hands of those butcher barbarians. I shall have to give you a payment befitting your deeds when I have my possessions back. I think ten gold is fair for your hard won efforts.”

Ma’zurah’s temper snapped. She hissed and her tail lashed behind her. She held out both hands, palms toward herself, claws unsheathed, displayed the Ring of Azura and the Signet of Sheogorath sitting side by side her wedding ring on one hand, and the Ring of the Redoran Hortator and the Moon and Star on the other. “Do not insult this one! There can be no doubt that this one is who she says she is! You may think this one a weakling of Azurah, but this one exists because she has the will to do so! And she shall remain as long as there are signs of her handwork!” She dropped her hands and took a menacing step toward the taller man. “This one has suffered much that cannot be suffered! This one has weighed matters that no astrolabe or compass can measure! She warns you, there is no bone that cannot be broken except for the Heart bone; this one has seen it twice in this one's lifetimes!”

Logrolf crossed his arms and pressed his thin lips together, looking thoroughly unimpressed. Ma'zurah barreled on, angrier by the moment. “Your actions in the past may have pleased your Lord, and that is all very well and good. But this one thinks perhaps you do not truly understand the teachings of the Deceiver of Nations. To truly understand, you must know that the secret of weapons is this: they are the Mercy Seat!”

The priest snorted and rolled his eyes. Ma'zurah kept going, snarling as she spoke, determined to make him back down. “This one offers you one last warning for the sake of your devotion to the Devourer of Trinimac: peril falls upon those who offer insult to the Child of Azurah, for she guards her name with all the selfishness of the sea! You will show this one the respect this one has earned!”

Logrolf looked at her as one would a piteous thing; as though she was someone to humor. “I cannot deny you have bravado. You are well learned in your practiced speech as well. But I am not so as blind as to be swayed by mere trinkets or pretty words. I follow the God of Deception. And yes, let me guess, you're a master of theft as well as of killing savages. Bravo. But I hardly think there is much impressive about a Khajiit thief. It is what your people are good at. Why, I hear half of Riften these days are just your sort of people. Though, from the level of importance of your prizes, I am going to assume you befriend the great followers of the Daedra then steal from them. Is that why you are truly here? To try and steal from me as well?"

Mazurah saw red.

There was a yowl audible from outside the fortress. Squeals came from the room of Forsworn children as the ground shifted slightly.

Fayrl stopped playing his lute and laid it gently on the steps, giving the horse a reassuring pat and whispering to it to sleep until he woke it.

“Fjotra, I will check inside. Stay with Miss Horse and make sure she doesn't wake up. If something bad happens, I want you to get on Miss Horse, tell her ‘Hava’, and ride her as far from here as you can.”

Without waiting for confirmation, he ran back into the fortress. He only hoped that Ma’zurah was alright.

Ma’zurah had the priest pinned to the ground at the bottom of the steps of the entrance hall. She was straddling the man’s chest with one forearm against his neck and attempting to grab his wrists with her other hand.

From around the side of the door at the top of the stairs, three heads watched the scene unfolding in the hall.

“Ma’zurah was trying to give a friendly warning!” Ma'zurah hissed in the man’s face, baring her teeth. “But Logrolf had to be disrespectful at every turn and accuse this one of lying and of attempting to steal from him!” Her tail swished through the air angrily, all her fur puffed on end.

“Ma’zurah!” Fayrl yelled, “you cannot kill him!” He ran and pulled Ma’zurah bodily off the the priest, his arms under hers, gripping her by the shoulders.

The moment Ma’zurah was off him, Logrolf began coughing and scurried backwards until his back hit the stone wall. “She's mad! She's trying to kill me!”

Ma’zurah’s paws scrabbled under her, trying to gain traction to stand. “Why not?!” she demanded. “We shall have the trial of Boethiah’s proving! This one will live because that one will die!” She hissed in the priest’s direction and her lashing tail whipped at Fayrl’s legs.

“Mephala's left testicle!” cried Fayrl. We can't just kill a priest of the Three! This isn't one of Boethiah's provings! We are here to rescue people! Not to murder them! You haven't done any of the rites for that sort of thing!”

Logrolf drew the sword he had taken from the undead Forsworn. “I will defend myself if necessary, I warn you, cat!”

Fayrl whirled towards the man with one outstretched arm and summoned webs, pinning the man flat against wall. “You, shut up!”

He looked at Ma’zurah in his arms. “Have you forgotten about the children you were not supposed to be waking up?”

The three heads popped back behind the door with a collective gasp.

Ma’zurah gained her footing and stood, wrenching herself out of Fayrl’s grasp and brushing herself off. She glared at Fayrl. “Ma’zurah was trying to warn this wafiit about the plans of the Lord of Domination! But then he insulted this one!”

Fayrl sighed. “Do you kill everyone who insults you?” he asked tiredly, feeling the strain of using so many of his taxing skills in a row. It had been a long time since he’d had to fight so much, and he had grown unaccustomed to it. “And what are we going to do about the children now?”

The door slammed shut and there was a great commotion of scraping furniture behind the door.

“What is this disgusting pile of white excrement!” Logrolf spat. “I am a revered priest of Boethiah! How dare you treat me in this manner, you horse sodomizing simpleton!”

Ma’zurah gave Fayrl a sweet smile. “Nooo… Of course Ma’zurah does not try to kill everyone who insults her! Only the ones who should know better!”

Fayrl stalked over the the priest, ignoring Ma’zurah. He glared at Logrolf. “I thought I told you to be silent. You can do it on your own, or I will make you do it.”

“Oh, a threat! I see neither one of you can escape the confines of your natures. A thieving cat and a violent Dark Elf. I am sure I have never heard of tha--”

Fayrl ripped his bloodied tunic over his head and jammed it in the priest’s mouth. “I see what you mean,” he told Ma’zurah. “Let's let him stew while we see what the children have gotten up to. Hopefully they don't have any more knives. I feel I've been stabbed enough for one day.”

“Sure, just one thing first.” Ma’zurah walked up to the glaring priest and kicked him in the shins. “Jekosiit!” she hissed. Logrolf gave a muffled cry and shouted something incoherent into the tunic in his mouth.

Ma'zurah turned and walked with calm poise back up the stairs into the hallway and knocked on the door. “Hello?” she called.

“Go away!” came a small voice on the other side of the door.

Fayrl followed Ma’zurah. He wasn’t sure how they would get the children out without frightening them further.

“This one is Ma’zurah! Ma’zurah is sorry for acting scary! What are your names?”

“Go away!” said a different voice. “We aren’t telling you anything!”

“What if she tries to open the door?” asked the voice from before in a hushed tone, still audible through the wooden door.

“We have all the furniture up against it, she can’t get us,” said a third voice.

Fayrl gave Ma’zurah a look. “We need to be delicate with this.”

“Maybe Fjotra can help,” Ma’zurah suggested. “Go get her?”

Fayrl gave her an uneasy look, but obeyed with a sigh. He made his way back down the stairs, flashing a warning look at Logrolf before he went out to where Fjotra was.

“How are we doing out here?” he asked the girl.

Fjotra looked up from petting the horse. “Fine. Can we go now?”

“We are almost ready. First, we want you to come and meet the other children that were kept here. That way we can all go together. But they are scared to leave. Do you think you could talk with them?”

Fjotra gave him a doubtful look but nodded. “I guess. Why are they scared to leave?”

“Well, Ma’zurah was having a disagreement with that priest and she was a little bit upset. I think the children are afraid she might be angry with them too.”

“Oh. Okay.” Fjotra walked inside, making a face as she skirted the blood summoning circle.

Fayrl hurried after her, cursing himself for not catching up before she could see the remnants of whatever horror occurred in the entranceway. He caught pace with her and walked up the stairs, hoping that Ma’zurah hadn’t blown the door open while he was gone.

Ma’zurah had entered the empty bedroom opposite the children’s room, and emerged holding a book and a pair of leather boots when she heard them coming. “Hey,” she offered.

Fayrl looked her up and down. “I brought Fjotra,” he said with a smirk.

Ma’zurah blinked at him. “What? Nevermind! Here.” She shoved the leather boots into his arms. “Try these on. Yours keep getting ruined.”

Fjotra giggled, and Ma’zurah winked at her.

Fayrl sat down on a step that didn’t look too messy and began to unlace his boots, grumbling under his breath as he did.

Ma’zurah turned to Fjotra. “So these children are in there. We need to make friends with them so they will not be scared anymore.”

“Okay,” said Fjotra. She went up to the door. “Can you hear me?”

There was a smattering of hissed whispers.

“Let me answer!” said one voice.

There was a brief silence.

“I can hear you. What do you want?”

Fjotra sat down on the floor in front of the door. “Um. I’m Fjotra. What’s your name?”

“Morva. What do you want?”

“To make friends. I heard you were scared, but you don’t have to be!”

“Who said I was scared? I’m not scared!”

“Oh! That makes it easy then. You’ll come with me? I want to go home now, but they said we couldn’t leave because you were scared.”

Ma’zurah opened her mouth as though to speak, then closed it with a look of consternation.

Fayrl grinned, one boot on. The kid was good.

“Why should I care about if you get to go home?” asked Morva.

“Um… Because you’re a nice person? I was kidnapped last night, and I had a dream that a lady with big furry ears came to rescue me, and then it happened! She’s really nice, you’d like her.”

Ma’zurah shot Fayrl a smug look.

Fayrl rolled his eyes. He was a bit jealous, but he would never admit to it.

“You’re supposed to be in the shrine!” Morva cried. “How’d you get out!”

Fjotra looked confused. “I just told you. I got rescued. Don’t you want to go home too?”

“This is my home! Momma said you were a gift for the gods! You need to go back to the shrine.”

“How’d she get out?” asked another voice.

“She said she was rescued.”

“But how do you get rescued from going to see the gods? Why wouldn’t you want to be there?”

“I don’t know! I’m just telling you what she said.”

Fjotra frowned. “They weren’t taking me to see the gods! They were going to kill me! They said so! And they put blood all over Dibella’s statue! Why would they do that?”

“That’s how you go to see the gods. You can’t be alive and see them, dummy.”

“But I don’t want to die! And I can see the gods anytime I go to the Temple! Sometimes Dibella comes to me in my sleep too! Dying isn’t the only way to see the gods!”

“It is not,” Ma’zurah chimed in. “Ma’zurah has seen seven gods with her own eyes, and talked to many more than that. Some of them even gave her gifts, and Ma'zurah is not dead yet.”

There was a hushed discussion inside before anything else was spoken.

“What do you want from us?” Morva asked finally.

Ma’zurah moved closer to the door. “Ma’zurah promises she will not hurt you. She just needs you to come with her to Karthwasten. That is all.”

“Just come out?” Fjotra pleaded. “Please? I wanna go home.”

“They’re gonna do something bad when we go out there!” cried another voice.

“Oh, hush, Tyran! We never said we were going out!” hissed Morva.

“I think that’s the angry lady’s voice,” said another child. “The one that did this to Dryston.”

“Yes, Ma’zurah was angry,” Ma’zurah explained patiently, “But Ma’zurah is not angry at you. She will not hurt you, and she did not hurt your friend. He is only sleeping, and Ma’zurah knows how to wake him up.”

There was a gasp inside. “Morva! They can wake Dryston!”

“I don’t trust it,” said the other child.

“Me either, Petra. They’re up to something.”

“Why are none of the grown ups stopping them?” asked Tyran.

“That’s a good question,” said Morva. “Hey! Dummies! What’d you do with our parents?”

Ma’zurah hesitated. “They are not here anymore. That is why you need to come with us to Karthwasten. Ma’zurah cannot leave you here by yourselves.”

“What do you mean, they aren’t here?” cried Petra. “Mommy wouldn’t leave me!”

“It’s a trick, Petra, don’t listen to them,” said Morva. “As long as we are in here, we are safe.”

Ma’zurah sat down on the floor in front of the door. “You like Hircine, right? Would you like to hear about the time Ma’zurah met Hircine?”

“How would you have met Hircine?” scoffed Morva.

“I wanna hear,” said Tyran.

“It’s just gonna be a lie anyways.”

“It is all completely true. Ma’zurah was on the island of Solstheim with her friends Julan, Shani, Constance, and Jasmine, and she was visiting an Imperial fort when the fort was attacked by werewolves.”

“Who are all those people?” asked Petra.

“I think the grey one is Jasmine and the guy the lady was beating must be Shani. I don’t know about the other two though….” Tyran trailed off.

“That’s not right!” said Morva. “Jasmine is a girl’s name! The grey one must be Constance. That’s a good man’s name.”

“No,” Ma’zurah explained, “the Dunmer with Ma'zurah now is named Fayrl, and the other one is Logrolf. Julan and Shani are both Dunmer, a boy and a girl, Jasmine is a Redguard girl, and Constance is a Bosmer girl. But it does not really matter. So these werewolves attacked, but Ma’zurah did not know they were werewolves. When they ran away, Ma’zurah found out that the commander of the fort, General Carius, had disappeared. So Ma’zurah went to the Skaal village to ask them if they knew where he was. The Skaal are a tribe of Nords who worship a god called the All-Maker and live in a very snowy part of the island of Solstheim.”

“This story has too many people. It’s boring,” said Tyran. “I want a better story.”

“I thought the story was about Hircine,” said Petra, disappointed. “Let’s get back in bed, Tyran.”

“This story is about Hircine,” Ma'zurah explained hastily. “Werewolves are the children of Hircine, do you not know that? And it has so many people because the world has a lot of people in it. But Ma’zurah will get to Hircine soon. Ma’zurah found out that she had to prove herself to the Skaal, so she did a lot of things to help them. Then, after a while, werewolves attacked the Skaal village too and kidnapped the Skaal leader. One of the werewolves even bit Ma’zurah and everyone thought she was going to become a werewolf!”

“Did it eat you?!” cried Tyran with excitement.

“She couldn’t be telling the story if it ate her, dummy!” mocked Morva.

“No it did not eat Ma’zurah,” she laughed. “It also did not turn Ma’zurah into a werewolf.”

Ma'zurah realized this was a difficult story to tell to children because she had to simplify it so much. She felt rather lame leaving out so many details. It had been significantly more complicated than she was making it sound, but she was trying to cater to the children's brief attention span. “Ma’zurah tried to find out where all the werewolves were coming from, and while she was looking for them she found out that all of the horkers had been killed and were lying dead on the beach!”

“Eww!” said Petra.

“Cool!” said Morva and Tyran.

That was a much better reaction than Mazurah had expected. They were engaged with the story now at least. “The shaman was very worried about this because the dead horkers were one of the signs of the Bloodmoon Prophecy, which foretold coming of the great hunt of Hircine. The shaman sent Ma’zurah to a castle made of ice called Castle Karstaag. Castle Karstaag was full of Rieklings. Rieklings are small blue goblins who live in icy places. Ma’zurah had to swim in freezing water to get into the castle, but when she got there, she met a Riekling named Krish. Ma’zurah was very surprised, because she did not expect any Rieklings to talk to her. Krish told Ma’zurah that the Riekling leader, a frost giant named Karstaag, had disappeared, and that Krish was trying to take over the castle. He made a deal with Ma’zurah to let Ma’zurah into the castle if Ma’zurah would help Krish become the new leader. So Krish took Ma’zurah into the castle, and inside Ma’zurah found out from the other Rieklings that werewolves had kidnapped the Riekling leader, Karstaag.”

“Did the werewolves go like ‘Rawr!’ and eat the head off the reekly things?” asked Tyran.

“Why would a werewolf want to eat a ice goblin?” Petra retorted. “It’d be too cold to eat.”

Ma'zurah was losing their attention again. She huffed a frustrated breath. Why was she so bad at telling stories to children? “Ma’zurah did not see any werewolves in the ice castle,” she explained quickly. “She only heard what the Rieklings said. But Ma’zurah thought that it was very strange that werewolves would kidnap an ice giant, so she went to tell the Skaal shaman. That night, Ma’zurah got kidnapped by werewolves!”

“And then did they eat you?” asked Tyran.

“Gods, you’re so thick!” said Morva. “If you get eaten by a werewolf you don’t get to tell a story about it.”

“Unless you’re a ghost,” said Petra.

There was a tiny gasp from Tyran. “You’re a ghost lady!”

“I should throw you outside with the ghost lady,” said Morva.

Ma'zurah sighed. “Ma’zurah did not get eaten by werewolves, and she is not a ghost. When Ma’zurah woke up, she was in a room full of werewolves and a man with skin like the coat of a deer and a head like the skull of a stag told her he was Hircine and that Ma’zurah had been chosen as Prey for the Wild Hunt, and all the werewolves were going to hunt her now!”

“Coooooool!” said Tyran.

“Lucky,” muttered Morva.

“Not so lucky! Ma’zurah did not want to die!” It was one of the worst memories of her life, but she could hardly tell the children that. “Hircine did not give her a choice about it. The next thing she knew, she had been taken to a giant maze under the ice! And there she met General Carius, the Imperial commander who had disappeared! Hircine told Carius and Ma’zurah that there was a key out of the maze, and that only one person would be able to use it. Carius was a nice man though, and he said that maybe we could find a way for both of us to escape, so we worked together to run through the maze full of werewolves until we found the key and got to the center of the maze. General Carius got hurt though, so he told Ma’zurah to take the key and use it to get out of the maze. He thought Ma’zurah stood a better chance of surviving whatever Hircine was going to throw at us next.”

“How did you breathe under the ice?” asked Tyran.

“Just shut up and listen,” said Morva.

“It was a great big cave that had been carved into a glacier, that is how. But Ma’zurah used the key to open a portal, and the next thing she knew she was in a different maze, and there was the leader of the Skaal who had also been kidnapped. So Ma’zurah tried to team up with him too, but no matter how much we looked, we could not find the key. When we made it to the center of the maze, the Skaal leader turned on Ma’zurah, and Ma’zurah found out that he had the key the whole time, and he was actually a werewolf too!”

“Woah!” all three of the children cried.

“Did he--”

“I swear, if you ask if she was eaten one more time, I am throwing you outside,” warned Morva.

Tyran was silent.

“Ma’zurah fought him and took the key, and this time Ma’zurah found herself in a room with an ice giant! Hircine appeared and told Ma’zurah that the ice giant, Karstaag, was going to fight her for the right to enter the last part of the Wild Hunt! So Ma’zurah had to fight him to survive the Wild Hunt!”

There was silence for a moment.

“What? You said I couldn’t ask,” pouted Tyran.

“Good,” said Morva.

“So how did you fight a frost giant?” asked Petra.

“With fire, of course! Ma’zurah threw fire at it until it fell over, but it was very difficult.” It had been more than difficult. It had been a long and exhausting fight that Ma'zurah had only survived by flying to a high ledge to heal herself and wait for her magicka to regenerate. “After that, Hircine appeared again and asked Ma’zurah what skill she thought a hunter needed the most, strength, speed, or cunning. Which one would you have picked?”

“Strength!” said Tyran.

“Cunning,” said Morva.

“I think cunning too,” said Petra.

“Ma’zurah also picked cunning, and Hircine told Ma’zurah that the last part of the Wild Hunt was to defeat Hircine himself! But he said it would be unfair to fight him at his full power, so Ma’zurah had to fight one third of him; the third she had picked. So Hircine divided himself into three, and the Avatar of Hircine’s Cunning appeared and started to fight Ma’zurah!”

“What did it look like?” asked Petra.

“It looked like Hircine, just a little smaller. A man wearing kilt, with skin like a deer’s coat, and a head like the skull of a stag. He had a spear that he twirled around a lot. Ma’zurah had to be very smart to get out of range of his spear. She ran around the room and threw ice at him until she defeated him. Then she got to keep his spear.” She was hardly doing this story justice, but she did not want to tell the children just how harrowing the fight had been and how close to dying she had come. “Hircine was very shocked that Ma'zurah had won. He promised to come back and host another Wild Hunt, but he only gets to host one Wild Hunt per era.” Ma’zurah paused with a look of alarm on her face and glanced at Fayrl. It was a new era now.

Fayrl dropped the old boots he was holding in hand and met her eyes. That was not news he wanted to hear; not at all.

“Cool!” said Petra.

“Do you have the spear right now?” asked Tyran.

Deciding it was pointless to worry when there was nothing she could do. Ma'zurah shook her head. “No, but Ma’zurah does have the Ring of Azurah if you want to see that. Azurah appeared to Ma’zurah and gave it to her in person.”

“Can I see?” asked Fjotra.

“Yes, it is right here,” said Ma’zurah holding out her hand. She indicated the silver oval ring with a blue stone like the night sky at its center that she wore next to her wedding ring.

“Wow… It is so pretty!” gasped Fjotra. “Can I try it on?”

“Ma’zurah supposes that would be alright, but it likely will not fit. It was made for Ma’zurah. Give Ma’zurah your hand?”

Fjotra held out her hand obediently, and Ma’zurah slipped the ring onto the girl’s thumb. It was still too large, but Fjotra didn’t seem to care.

“It has an enchantment on it,” Ma’zurah told her. “Can you feel it? That is the power of Azurah.”

“Wow…” Fjotra stared at the ring with round eyes.

“I wanna see!” cried Tyran.

“Oh, me too!” said Petra.

“I don’t know. What if there is no ring?” said Morva.

“I wanna see the ring!” insisted Tyran, voice turning whiny.

“It’s too dangerous,” said Morva.

“I wanna!” Tyran cried again, then sniffled.

“Don’t cry, you baby,” said Morva.

“You’re so mean,” sobbed Tyran. “I wanna see it!”

“Fine!” shouted Morva, “Go see your stupid ring! And when you end up captured by the weird white lady and the grey man, don’t come begging for my help!”

Tyran broke into a full cry.

There was a loud screech as something large was dragged across the floor.

The door opened just enough for the small, tearful face of Tyran to appear around the door. “I wanna see it,” he moaned, squirming to get out of the door.

Fjotra stood up and held out her thumb in front of the door, displaying the ring.

“It’s real!” he cried and scrambled forward, tripping over his own feet for a moment, but momentum kept him moving and he caught his balance, grabbing at Fjorta’s hand to look at the ring.

Petra’s head appeared around the edge of the door then popped back in. “They aren’t doing anything yet,” she whispered, still audible enough for Fayrl and Ma’zurah to hear.

“Can I wear it?” asked Tyran, his tears stopped, but a trail of snot coming from one side of his face. He wiped it on his sleeve.

“Yes,” Ma'zurah replied. “Fjotra do you want to help him try it on?”

Fjotra beamed at being given responsibility. “Hold out your hand!” she said, taking the ring off.

Tyran held out his hand, using his other hand to keep it steady. The rest of his body bouncing with excitement. “Like this?”

“Tyran’s getting to try it on,” said Petra. “Morva, can I try it too?”

“If you go out there, I’m not responsible for what happens. I can’t protect you. If you want to turn your back on Dryston and me, go ahead! But he’s like this because of her ! He protected us.”

“They don’t seem so bad,” said Petra.

“Go, then! Get out!”

Petra fell forward out of the door as though she were pushed and the door shut behind her.

Fjotra solemnly helped Tyran try on the ring. “You feel the enchantment?” she asked. “Like you can see everything more clearly, and your tiredness is slowly going away?”

“Woah! I’m like a warrior hero now!” Tyran made slashing and chopping motions with both hands. “Smash! Hack!”

Petra got to her feet and dusted herself off before looking at Ma’zurah, Fjotra, and Fayrl. She didn’t say anything, just watching them while Tyran slashed at the air, lost in his imagination.

Ma’zurah smiled at Petra. Fjotra giggled at Tyran’s antics.

Petra took a tentative step forward, eyeing Ma’zurah.

Fayrl was starting to get anxious. He didn’t know why. Everything was going fine. And yet he couldn’t help but feel nervous. Was something going to happen?

“This ring is amazing!” giggled Tyran. “I bet I could defeat an ice monster right now if one came at me!”

“Would you like to give her a turn?” Ma’zurah gestured at Petra. “I bet she would like to feel like a warrior too.”

Tyran held the ring close to his chest. “But I just got it!”

Petra took a couple more steps away from the door.

Fayrl stood up and Petra backed up against the door. “I’m going to go and check on the horse,” Fayrl said, and headed down the stairs.

Ma’zurah reached into her pack and pulled out a honey nut ball. “Ma’zurah will trade,” she offered Tyran.

He came over at once and extended his hand. “Deal!”

Ma’zurah took the ring and gave the boy the honey nut ball, then she turned to Petra. “You wanted a turn?”

She nodded and cautiously stepped forward, her hand out.

Tyran took his treat and started running around the entrance hall chewing on it and dancing, apparently oblivious to the remains of the bloody ritual in the center of the room. “I got a sweets and no one else can have it!” he taunted in a mocking melody.

Ma’zurah gently took the girl’s hand and slipped the ring on her finger. “Does the world seem brighter? That is the power of Azurah.”

Petra’s eyes widened and she looked around the room as if she did not know where she was. “This is Azra? This power?”

Tyran picked up a rock from the floor. “You think you can have some of my sweets. But you can’t!” he yelled at the rock, then threw it at the wall.

“Azurah made the ring. She put a piece of her power in it to make the enchantment.” Ma’zurah smiled at the girl.

Petra scrutinized the ring. “It just looks like a pretty stone. How did the power get inside?”

Tyran continued to pick up discarded items from the ground and scream at them about how they could not have his honey nut treat.

“Ma’zurah does not know how Princes do it, but when Ma’zurah does enchanting she uses a soul gem. Now. Would you like a honey nut ball too?”

Petra smiled. “I can have one too?”

In his circuit around the room, Tyran finally came across the priest stuck to the wall with spiderwebs. “I bet your want some of my sweets too!” He stood as tall as he could and pulled the gag from Logrolf’s mouth. “Ew, that’s gross! Don’t eat clothes Mr. Sillybeard.”

“Listen here you little shit,” spat the priest, “I am an illustrious priest of the great Queen of Deception, Boethiah! I demand you free me from my bonds at once! Or else I will curse you and every one of your little friends!”

Tyran frowned. “You’re a big poop! I was gonna share, but you’re mean.” He picked up a rock and shoved it in Logrolf’s mouth to replace the tunic.

Logrolf spat the rock out in Tyran’s direction. “I am going to make you pay!”

“Hey! Leave my brother alone!” yelled Petra.

The priest laughed. “If you don’t free me I will make sure that you never see your parents again.”

“No!” shouted Tyran.

The door to the room opened and Morva rushed out, a crude bone dagger in hand. “Leave them alone!” she yelled, facing Ma’zurah.

“Another idiot child of the inbred savages,” Logrolf taunted. “What a delightful sample of the Reach’s quality.”

Morva turned to the priest, realizing that it was not Fayrl or Ma'zurah who had threatened the other children. She had the knife up and her body tensed as if deciding to attack.

Ma’zurah sighed. “It is alright. You are not in any danger. Any of you. Logrolf the Idiot is tied up. He cannot hurt you. He is just very rude.”

Petra started laughing. “That’s why you were sitting on him and hitting his face!”

Morva lowered her weapon. “He is tied up?”

“I am! Now free me child! If you do I will give you a grand reward.”

“What kind of reward?” asked Tyran.

“To become an apprentice to the great Logrolf the Willful and serve the Lord Boethiah in all her needs.”

Petra and Tyran both frowned.

“That’s stupid,” said Morva. “I don’t want to serve some stupid god who makes people like you.” She stepped closer to Ma’zurah.

“It is not stupid! It is a great honor!” cried Logrolf. “You ignorant barbarians could not even comprehend what you are declining!”

Petra picked back up the tunic and hurriedly shoved it in Logrolf’s mouth. Tyran ran up after her and shoved it further in. The man struggled again and screamed behind his gag, though nothing he tried to say was intelligible.

Fjotra tugged on Ma’zurah’s sleeve. “Can I have a honey nut treat too?”

“Alright.” Ma’zurah retrieved one, then held out another to Morva. “Fair is fair.”

“I can see why you have him tied up,” Morva commented, accepting the treat.

Ma’zurah nodded. “He is very disrespectful.” She moved to peek into the room the children had been in. The boy was still asleep on the bed, but the rest of the furniture had been rearranged. She turned and walked down the steps into the entrance hall and looked out the front door. Fayrl was nowhere to be seen.

“Where are you going?” asked Morva as she saw Ma’zurah disappear down the steps.

Ma'zurah leaned out the front door to pat the horse and spotted the bodies lying in the road. She cursed under her breath.

“Trying to find Fayrl,” she explained.

The children sat at the top of the stairs watching and waiting. Tyran licked sugar off his fingers.

Ma'zurah closed the front door and turned around, noticing the door on the right side of the entrance hall slightly ajar. She peered inside.

The bodies of the Forsworn still rested where Ma'zurah had last seen them. The man Fayrl had injured lay sprawled across the floor at the side of the bed in a pool of blood, obviously dead. Fayrl stood in the center of the room redoing his hair.

“Hey,” Ma'zurah said to catch Fayrl’s attention. “Ma'zurah needs Fayrl to clear off the road and then come let Ma'zurah know when he is done.”

Fayrl turned around, tucking the last pin into his hair. “Very well. I will gladly go and take care of that, my dear.”

Ma'zurah nodded and walked back up the steps into the hallway and entered the children's room. The children came running after her.

“You can wake him up, right?” asked Petra, standing nervously next to the unconscious boy.

“Yes, but we have to take him to Karthwasten.” Ma'zurah started opening chests and nightstands until she located a set of packs. “Okay, help Ma'zurah pack your clothing. First one done gets another honey nut ball. Somebody show Ma’zurah where that one’s clothing is.” She gestured at the unconscious boy.

“They’re over here!” cried Tyran, tugging Ma’zurah’s sleeve towards a set of drawers.

“But his spare tunics are in here,” said Petra, pulling on Ma’zurah’s other sleeve.

Fjotra sat on an empty bed, blinking at the other children stuffing their meager belongings into packs. In a few minutes she was fast asleep.

When they finished, Ma'zurah scanned the room for anything else they might want, and tucked a lost rag doll into Petra’s pack. “Are you ready? It is not a long walk. It should only take an hour or two to get to Karthwasten.”

Petra nodded, slipping the pack onto her back.

Tyran put his bag on his head, trying to balance it. “Wooooaaah!” he said as it fell to one side. He caught it and put it back on his head.

Morva stood beside Ma’zurah with a wary expression on her face. “We’re ready. But I don’t understand. Where are our parents? Why won’t Dryston wake up? Why are you two here?”

Ma'zurah lifted her eyebrows at the teenager. “That is a lot of questions, and they all have long answers. Ma'zurah thinks she is getting a bit too hungry to answer so many questions at once. There will be hot meals at Karthwasten. If you ask Ma'zurah again after we have eaten, she promises she will answer them all. It is not too far to go or too long to wait, but it is only midday and Ma'zurah is already tired. Is that fair?” She gave a small smile and cast telekinesis on Dryston, lifting him gently.

Petra and Tyran watched their friend floating with wide-eyed fascination. Tyran waved his hand underneath and, upon finding nothing, walked under Dryston. “Magic!”

Morva tightened her grip on her pack straps at her shoulders. “What if our parents come back and we aren’t here? They’ll be worried.”

Petra looked worried at this prospect. “I… I don’t want mommy to think I’ve run off….”

“It will be alright. They will not worry. If you are still afraid, Ma'zurah will try to use magic to contact them once we get to Karthwasten. Ma'zurah is a Mystic. She knows a few rituals.” Ma'zurah stuck her head out of the children’s room, keeping an eye out for Fayrl.

“But where are they?” Morva insisted. “They put us to bed after we stayed up most of the night waiting for them, and then where did they go? They wouldn't leave us behind.” Tears of frustration and fear welled in her eyes.

Ma’zurah set the boy back down on the bed and knelt in front of Morva. “Ma’zurah does not know. She is sorry. Ma’zurah will try to contact them for you. She does not think she can do it here though. It is not a far trip. It will be alright. Ma’zurah will make sure that no harm comes to you if she can do anything to stop it.”

Morva looked like she was warring with herself. After a moment she sighed. “And you can wake Dryston? You're positive?”

“Yes.” Ma’zurah gave a firm nod.

“Then I will go.” Morva stood and Petra took her hand. “We are ready.”

“Alright, one second. Let Ma’zurah find Fayrl and see if he is ready too.” She walked into the hallway, closing the door behind her, and went to the front door. She spotted Fayrl hiding the last body behind a large juniper bush, and called out to him. “They are ready. Ma’zurah will bring them out.”

Fayrl nodded. “Go ahead. I'm ready.” He walked back to his lute and began playing a pleasant song.

“Alright. When Ma’zurah brings the boy out, make sure he will not wake soon, please.”

She went back inside and roused Fjotra from where she had been dozing. She smiled at the children, cast telekinesis again on Dryston, and led them outside. “Fayrl has his lute out, do you like songs?”

“I like music,” said Petra. “Daddy sings a song about a spotted stag who plays with wolves.”

“His song about the bear is better,” said Tyran, his pack on his head again, though he kept one hand on it so it wouldn't fall.

Petra snorted “You just like it cause the bear eats everything.”

“That's the best part!” said Tyran.

Morva walked in silence, clearly deep in thought.

Fayrl turned to the children with a goofy smile. “Look at this band of adventurers! Why we have four mighty warriors here! I shall be your bard and Ma’zurah your wizard as we hike on our way towards adventure. Let us hurry to the castle so we can wake the sleeping prince. Come, wizard, let us set our prince upon his steed!” Fayrl helped to guide the sleeping boy onto the horse’s back, stroking the horse to keep it from spooking. “Fjotra, I know you are good with horses, why don't you take the reins and I shall play a tune to keep away evil spirits.”

Ma’zurah gave Fayrl an amused smile, and the small group set off down the road to Karthwasten.

Chapter Text

There was much clamor as the small party came within sight of Karthwasten. Fjotra became more talkative as they got closer to her home, pointing out places she was familiar with, and speaking excitedly of her reunion with her parents. The two younger children seemed very interested in Fjotra’s stories about the landscape as they approached the town, but Morva still seemed lost in thought as they walked.

When the little party was spotted on the edge of the small town, a blonde man and brown haired woman came running and enveloped Fjotra in a relieved embrace.

Fayrl was glad they had found a way to convince the children to travel with them without hostility, though he still feared what would happen when they got to Karthwasten. He had already been stabbed by one of the children so far today. He did not want any repeat performances. And then there was the matter of what to do with the children; if they heard even a single word about an orphanage, it would be only too obvious what part he and Ma’zurah had played.

He was exhausted. He wanted to sleep. Maybe for an entire day. It was only early afternoon, but he already longed for the comfort of the bed he and Ma’zurah had shared the night before.

Fjotra’s parents ushered her away, and Ainethach came out to greet them. Ma’zurah took him to the side and explained the situation to him in a low voice. He agreed to keep the children until the Jarl could send an escort to take them to the orphanage in Riften. Ma’zurah gave him the money she had found in the fortress to pay for their stay, and Ainethach led the group into his house to serve them a late midday meal.

Morva glanced anxiously at Ma’zurah, clearly waiting for Ma’zurah to speak. Ma’zurah could feel the girl’s eyes boring into her even as they sat down to eat.

As soon as they had all situated themselves at Ainethach’s kitchen table, Fayrl turned to their host with a smile. “Do you have anything to wash this down with, my good man? Something of the headier variety, perhaps?”

“I’ve got plenty of mead if that’s what you mean,” offered Ainethach, “but I tend to keep the stronger stuff for special occasions. Isn’t it a bit early to be drinking yet?”

“Oh, mead will do just fine,” said Fayrl dismissively. “You’ll join me, won’t you? I think in light of our reunion of Fjotra with her parents, a little celebration is called for.”

Ainethach barked an amiable laugh and walked to a cabinet on the far side of the room.

Ma’zurah began slicing the children cold cuts of roasted goat and ladled them newly warmed leftover cabbage and potato soup. She offered a bowl to Fayrl. “How long until the boy wakes up?” she asked him in quiet Dunmeris, glancing toward the open doorway to the next room, and the bed in which they had laid the boy.

“About another ten to twenty minutes and he will start to come out of it,” Fayrl responded in the same language, accepting the proffered bowl. “It may take him a while to be fully up though. That stuff makes you pretty woozy.”

“We should probably bring in some other adults for when he wakes then. We shall have to inform them of their situation somehow. Do you have any suggestions?”

Fayrl tried to keep his expression and voice as neutral as possible. “They are going to all react badly to that. We don’t even know how many more knives they have on them.”

“That is why we bring in more adults. Ma’zurah thinks that perhaps we should just tell the oldest that their parents are all truly dead and gone and ask her how to handle the others. She seems the most mature. Or perhaps we should have one of the adults here tell her. She may not wish to see us afterward.”

“Would you want to see the people who killed your parents, your friends parents, and everyone you lived with? They are going to feel betrayed! Better to lie to them. Make them swallow an easier version of things. I don’t think we should let them know. They know what we look like. How many more children need to grow up looking for blood to spill?” He stood up anxiously and walked to Ainethach’s side, accepting the man’s freshly poured mug of mead.

Ma’zurah sighed. “Ma’zurah is not planning to tell them that we killed them, but they do need to have the clean ending that the knowledge that their parents are truly gone brings. Ma’zurah may not have ever had any parents of her own, but she knows what it is like for those who wait in uncertainty for those they have lost. Some of her friends in Elsweyr lost their parents in one of the great storms from the sea, and never knew whether they would return. They never did. Ma’zurah does not wish that kind of agonizing false hope on anyone.”

Fayrl drained his mug of mead in one long pull and refilled it again from the bottle on the counter, topping off Ainethach’s mug in the process. “A toast!” he called in Cyrodiilic common. “To our success!” He raised his mug.

Tyran grinned and lifted his small pewter mug of goat’s milk so fast he spilled a great deal of it on himself, the table, and Petra next to him.

“Hey!” cried Petra, wiping the spilled milk on her arm onto Tyran’s clothes.

Morva continued to stare at Ma’zurah.

Ainethach laughed and retrieved a cloth for the children before lifting his own mug in Fayrl’s direction. “And very happy we all are that you succeeded!”

Ma’zurah glared at Fayrl as she helped to clean up the spilled milk. “Stop that! You are acting like a little s’wit and not helping matters,” she complained to Fayrl in Dunmeris. “Help Ma’zurah figure out what to do! Ma’zurah would like to bring in more adults before the boy wakes up at least! You may have to keep the children distracted while Ma’zurah and anyone else talks to the oldest.”

Fayrl smiled at Ainethach and nudged him to continue drinking. “Not gonna let a Dunmer outdrink you, are you?” he said, and tipped his mug back. He shot a taunting wink in Ma’zurah’s direction, drained his mug, slamming it down onto the table, and reached for the bottle again. “I don’t want any part of that,” he told Ma’zurah in cheerful in Dunmeris. “I can help keep the children calm, but I will not be involved in the rest. I’ll not ask to have a target drawn on my back.”

Ainethach glanced awkwardly between Fayrl and Ma’zurah, obviously uncertain how to react to their incomprehensible conversation.

Tyran chugged his milk and slammed the mug on the table in imitation of Fayrl, nearly hitting Petra’s soup bowl.

“Watch it! You’re gonna make me mad,” Petra warned, pulling her soup away from him.

Morva continued to stare at Ma’zurah as she reluctantly ate her soup.

Fayrl reached into the satchel at his hip and pulled out a small box. He unwrapped a small paper packet and tipped the contents, a fine pale power, into his own bowl. He stirred it in and began to eat.

Ma’zurah stopped and stared at Fayrl. “Is that moon sugar? Are you high?! Gods dammit Fayrl! Moon sugar is not for Men and Mer!”

Fayrl grinned at her. “It is not. It’s my daily dose of medicine. Though, you are free to have some if you want, I would suggest starting with a third the dose. Otherwise you will have to use your magic and undo all the lovely effects.”

Ma’zurah stared at Fayrl in incomprehension, then threw up her hands in frustration. She stood and gestured for Ainethach to join her in the next room.

Fayrl decided to teach the children a clean version of a popular tavern song. Tyran and Petra were much more interested in learning the words than Morva was. Fayrl watched as Morva rose and walked to the door to the next room in an attempt to overhear Ma’zurah’s conversation. He teleported against the wall beside her, then leaned down and sang directly to her. “C’mon, join the fun!” She scowled at him and made her way back to her seat.

Ma’zurah briefed Ainethach on the delicate situation of the children’s parents and their potential volatility. Ainethach nodded gravely at her request to bring in more adults, and left to find anyone who was willing to help. Ma’zurah returned to the main room after checking on the unconscious boy.

“The boy should be awake soon,” she announced as she resumed her seat.

Morva was immediately at her side. “Does this mean you’re going to contact our parents now?”

Fayrl picked up his mug and took a long pull.

“Ma’zurah can do that, but the ritual takes preparation. Have you eaten enough yet?” Ma’zurah began slicing herself more roast goat.

Morva crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you mean eating? Or is there something else you have to do? You’ve been refusing to answer all my questions until we got here and you still won’t answer them! Something is up and I don’t trust you.”

Fayrl reached across the table and pulled the bottle of mead to him just as Ainethach returned to the room with Lash and Enmon, Fjotra’s father.

Ma’zurah sighed and hastily ate her slice of meat before standing and walking to the group of adults. “Alright Morva, come into the next room.” She held open the door for the girl.

Morva followed, looking nervous, obviously concerned by the sudden appearance of more people. Ainethach, Lash, and Enmon filed into the room after her and shut the door.

Fayrl did not even want to be in the same house while this conversation took place, but Ma’zurah had left him alone with the other children. He just hoped he would not have to be here long. Things were going to get bad, he just knew it. “Shall we try the song all together once more?”

Petra and Tyran nodded enthusiastically and began to sing together.

---

Ma’zurah sat down at a small table and pulled out a chair for Morva. The other three adults all located seats for themselves and Ma’zurah leaned towards Morva with a small smile.

“Alright,” Ma’zurah began, “Ma’zurah is talking to you because she thinks you are mature enough to handle being treated as a rational adult, and deserve to be able to make decisions about your future. She will answer your questions now.”

Morva looked around at the people in the room. “What are--” she stopped and looked between Lash and Ma’zurah. “Are you going to hurt me?”

“No!” Ma’zurah looked startled. “Ma’zurah promised, did she not? No one will hurt you or the others as long as Ma’zurah can prevent it. Why would we hurt you?”

Morva’s eyes darted from one unfamiliar face to another like a cornered animal. “I don’t know. You brought me here. What do you want with us? Where are our parents?”

Ainethach leaned forward and gave the girl a grave look. “You were brought here because your parents are no longer living.”

Ma’zurah shot the man an anxious glance. Morva gasped and stood up, knocking the chair over and backing towards the door.

“That is why Ma’zurah says she thinks you should be allowed to make decisions about your own future.” Ma’zurah held out her hands in a soothing gesture. “As far as Ma’zurah knows, the only option available for the younger ones is to be sent to a place in Riften that will care for them, but you are nearly of age, and you may have other options if you would like. You could dedicate yourself to a temple, for example. Ma’zurah hears there is a temple of Mara in Riften.”

Morva glared at Ma’zurah. “You… you lied to us! You knew all along!”

“Ma’zurah did not lie,” Ma’zurah explained. “She is a mystic. She does know a ritual which might allow you to speak to the spirits of your parents.”

Ainethach cast a sharp glance at Ma’zurah. “Normally I would be against such things, but these are unusual circumstances. I am still not convinced it is a wise decision though.”

Morva looked like she was ready to bolt from the room. “That’s not right! No, they can’t be dead! How do you know? Did you look for them?”

Ainethach stood and blocked Morva’s path to the door. “Sit down girl. You’ll alarm the other children.”

Ma’zurah grimaced and wrung her hands. “Yes, Ma’zurah is sure. Everyone else in the fortress was dead. Ma’zurah is sorry, Morva. It may be that your parents will have some guiding words for you if you would like Ma’zurah to try the ritual.”

“No!” cried Morva, angry tears welling up in her eyes. “It can’t be! You must have done something to them.”

Enmon spoke up suddenly. “Us? Done something to them? They attacked us! Girl, your parents were Forsworn! They attacked people! They stole and murdered and put shame to the honor of all Reachmen! They terrorized the countryside!”

“Enmon, be quiet, you’re scaring the girl.” Ainethach crossed his arms at the man from his position in front of the door.

“With all due respect, sir, those Forsworn attacked our town, kidnapped my daughter, and murdered Belchimac. We are under no obligation to care for their brats now that they have met justice.”

“I have already agreed to care for them until an escort to Riften arrives. You aren't helping matters here by your outburst. If you can't be quiet, then you’re dismissed.”

Enmon pressed his lips together.

---

Both children grew bored with the music after the fifth repetition.

“I want a sweets!” cried Tyran.

“I want Morva,” said Petra.

‘I want a drink,’ thought Fayrl.

“Well, shall we see what Ainethach has in his cupboards?” Fayrl prompted. “We might find any matter of things in there.”

“Like sweets?” asked Tyran.

“We just might,” said Fayrl.

“I want Morva,” said Petra.

“I know. But she is talking with Ma’zurah. She’ll be back soon though. Maybe you can find something she would like in the cupboard.”

Fayrl and Petra opened up their cabinets and carefully looked through them. Tyran crawled into the one he opened and started to count things he found aloud.

---

Morva was beginning to hyperventilate, overwhelmed by the monumental news of her situation.

“Hey, hey! You will be alright.” Ma'zurah stood and reached out to rub small soothing circles on the girl’s back. “Take slow breaths and count backwards from ten.”

Morva, flinched at the touch, but did not pull away entirely.

Enmon stood up and walked out the door.

As soon as he walked into the main room he saw the children digging through cabinets “Hey! What do you think you’re doing! Get out of there!”

Fayrl stood back from the cabinets and looked at Enmon.

“They are looking for a golden bird,” said Fayrl as if the man was simple.

“Or a sweets!” said Tyran, poking his head out of the open cabinet door.

“You heard the boy. Or a sweets,” said Fayrl.

“What in Oblivion is wrong with you?!” Enmon barked. “That’s not yours! Get out, now!”

Fayrl walked up to the man and looked him in the eye. “These children have been through enough. You don’t need to yell at them. I suggest you calm down .” Fayrl infused his voice with the persuasive power of his birth gift.

Enmon sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I'm not yelling at them. They’re here on charity. It’s your responsibility to make sure they don't cause trouble. So get them out of there. Besides, my daughter has been through more than enough trauma because of these children’s parents.”

Fayrl crossed his arms. “I would have thought a father such as yourself would understand better that the actions of a parent do not necessarily reflect on their children; that perhaps you might have sympathy for the emotions of children, their innocence.”

Fayrl motioned for the children to join him. “They are indeed here on charity, but so is your daughter. We did not have to go and rescue her, but we did so out of kindness--out of faith that there is goodness in everyone. And then you turn around and spit in the faces of those who brought back your daughter! And make no mistake, she was very close to going through all degrees of terrible things. We risked our lives to make sure she would be brought home safe to you. I was stabbed and choked and set upon by the undead! And for what? For some simple village idiot to tell me that the kindness of saving his daughter’s life is not worthy of reciprocity? I spit on your ancestor’s graves if that be what you think, sera. And I wonder how disappointed your daughter would be to discover that her father has declared that the lives of the children with whom she made friends were not worthy of saving.”

Enmon looked at Fayrl with incredulity. “That… is not at all what I said. Nobody is spitting in anybody’s faces, and I am certainly not ungrateful that you rescued my daughter. But there is a huge difference between not wanting to save children and not wanting them to rifle through Ainethach’s private possessions without permission and potentially take said possessions! So for the last time, get them out of there! For gods’ sakes, man! How have you lived this long without basic common decency!”

Fayrl took a single step forward as the children ran to his side. The floorboards smoldered beneath his foot. “Pardon me for giving the children something to do to distract them,” he ground out from between his teeth. “But if you would like to enjoy the experience of learning what exactly it is that we have been through this morning, I am more than glad to share some of those happy memories with you.”

The door opened and Ainethach stepped out. “What in Oblivion is going on out here?” he asked in a low voice. “We are trying to have a discussion back here and you two ninnies are arguing!”

Fayrl smiled. “A thousand apologies. We will try to keep the noise down.” He had a million silent ways to kill a man if need be.

“Sorry, sir,” Enmon said. “I was trying to get this Dark Elf to show some responsibility in the handling of children.”

Ainethach shot him a look. “I told you you’re dismissed, Enmon. There’s no need to come out here and start further arguments.”

Enmon looked abashed. “Right. Sorry, sir.” He turned and left.

“Now.” Ainethach turned to Fayrl. “Is everything alright out here?”

Fayrl nodded and ushered the children back to the table. “Everything is perfectly fine. Do pardon our rudeness in interrupting you. I am afraid in the face of certain insults I do get a bit abrasive.”

Ainethach raised an eyebrow. “What insults would those be? I won’t stand for my workers being rude to my guests.”

“He assumed that as a Dunmer I possessed no manners and that I was simply allowing the children to run amok within your fine home. There may have been a question of breeding put forth. Not to mention words to the effect that these children were only allowed here based on a great charity on your part. I admit some fatigue from the trip, but I believe my defensiveness was not entirely unjust. I was particularly taken aback in light of having assisted him in the return of his daughter. Now please, I believe I have kept you far too long. We shall be fine now. Thank you for dealing with him.” He gave a low bow.

Ainethach drew his brows together. “That sounds highly unlike him. Don’t worry. I’ll talk to him. If you’re fatigued, I can have Lash come out here and watch the children while you rest. Feel free to take the public house again. I assume you’ll want to spend the night again.”

Fayrl bowed again even lower. “Thank you for your continued kindness. It is our honor to be your guests and to assist you.”

He turned to the children. “How would the both of you like to meet a very fierce warrior of the Orsimer? She is stronger than twelve men! But do not worry, she really likes meeting young new warriors.”

Tyran stood up in his chair. “That would be amazing!” He bounced excitedly, and Fayrl had to put out an arm to keep him from falling backwards out of the chair.

“How about you, Petra?” he asked.

She grinned and nodded.

“It’s settled then. Let us see if Lash will be so kind as to take care of these two up and coming heroes.”

Ainethach smiled and nodded. “I’ll send her out immediately.” He walked back into the other room and closed the door behind him.

---

“NO! It’s not true! It’s not! You’re lying! Bring me back my parents!” Morva screamed, tears running down her face.

Lash looked on helplessly.

“Hey… shh… shh… Ma’zurah will do all she can! Please calm down!” Ma’zurah’s expression was half panicked, and she held her hands out in front of her in a vain attempt to soothe the hysterical girl.

Ainethach rubbed his forehead. “Lash, I need you to go watch the other children for a while.”

Lash looked up in surprise. “Me? With kids? Boss, I think that’s a bad idea.” She glanced between him and the situation at hand.

Ainethach walked over to Morva and put his hands on Morva’s shoulders. “I know this is hard for you to accept. Perhaps it would be better if you got some rest and we continued talking about this later. Come lay down for a while.” He gestured to the large bed where Dryston was lying. “I can get you a drink if you like.”

Morva tore away from his touch. “Don’t you dare touch me, liar! You all are kidnappers! Why else would you make up this sort of story!” She looked down at Dryston, then moved to stand between the bed and the adults in the room. “And don’t you dare touch him, either!”

“Muh-Morva?” came a voice from behind Morva. Dryston blinked blearily.

“Oh gods dammit, we need to keep them separated or the boy might try to attack.” Ma’zurah muttered to Ainethach.

“I’m not too worried about that.” Ainethach replied. “I think Lash and I can handle ourselves fairly well.

“You aren’t keeping me away from my brother!” cried Morva, getting onto the bed beside Dryston and throwing her arms around him. “Don’t you dare touch us!”

Lash looked nervous. “I can stay, boss. If you need.”

“No no, Fayrl was fatigued, I told him he could go. I need you to go watch them for a while. Don’t worry. I’ve got this. I have had kids before, you know.” Ainethach sat down in a chair across the room and gestured for Ma’zurah to join him. “Don’t worry, Morva. Nobody is touching you or your brother without your permission.”

Ma’zurah went and sat at the table with Ainethach, staring at her hands in her lap.

“Would you like something to drink? Either of you?” Ainethach offered. Dryston blinked at him uncomprehendingly.

Lash gave one last look between her boss and the children. “If you need me, just call and I’ll be there.”

Morva turned briefly to her brother. “Are you okay, Dryston?” she asked, worriedly peering into his face. “Did they hurt you?”

“Uuuh huh, ‘m kay. Whozzat?” Dryston nodded his head slowly.

Ainethach leaned forward in his seat. “I’m Ainethach. You’re in Karthwasten.”

“Keep away from him!” she yelled. “Dryston, it’s me, Morva. I am here with you.”

“There’s no need to yell. Like I said, nobody is touching anybody without their permission, so we can all just calm down. I’m all the way over here. Do I look like I’m moving, Ma’zurah?”

Ma’zurah shook her head mutely and hunched in her seat.

Morva seemed to grow less agitated. She put her hand on Dryston’s forehead to check his temperature, and looked him over to see if he was hurt.

“What did you do to him?” she asked in a more subdued voice.

“It looks like he was just sedated--put into a deep sleep.” Ainethach said, and looked to Ma’zurah for confirmation. Ma’zurah only nodded.

Dryston frowned at his sister. “Whas wrong?”

“These people say that mum and dad are…” she laid her head on his shoulder.

“H-Heeey... gerrof,” Dryston slurred. “M’notta baby.”

She lifted her head, tears threatening to start pouring from her eyes again. “They took us from our room and now they say mum and dad are… are… dead. Dryston, I don’t know what’s happening. What happened to you? We couldn’t wake you up.”

“Uuuh…” Drysten blinked at her. “Wha?”

“Give him a minute. He’s still waking up,” Ainethach said gently.

Ma’zurah sank further into her seat, feeling exhausted and miserable. She had inadvertently orphaned these children, and even though their parents were unmistakably evil, attempting to handle the situation calmly was taking its toll. She wanted to sleep for a week. She wanted to go home. She wanted Julan.

Morva sniffed and just stayed there holding onto her brother. “Who would have done this?” she asked to Ainethach. “Why did you do this to him?”

“I don’t actually know the full story,” Ainethach told her, with a glance toward Ma’zurah. She didn’t volunteer any more information, so Ainethach continued. “I just know that you were brought here because it would be cruel to leave you to fend for yourselves.”

“I don’t understand. What does that mean? And how can she talk to our parents if they are gone? It doesn’t make any sense!”

Morva turned to Ma’zurah. “I thought you promised to answer my questions!”

Ma’zurah seemed to snap out of her stupor. “Yes! Sorry! What is your question?”

“Why did you take us? What happened back at home? How did our parents even die?” She was shaking and clinging to Drysten’s tunic.

Ma'zurah sighed. This was the question she had been dreading. “Morva, your parents were not good people. They raided this town last night, kidnapped a girl, and murdered a man. They ambushed a group of travelers this morning and tried to kill them. But the travelers defended themselves better than they expected and killed everyone in the fortress except the children. This cannot be the first time your parents have done things like this.”

“You’re lying again! Our parents were good people!” She shook her head, her whole body trembling. “Who killed them? I’ll find them! I’ll make them pay!”

“Morva, your parents killed and ate people. You saw the half-eaten heart in the ritual circle in the entrance hall and were unsurprised. They probably taught you to eat people. Killing people to eat them is wrong. Where do you think they got the bodies to eat? They ambushed travelers and kidnapped people. Innocent people. They kidnapped Fjotra. You were not surprised about that. You told Ma'zurah she was supposed to be in the shrine because she was a gift for the gods and then acknowledged that meant she was going to be killed. Your parents murdered people. They desecrated the remains and displayed the bones on the walls. That is wrong. The dead deserve respect as do the living. It is natural for people who have just been attacked to defend themselves. Would you not defend yourself if you were attacked? Murder is against the law, but self defense is not. It is natural for people to try to stop bad things from being done. What those travelers did was hurtful, but it was not wrong. You are a smart person. You can understand cause and effect. You can understand why this happened.”

Morva trembled. “No, those people volunteered. They gave themselves up. They always do. They wanted this. Mum said that people came to them, they came to be offered to the gods. Some of them begged to be taken and killed. I heard them! Our parents were good people. They did what the gods asked of them.”

Ainethach stared at Ma'zurah. His face had grown pale at her description of what they had discovered at the fortress. “I had no idea it was so bad,” he whispered. “Gods, what a nightmare!”

Morva tensed. “We aren’t bad! It was home. It was how things were supposed to be!”

“Oh Morva…” Ma'zurah sighed. “Those people did not volunteer. People do not just volunteer to die. Something is very wrong if people want to die. Fjotra did not volunteer. She did not want to die. Those others, they were probably travelers. You may have heard them beg for death, but that was because they were being hurt, tortured.”

Morva shook her head violently.

“For what it is worth Ma'zurah believes you that your parents were following the will of their gods. But Morva, it is a hard lesson to learn that not all gods are good. Some gods are very, very bad. Some only want to use mortals, or dominate them, or kill them. Good gods look out for mortals and teach them how to become better. Most gods are neutral. Most do not care for mortals one way or another. If Ma'zurah had to guess, she would say that the gods your parents were following were bad, and they told your parents to do bad things. One of them was probably Namiira, the God of the Great Darkness. She is known to govern everything repulsive, corruption and desecration and decay, and all manner of scuttling creatures, and she commands her followers to eat other mortals. If you were to dedicate yourself to her, you would go to the realm of Oblivion known as the Dark Behind the World, also called the Scuttling Void when you die. Ma'zurah has never been there, and she never wants to go. Does Morva understand why Ma'zurah says that it is not good to worship such gods?”

Morva clung tightly to her brother. “Don't speak of the gods like that! They aren't bad. Namira isn’t bad. My parents aren't bad. We aren't bad people. Our gods are good. And I know what I heard. They were treated well. Dad says they were allowed to eat and drink as much as they wanted, to enjoy themselves before they died. Our parents treated those people good. They rewarded them for their sacrifice. I know they did. My parents weren't liars. They wouldn't. You don't know because you never met them. You didn't know what they were like! We ate the hearts as a sign of thanks. To absorb what remained of them when they left. To keep their spirits living on on this world in some small way. It isn't bad. We aren't bad! You don't know anything!”

“Perhaps, perhaps not.” Morva was not in a mood to be receptive to anything Ma’zurah might say. It was better to wait for her to calm down. “Ma'zurah knows much, tells some,” she demurred. “Morva asked, and Ma'zurah answered.”

“Indeed,” Ainethach cut in, “This is not getting us anywhere. I still have work to do today, and I'm sure Ma'zurah here would like to get some rest with her husband. We took you aside to answer your questions and I believe we have fulfilled that goal. Is there anything more?”

Morva looked as scared about being left alone as she had at the prospect of Ainethach touching her. “What are you going to do with us?” She held tightly still to her brother.

“The general practice for children without guardians is to send them to a place in Riften that takes care of them,” Ainethach explained. “I’ve sent word to the Jarl to have an escort take you all there. However, as you seem to be nearly of age, there may be other possibilities available for you, such as Ma'zurah’s suggestion of dedication to a temple. There is a temple of Mara in Riften. You would not need to leave your brother. If you show enough promise, you could also potentially earn yourself admission to the Bard’s college in Solitude or the Mage’s College in Winterhold. You are not without options.”

“We are not going to let you just take us and make us serve some false gods to earn a bite to eat. You can't just do this. You want us to go to some children's jail? Is that what this is? A way to make us go? Well, I don't want to go there! I want to go home! As soon as Dryston is feeling better we are going home! And we aren't letting you take our cousins either!”

Ainethach rubbed his forehead. “Alright first, no one is forcing you to serve any gods. The Divines don't work that way. False worship does them no good. Second, Honorhall Orphanage is not a jail. They are a charitable organization that cares for children who no longer have guardians. You will be fed, clothed, and educated, and be surrounded by other children your age until you come of age. Third, what would you do if you ran away from here? You have no parents to care for you, and while it is summer now, Skyrim is a dangerous place no matter what the season. Winter would kill you all. I cannot in good conscience allow you to run away on your own. Your deaths would be on my hands, do you understand?”

“Dryston’s coming of age ceremony was next month!” said Morva defiantly. “He is old enough with my help to care for our cousins and ourselves. I can hunt and he can trap.” Her voice became less full of conviction with every word. “Besides, no one asked you to care for us. We're adults. We can make it in our own. We don't need anyone else. We can make it.”

Ainethach gave the girl a critical look. “How old are you? Fourteen? Fifteen? Your brother here can't be more than thirteen. Legally, you aren't of age until you’re sixteen.” He gave a long sigh. “Look, I need to get back to work. How about you sleep on it? I'll leave Lash or somebody in the next room with your cousins. If you get hungry or thirsty, just let her know, alright?”

The girl glared. “Fine! Leave us alone then! Tomorrow we are leaving and going home and there's nothing you can do to stop us!” Morva kept her gaze on Ainethach.

Ainethach stood and headed to the door, ignoring the girl’s jabs. Ma'zurah stood up to follow and the girl shifted her focus.

“I don’t ever want to see you again!” she screamed. “Don’t ever talk to me again!”

Ma’zurah pressed her lips together. “Very well. Let Ma’zurah know if you change your mind. Goodbye, Morva.”

She followed after Ainethach, and, after saying a quick goodbye to Petra and Tyren, made her way to the public house. Peeking into the horse stall revealed that their horse had been cared for in her absence, so she headed for the bedroom.

She discovered Fayrl already there, asleep on his back under a blanket with all limbs splayed wide. One leg stuck off the side of the bed, and an empty bottle of mead sat on the bedside table. Ma'zurah shrugged and dug through her pack for her sleeping shift and trousers. She changed, laid out a dress for her waking, and curled into Fayrl’s side atop the blanket and allowed exhaustion to come crashing down.

Chapter Text

Fayrl awoke to the familiar sensation of a warm body curled up in his arms. He enjoyed waking up like this. Whether with someone he knew well or not, he took comfort in holding someone close.

Their frame felt tall, but slight. Was it Avon? Without opening his eyes he breathed in their scent, not a familiar one for him, and nuzzled his nose against the back of their neck. Perhaps this was a woman he met at a tavern.

He opened his eyes just barely, still not fully able to take in his surroundings. Bright light streamed in from the window opposite him, making it difficult for him to see far beyond his face.

He stroked his companion’s thick, pale hair. “Morning, lover,” he said low into their ear.

Ma’zurah stirred. “Mmmpf! Julan? G’morning.” She yawned and stretched, squinting against the light coming in the window. She purred and pressed back against the mer behind her, rubbing her face against the pillow. She felt more rested than she had felt in a long while. She giggled, feeling something poking against her thighs.

Fayrl couldn't quite tell what his partner was saying, but she sounded pleased enough. Judging by the light it was still early yet.

“I'm not ready to get out of bed yet. How about we continue where we left off last night? I have some extra toys in my bag if you are feeling adventurous.”

He licked her neck. It was… not as smooth as he had expected. But hey, that was hardly going to stop him.

Ma’zurah drew in a sharp breath at the sudden attention to her neck, waking up further as other parts of her also woke up. She ground herself back against the mer behind her.

Then her brain caught up with what had been said. Something was off. “Wait, toys? What?”

She rolled over in place, turning to face the person behind her. She blinked stupidly for a second at the mer who was obviously not Julan until she made the connection. “Fayrl?!”

“Ah, good morning, Ma’zurah.” He smiled at her.

Then he frowned.

Wait, that wasn't right.

Unless… had she changed her mind last night? Not that it would cause him any pause in conscience.

He smiled again. “So, did we…?”

“What?!” Ma’zurah glanced down at herself. She was still fully clothed, just as she had been last night. She was however sporting a half hard erection under her shift from their sleepy exchange. “No! Gods dammit! Fayrl!” She brought her legs up and pushed him off the bed and out from beneath the blanket. She was disproportionately angry that it wasn’t Julan she had woken up to.

Fayrl caught himself and rolled to a kneeling position on the floor. A fountain of long hair fell across his face. He brushed it back from where it had fallen and stood up, laughing. “It was an innocent question!”

He went to his bag to retrieve his brush and began working the sleep-mussed tangles out of his hair from end to scalp. He scratched his back absently. He actually had an appetite. Maybe there would be something downstairs. If not, maybe he would go see Lash about those last two hot meals.

Ma’zurah rolled out of bed and squeaked upon catching sight of Fayrl’s state of undress. “Why is Fayrl naked? Put some clothes on!”

Fayrl looked down at himself, then to Ma’zurah. “Oh yes, that's right. I took the armor off and then I had to wash my trousers because they were covered in all sorts of unpleasant things. They are hanging downstairs. I was waiting for them to dry a bit more so I could patch them up and thought I would pass the time with a drink. Then… well, I suppose I must have fallen asleep.” He made no move to cover himself, concentrating on separating his hair into even parts to apply his oils and pin it up smoothly.

Ma’zurah was not in the mood for this. She had been in a good mood until she remembered where--or rather when --she was, but the disappointment was making her grumpy. “Clothes, Fayrl!” she snapped, spinning on her heel and digging through her pack for her own hairbrush.

“I'm getting to it,” he said, carefully arranging each section of his hair. By the Three, she was suddenly in a foul mood, wasn't she?

“Now!” She glared at him over her shoulder, locating the offending brush and jerking it through her hair. She wanted to go home, and she was hungry, and she was horny, and neither of her partners were around, and Fayrl’s flagrant display was not helpful!

Fayrl rolled his eyes and continued with putting up his hair. He was not ready to go running off with his hair half done, he would have to rebrush, re-oil, and rearrange the entire thing if he stopped now. Ignoring her was the only way to finish getting it pulled back to the proper tightness and then pinned.

Ma’zurah growled under her breath. Fayrl was acting infuriating. Ma'zurah was used to being obeyed. Although it had never been discussed, she had always been the de facto leader of her party, both because of her status as Nerevarine, and simply because of her personality.

As she watched, Fayrl made no move to dress himself. He was purposefully ignoring her! She glowered, and stalked over to Fayrl and took a swipe at his ass with her hairbrush.

“Ow!” said Fayrl, turning with a surprised expression, which immediately turned into a very large grin. “I thought you wanted to get me into my clothes.” He waggled an eyebrow at her. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Ma’zurah does not like being ignored!” She bared her teeth at him. “Clothes! Now!” She smacked him again for good measure.

This time instead of making a pained noise, he moaned. “And if I don’t obey you?”

She blinked at him, anger dissipating, unsure why he was responding as he was. Then she remembered: the mostly dark room, the pretty Orc with a broom, the sound of wood hitting flesh, Fayrl’s expression of ecstasy as the Orc hit him. Her eyes widened, and heat rushed to her face. She squirmed in an attempt to hide her arousal. Dammit, her outburst had the opposite of its intended effect. Instead of getting him more clothed, and therefore less of a temptation, she had managed to turn him on!

“Sorry.” She turned around abruptly and went to dig through her pack again.

“What?” asked Fayrl, surprised. He wasn’t sure why she had apologized to him.

He finished getting the last of his hair put up and padded over to her. “Are you alright?”

“Nnh--maybe?” She turned toward him, caught sight of him again, and whimpered. “Fayrl still is not dressed!” She closed her eyes. Why did he have to be so attractive? She tried to push aside a mental image of licking along the crease of his hip.

Fayrl was beginning to get worried. He bent down so he could be eye level with her. “I’ll get dressed in a minute. But I’m worried about you,” he said gently, laying a hand on her shoulder.

Ma’zurah jumped at the unexpected contact and her eyes flew open, meeting his gaze. “No! Get dressed now! It is very distracting!” Gods, it was more than distracting. He had such lovely defined collarbones from this angle. She wondered what kinds of arousing noises he would make if she were to nip along them. She immediately chided herself for the thought.

Fayrl sighed. “Fine. But when I get back, I want you to explain to me what’s wrong, alright?”

He took one step away from her, but didn't want to leave until she had agreed. If she was having trouble coping with what had happened the previous day, he wanted to be there to help her. He knew if he let himself ruminate on the events too long, he might not be feeling too well either. And he knew how short his temper got when he was wrestling with such moral conundrums. They were not so dissimilar. Perhaps talking about it would be useful for her. He only needed to have her agree to do so.

Ma’zurah looked away and waved a hand in his direction, nodding distractedly, trying to banish the memory of his aroused moan from her mind. Normally banishment was easier for her than this.

“Tell me we will discuss this when I get back,” he said again, refusing to budge until he had verbal confirmation. They had agreed to be honest with one another after all.

Ma’zurah stood and turned to him with a whine. Her arousal was more obvious while standing than kneeling. “What does Fayrl want Ma’zurah to say?” she cried. “That Ma’zurah is frustrated because she wants her partners and Fayrl is here instead? That Ma’zurah finds Fayrl attractive? That Ma’zurah would want to take Fayrl as a lover if Ma’zurah’s partners agreed? What more can Fayrl possibly want from Ma’zurah?”

Fayrl froze, feeling terrible. He had not realized that the source of her turmoil was himself, and now he had upset her. Worst of all, seeing her arousal caused a reaction in himself. That was certainly not going to help matters any.

“My apologies. I’ll go get dressed at once.” He walked quickly down the stairs to leave her be. He did not want to think about all the things she had said. He did not know how to deal with his own feelings about not being in his own time. He did not think that he could deal with hers as well, especially not so soon after awakening.

Ma’zurah sat down on the bed with a sigh. She was not sure if she was relieved or disappointed that Fayrl had left. She took off her clothes and gave her fur a quick brush, then changed into the wide skirted long dress she had laid out for herself and pulled her trousers on underneath to prepare for the day of travel ahead. She hoped Fayrl would not ask her further about the things she had impulsively told him. She wished she had not said anything at all.

Fayrl took his trousers from where he had hung them the night before. They had dried, but there was still a large starburst shaped hole in the thigh from where the boy had stabbed him and twisted the knife. He felt a ghost pain from the incident and put a hand to his thigh.

No, he needed to keep his mind off of that place. Away from what he had seen and what he had done. He had been left no choice. He had done what had to be done. It was the right thing to do. He could not allow himself to be caught up in thinking of it any other way.

He thought about going back upstairs to get his last pair of undamaged clothes from his pack. How could he go back up to Ma'zurah still undressed after all of that? He had been selfish, and a bit dense.

Ma’zurah’s voice floated down the stairs. “Ma’zurah is ready to go find some breakfast if Fayrl is.”

Not wanting to keep her, he decided to just put on the damaged trousers. Whenever they stopped on the road later and he had a good bath, he could put on his good pair.

“I’m ready,” he called back and stepped into the trousers, lacing them up quickly. “I just need to get my makeup and tunic from upstairs.”

“Oh. Okay. Come on then.” There was a pause. “Why does Fayrl wear makeup all the time? The House Dunmer Ma’zurah encountered before did not seem to wear it nearly as much as Fayrl does, and the Velothi only really wore it for ceremonies. Well, except Shani. But Shani just liked the lip stain she could make with fire petals. She did not have a special reason for it.”

Fayrl came up the stairs, hoping that the trousers would be sufficient to keep her from distraction. He pulled his last tunic from his pack--a deep blue velvet tunic with silver trim and a high collar.

He took out his small looking glass and makeup kit and set it on the nightstand, taking a seat on the bed. “They don’t wear makeup? Have they abandoned our traditions? Or have they all gone poor as beggars?” He opened the small box of various colors and small brushes.

“Let me explain in brief, I shouldn’t wish to keep you from breaking your fast. You see, makeup serves many purposes for House mer in my time, particularly for our House with its ties to the divine, both of true power and those stolen of course. The different colors have different meanings, which I shan't bore you with. But also, there is a practical side. See this color here?” He motioned to the iridescent blue.

Ma’zurah moved closer, blinking at the kit full of bottles and brushes and palettes. “That is the color Fayrl normally wears,” she observed.

“It is indeed,” he said with a smile. “This color has special properties. When it comes in contact with poisons, it changes to purple, green, or black. It depends on the type of poison however. But we group the antidotes by these colors to treat it.” He lifted a brush and dipped it in the color, then brought it across his bottom lip.

She grinned. “That is useful! Is Fayrl not worried he will run out though? Where does it come from?”

He paused, brush in midair. “Do they not sell it anymore? It is only perfumed oil, guar fat, and crushed exoskeleton. Well, and then the trace alchemical agents of course. I don’t see why they should have ceased production.”

He began to worry about if he should do his eyes and upper lip as well. What would happen if he was trapped here for longer than he expected? Would he have to go without makeup?

“Ma’zurah is not Ohmes. She has never really tried makeup before. She suspects much of it would not work well with her fur. They probably sell it in Morrowind though, and Ma’zurah was not paying attention. Maybe Fayrl could help Ma’zurah try it?”

Fayrl brightened. “You know, my daelekil, he used makeup very often. Both he and little Khes would often wear gold or bright red! Mah, but they were a vision. Red is such an expensive color in Morrowind, I’ve no idea where he found so much. Though he often would use whites and blacks with bits of shimmer to it. I am sure that I can recall some of the way he once adorned me with his makeup. Though that is a very long tale to tell, perhaps for later. This time, I will paint you in the Dunmer way. It will take less time.”

He turned toward her and looked through his palette of colors with a critical eye. “Turn your face upward and close your eyes.”

Ma’zurah grinned and complied.

Fayrl picked up a different brush and placed a layer of thick red pigment to Ma’zurah’s eyelids, making the brush curl into a delicate upward curve at the end. Then he painted another line of the red across her bottom lip. When he was done he painted a vertical blue stripe at the center of her lips from top to bottom.

“There we are,” he said, holding up the small looking glass for her to see.

“Oh! Ma’zurah looks so different!” She took the mirror and looked at herself from different angles. “Does the red have special properties as well?”

“It does indeed. It is said that to place it around your eyes lets you see past what is hidden, both magical and not. It is to give you the eye of protection and the eye of the warrior. When placing it upon your lips, your words will have great influence. What you speak has power to shape reality. This is the makeup of a true noble for a formal occasion.”

He watched her scrutinize her face in the mirror. “Do you like it?”

She stared at her reflection. “Yes. If it is so powerful, why does Fayrl not wear it all the time?”

Fayrl laughed. “Oh, I wish that I could afford to. It is very special and very rare.” He pointed to the small pot of red pigment, a third the size of a portable inkpot. “This amount alone cost me about five thousand gold, and that was at considerable bargain. Of course, there are cheaper versions for less, but why bother doing something if you aren’t going to do it right? If I am going to spend the money, I want the makeup to avoid coming off the moment a gust of wind passes by.” He smiled. It was probably one of the most valuable things he had on him.

Ma’zurah blinked at him and lightly touched her lip. “Fayrl did not have to use it on Ma’zurah… It is not even a special occasion!”

“Sure it is! It is your first time. What sort of guide would I be if I simply used something cheap and common? You would not be able to enjoy it. Besides, consider it a thank you for healing me so much yesterday.”

He turned back to his kit and readied a black pigment for around his eyes. He could easily make more black himself.

“Thank you!” Ma’zurah leaned in and hugged Fayrl, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. She was touched that he took her passing interests so seriously. “Fayrl is generous!”

Fayrl smiled. “I’ve been accused of that once or twice. But only with those worth being generous to. Come,” he closed his makeup kit, slipping it back into his satchel. “Let’s go get you some breakfast.”

---

The pair breakfasted with a sleepy Lash, bid goodbye to Petra and Tyran while a sullen Morva and a bemused Dryston looked on, and continued on their way.

The day seemed to pass quickly. Fayrl and Ma'zurah slipped into an easy discussion of makeup, the customs of House Dunmer, and song lyrics, the awkwardness of the morning forgotten in friendly camaraderie. Their mood remained good, only broken by a sudden anxiety on Ma'zurah’s part when the ruined fortress came into view. “Oh no! Ma'zurah forgot about the priest of Boethiah while she was trying to get the children outside!”

Fayrl was quick to assuage her fears, explaining that he had allowed the spell that bound the stubborn Nord to dissipate as soon as they had passed out of reach. Neither of them wanted to go back inside long enough to check for anything they might have missed, so they continued on their way.

The mountainous landscape opened up shortly after passing the ruined fortress to become hilly, sun-yellowed fields of waving grass occasionally broken by rocky bluffs. They stopped for lunch atop a hill. Mazurah made herself another toasted sandwich of pheasant meat, mushrooms, and melted cheese while their horse grazed contentedly nearby. When she had finished eating, Ma'zurah lay in the grass beside Fayrl, staring up into the deep blue sky, wondering at the depth of color. The day was warm; only a few wisps of cloud marred the expanse of blue that stretched from one horizon to another.

“You know,” Ma'zurah remarked, rolling over to get a better look at the horizon, “Ma'zurah once heard that the sky is blue because we are seeing the Aetherius filtering through the Waters of Oblivion. What if Skyrim was named so because the sky here is so huge that you are in danger of falling into it? What if Skyrim is so far north that you can fall off the edge of the world and get lost in Aetherius?” Playfulness glinted in Ma'zurah’s eyes, and she shoved at Fayrl’s shoulder. “Watch out! Fayrl is going to fall!”

Fayrl let momentum carry him back; he tumbled back twice before landing on his back.

“The Aetherius, it has me,” he cried dramatically, sprawled out upon the ground.

In a burst of mischief, Ma’zurah cast telekinesis on her companion and held him hovering about three feet in the air.

That was not something Fayrl had been expecting. He flailed, initially not realizing what had happened, before catching a glimpse into Ma’zurah’s face. He laughed.

“Oh no! It's taking me away!” He cried overdramatically with a grin still on his face. He hid his unease at being both weightless and not in control of his body. It was a new and frightening sensation, but he did not wish for Ma’zurah to see him ill at ease. “If only there were someone who might be able to help a mer in such distress, before he is stolen away into the sky!”

“Ma’zurah will save Fayrl!” Ma’zurah lept to her feet and dove at Fayrl, tackling him to the grass and tumbling down the side of the hill. They came to a rolling stop, with Fayrl atop a giggling Ma’zurah.

He laughed and looked down at her face, the bold red makeup setting off her features. Even with her hair dotted with bits of vegetation, she looked beautiful.

He found himself very much turned on. He stood and held out a hand to help her to her feet. He would have to take care of himself soon. He needed to pray that day anyhow. He just needed to find a good opportunity.

He did not, in fact, get the opportunity soon, as they spent the majority of the afternoon riding southeastward along the road, talking and laughing about their respective knowledge of Dunmer geographical points of interest and culture, and sharing silly anecdotes.

The evening found them close to reaching their destination. They passed a signpost with a pair of sunbleached flags marking their passage from the Reach into Whiterun hold, then another proclaiming a side path to lead to the house of someone by the name of Lund. On top of a tall bluff to the east, Ma’zurah caught sight of a stylized shrine depicting a great Dragon wrapped around an hour glass, swallowing a sword. Though she was curious to explore it, the sun had met the horizon, and their light was fast fading. They rounded a curve and Rorikstead finally came into sight.

Rorikstead proved to be a sizable village, host to two large buildings that could both have passed for the town hall, two huge farmhouses, and many shacks and cabins belonging to farmhands, and a multitude of barns and storage buildings. The buildings were, for the most part, stone structures built with some kind of clay mortar and thatched roofs. A pair of girls around the age of eleven chased each other across the road as the pair approached, and a group of workers had set up a bonfire in the waning light and were singing rowdy songs round it. They approached a building with a large porch and a sign proclaiming the establishment to be the Frostfruit Inn. An eager young man with the beginnings of a full beard and a head of bright red hair rushed forward and inquired as to whether they were planning to stay, and if he might take their horse.

Fayrl hopped off the horse to make a proper greeting to the man. “Good evening, sera. A lovely evening to you. Yes, my wife and I have been looking for a place to stay for the night. I'm afraid we lost our light sooner than expected. You're quite a lifesaver.”

Fayrl held out an arm to help Ma’zurah down from their horse. “Shall we let the man take our horse, my dear? Will this inn be suitable, do you think?”

“Well, it’s the only inn in town. But it’s a good inn!” the young man rushed to assure them. “My father does a fine job taking care of travelers, and all our beds are clean!”

Ma'zurah laughed and took hold of Fayrl’s hand, hopping lightly down from the horse and moving to untie their packs. The young man took the reins and led their horse around the side of the inn, casting a longing glance over his shoulder at them.

Ma'zurah pranced up the steps to the inn, twirling her skirts. She opened the door for Fayrl with a silly, obsequious bow. The warm light of a large fire pit and a chorus of raucous laughter drifted through the open door.

Fayrl felt like he had come home. This was the atmosphere of joviality that led him to embrace the life of a bard. The merriment and drinks were enough to let him believe that things weren't so bad after all. He could be anyone to these people.

“Thank you,” he said to Ma’zurah, and walked in to take in the sight of the interior.

Ma'zurah followed him inside and made her way between the long tables of patrons that lined the walls and a blazing fire pit that was built lengthwise along the center of the room. She approached the bar and requested a room for the night. She had to raise her voice to be heard over a sudden burst of laughter from a table of drunken, off-work farm hands. After an exchange of gold, Ma'zurah was handed a key and directed to a door on the right side of the main room. She gestured for Fayrl to follow her and made her way into the small rented room and set her pack down on the neat double bed.

Fayrl felt such a burst of energy just being in a place like this. He wanted to sing about it.

Well, he wanted to sing. And he had his lute. He wondered if there was a chance to get the owner to allow him to play, for a reasonable fee, of course.

He tossed his pack onto the side of the bed, then pulled out his lute and strummed a chord. “Any requests?”

“Fayrl is going to play now? Play that one you sang for Ma’zurah earlier, the one about the Ebonheart Pact. That one was nice.” Ma’zurah sat down on the bed next to Fayrl and shuffled through her pack for a brush.

Fayrl smiled and easily launched into the song, quiet in the beginning, but with steadily increasing power until he was belting the tune outright and the music echoed around the small bare room.

“We tilled Skyrim's ground despite frozen toil.
We tended the Kwama beneath Morrowind's soil.
We hunted the Wamasu in Black Marsh's glades.
We three hearts had no need for blades.

“Then they came from the seas, folded steel in their hands.
They burned down our homes and ravaged our lands.
Akaviri brought nothing but bloodshed and lies.
Our families were slain before our eyes.

“With three separate people, they shared a cruel joke--
A choice between death or the yoke.
But then our three people knew what must be done;
To end the oppression, our three became one.

“Forged by war the Ebonheart rose
And drove the Akaviri back to the sea!
When the enemies begged for the mercy they lacked,
Three voices as one shouted ‘Blood for the Pact!’”

It made Fayrl feel at once proud to sing and a little sad that the Pact had not come to be all that he had hoped for. Yet he could still hold onto the hope of returning and perhaps changing the flow of history in his favor. Perhaps there was a way to unite the peoples of Tamriel just a little; to end some of the bickering and fighting between so many of the races.

“Forged by war our story be told.
No shackles can hold us whether Moonstone or Gold.”

When Fayrl finished the song, Ma’zurah leaned forward and hugged him around the lute. “That was beautiful, thank you. You want to go get some food? Perhaps we can find out if Sam is here. Or was here.”

Fayrl smiled at her. “That would be lovely,” he said, thinking about the possibility of getting a tall mug of something strong, and if he was lucky, an invitation to work as well.

“Alright.” Ma’zurah smiled and tucked some coin into the pocket of her skirts. Fayrl gave her a bow as she held the door open for him, and the two walked out into the inn.

Before they could reach the bar however, they were accosted by a man with dark, sunburnt skin and dirty brown clothing. He stalked up to them and poked Fayrl in the chest. "You two! You've got a lot of nerve showing yourself in this town again. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Fayrl frowned and took the man’s hand by the wrist, removing it from his person. “I’m sorry, but I do not know who you are. Care to introduce yourself first, my friend? If I owe you money, I am sure there are ways to make amends.” He adjusted his velvet tunic, as though the man had set it out of order, though nothing had moved.

Heads turned and the crowd of boisterous farmhands quieted slightly. The man in front of the pair drew himself up, narrowing his eyes at them. "Is that so?” he hissed. “Does the name Gleda ring a bell? The star beauty of my farm? Kidnapped by drunken louts and sold to a Giant? You'd better remember her right fast, before I call the guards and have you hauled away. There's not enough money in the world to replace Gleda.”

Ma’zurah glanced at Fayrl in alarm. She wouldn’t have helped to kidnap and sell someone, would she? She would have remembered it at least!

Fayrl returned Ma’zurah a confused look, then stared at the man as if he had grown a second head. “Are you sure you are feeling alright, my friend? Drunk I have been many times, but kidnapping of a person is not in my character. Why, I should call the guard on you for assuming that, for my being Dunmer, I must have been the one to take your farmhand! Besides, I cannot recall the last time I have even journeyed through this area, let alone stopped and done such a vile act! I am sorry for your loss and will gladly buy you a round for your grief, but I take issue with your ignorant accusation.”

There was a chorus of snickers from the observing farmhands. Even the innkeeper smiled. The man in front of them barked a bitter laugh. “Race has nothing to do with it. You think I don’t recognize who waltzed onto my farm spouting awful drunken tunes and stole my prize goat and sold her to a Giant? You really don't remember? Are you thick? Go get her!” He made a shooing gesture, then took a deliberate step forward and sniffed at them, raising his nose and smirking. “At least she's bound to follow you back--you both smell just like the fermented feed she likes.”

There was another chorus of chuckles from the observers.

Ma’zurah blinked and narrowed her eyes at the man. “Excuse you?!”

Fayrl put an arm up in front of Ma’zurah, stepping in front of her to keep distance between the two. “My good… sera. I can assure you that I do not know of what you are speaking. However, if you wish to enlist our help in retrieving your goat from a giant, a rather silly sounding conundrum to find oneself in, then I suggest you attempt to make a request. We are not your farmhands. If you wish for help you have only to ask.”

Ma’zurah ducked under Fayrl’s arm. “No! Ma’zurah suggests you just repeat that last part again!” She bared her teeth at the man. There were more snickers from the farmhands.

The man looked unimpressed and ignored Ma’zurah, crossing his arms. “Oh sure, you’re not my farmhand,” he told Fayrl, “but that doesn’t really matter. My Gleda won first prize in all the province! I coulda asked for a thousand gold for her and still gotten buyers! I should have the guard haul you away in chains for theft, and I might still just do that unless you go get my Gleda!”

Ma’zurah lashed her tail at the man and gave a low growl. He wagged a finger at her. “You don’t intimidate me! I'm not giving up on my Gleda!”

Fayrl put his arms under Ma’zurah’s and pulled her back. “What are you doing?”

“He insulted us!” Ma’zurah hissed to Fayrl. “Ma’zurah does not smell like fermented feed! He smells like fermented feed!”

Fayrl turned to the man. “If your goat was worth so much, I don’t see why you didn’t have more protection for her. And how do we even know this goat of yours is alive? You expect a giant not to have eaten her by now? If this is a money scam, my friend, you can count me out of buying you a round for my sympathies.”

The man looked furious. “This is not some kind of money scam! You think I don’t have documents for my own damn livestock?! She’s valued at over a thousand gold, and if she’s dead I’m taking it out of your sorry hides!”

“Alright, settle down!” came a voice from the bar, quickly approaching. “That’s enough bickering. Now, Ennis, are you sure these are the folks that took your goat? Didn’t you also say it was dark as pitch out there and that they had glowing eyes? Why don’t you come have a nice mug of mead and let the nice customers have themselves a chance to settle in?”

Ennis rounded on the innkeeper. “Yes it was dark as pitch, but I had a damn torch! And their eyes did glow! You think I’m exaggerating? You ever seen a Khajiit’s eyes in torchlight? I know it was them! Besides, the Dark Elf was singing the same damn song! Something about three becoming one!”

Fayrl gave Ma’zurah a sidelong look. His expression did not betray his feelings, that would tip the farmer off, but it was enough to confirm maybe they did have something to do with the farmer’s problem after all.

“My dear friend,” started Fayrl, placing a hand upon the man’s shoulder. “I can see this is difficult. That song is very popular back in my city in Morrowind, so it is not surprising that any Dunmer from the area might be heard to sing it. That said, I do feel sorry if perhaps you fell prey to the wiles of one of my kin. It might even be that scheming cousin of mine, Lydran. He spent far too much time around Altmer and got the notion he had the right to everything. You know how those Altmer are, all smug and self-satisfied. If it is true that Lydran might be involved, I shall do my part to make it right. My wife and I can at least go and scout out the giant’s camp and see what we can find. Though, I would ask that we have a moment after our long day’s journey to have a bite to eat. Would that be alright with you, sera?”

“See? There you have it, Ennis.” The innkeeper waved an open palm between Fayrl and the irate farmer. “These nice patrons are even willing to help you out when it was not their doing. Now can you please stop scaring off my customers and take a bit of rest from your ranting? You already yelled at a pair of Wood Elves about your goat this morning.”

Ennis forcefully brushed Fayrl’s hand off his shoulder. “No! Fuck you!” He turned to the innkeeper. “And fuck you too if you think I’m just gonna stand around and let him insult Reldith like that! That woman’s like a mother to me! Besides, they’re obviously lying. Have you even seen any other Dark Elves around here recently? And I’ve certainly never seen another Khajiit who looks like her before!” He turned and waved a finger in Fayrl’s face. “Get my goat back. I mean it.” The man stomped off and slammed the front door of the inn. Chatter immediately started back up among the onlookers.

“Sorry about that, folks,” said the innkeeper. “He’s been having a hard time of it. You don’t have to feel like you have to go and check on his goat. Though if you did, you’d certainly save us all the earache of hearing about it further.”

Fayrl made a dismissive gesture. “It’s all fine, sera....?”

“Mralki,” the innkeeper answered. “And if you need a meal, I’ve got one that you’re sure to enjoy.”

Fayrl gave a bow. “We would be grateful. Whatever is the house specialty. And a bottle of your best mead.”

Mralki smiled. “Coming right up. Just take a seat and I’ll have it to you in just a moment.”

“Thank you!” Ma'zurah called after the innkeeper, feeling sheepish about her outburst. She led Fayrl to the nearest empty table and sat next to him.

The door opened again, and the red haired innkeeper’s son walked in, wiping his hands on a cloth. He came up to them, smiling hugely. “Did my father already come check on you?”

“Yes, thanks!” Ma'zurah chirped.

The young man turned to go, then hesitated, casting a glance back at them. He looked about to say something else when a call from across the room garnered his attention. “Coming!” he called, hurrying away.

Fayrl watched the young man go. He knew something. Or needed something. Fayrl would have to track him down. Clearly he was nervous about bringing it up here. He would have to keep an eye for when he left the vicinity of the main hall and follow him to speak in private.

“So,” he said in Dunmeris, “we stole a goat?”

“Yes,” responded Ma’zurah dryly. “And sold it to a Giant. Ma'zurah wishes she could remember, because it must be quite the tale.”

A loud voice across the room drew her attention. The balding man who had called for the innkeeper’s son was glowering at him.

“Look,” responded the red haired young man, putting up his hands defensively, “I'm not saying it's my business, I just wanted to know why you are so cruel to your little girls!”

“You're right, it's none of your business!” the balding man growled. “How about you keep your nose out of it?”

The young man hesitated, a look of concern on his face. “You keep on like you are, you'll end up with two daughters who hate you,” he said gently.

“Hah! And what would a witless oaf like you know about raising children? Just do your job, okay? Stop butting in and get me my drink!”

The young man flushed and hurried down a set of stairs behind the bar, presumably to the kitchen or the cellar.

Fayrl’s eyes narrowed. He had to know more. Perhaps he had just found his next offering for the Ebony Blade, but he would have to be sure. He needed to get close to the man, find out more about the story.

He noted that the young man had gone out of sight again. Perhaps now was a good time to catch him. “I’ll be right back,” he said, putting a hand on Ma’zurah’s shoulder.

Then he was gone in a flash, arriving invisibly and quietly down the simple flight of stairs to the basement.

Chapter Text

Fayrl flattened himself against the wall of the stairwell as the innkeeper came up the stairs with two bowls of hearty stew, one in each hand. The innkeeper ascended out of sight and Fayrl quietly opened the door of the basement.

It led to a neat kitchen with a cooking fire and oven, underneath a high open window that provided ventilation. The opposite side of the room had two doors in it, one closed and one open. The red haired young man emerged from the open door of what was apparently a wine cellar, holding a bottle of mead.

Fayrl adopted a charming smile and dropped his invisibility from his position in the doorway.

The young man jumped. “Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there,” he said politely. “Do you need something? If you go back to your seat, I’ll be back up there in just a moment.”

Fayrl shook his head. “Earlier you had something to say to us, before that man called you. I was sent to assist you in your endeavors. Who sent me is not important, but you have someone watching out for you. Someone who has heard your secret thoughts and deepest desires. Tell me, what is it you need?”

“What, really? I mean, uh… thank you, but I didn't really want anything important. It’s silly.”

“Nonsense.” Fayrl waved away the boy’s protestation and gestured for him to continue.

The young man looked embarrassed. “I just like talking to travelers. You look like you've seen your share of adventure. I envy you that. I want to be an adventurer, but my father says I can't. He says that he needs me to stay here and work the inn, and even if he did let me be an adventurer, we couldn't afford to buy armor.” He shrugged. “So I just talk to the travelers who pass through. That’s all.”

“My dear boy, you are being far too modest. The heart of an adventurer must not restrain their bold nature. Should you desire something, you must reach out and take it.” Fayrl leaned back against the doorway, eyeing the boy up and down. He produced a small dagger from his sleeve and offered it to the young man. “What is your name, young man? I was sent to help you and I shall. Take this token, it may come in handy. I have killed countless bandits with that very blade. It is blessed by the one who seeks to offer you aid. So come, tell me what it is I can do to help you.”

The young man took the knife with round eyes. “I… you… really?” he stuttered, then seemed to catch himself. “Sorry! I’m Erik. If you’re really here to help me, perhaps you can convince my father to let me become an adventurer? His name's Mralki, and he's the innkeeper here. He used to be a soldier, and now he is very cautious. He fought in the great war and when it was over, he retired here to raise a family. My mother passed away when I was just a babe, so he did his best to raise me on his own. It's not the most exciting place in the world, but the people here work hard and don't cause trouble for anyone. I feel ungrateful for wanting to leave, but I can't stand the thought of being trapped in this village for the rest of my days.”

Fayrl smiled. “I was very much like you when I was younger. My parents thought they knew what was best for me, but though I loved them very much, my heart longed to see the world. I have been to the far reaches of half of Tamriel now. It is not always easy, but I follow my heart’s desires. That feeling of freedom is the most precious treasure of all. And if you do well, you will make your father proud.”

Fayrl examined the young man. He had the muscles of someone used to manual labor--muscled enough to have a head start, though training would do him well. If he worked hard, he could be successful. He nodded to himself. “I shall help you to get there.”

“Thank you so much!” Erik said earnestly. “I hope you can change my father's mind. He can be a little stubborn.”

“I can be quite persuasive. It also seems that you are troubled by that man. The one with the daughters? Is he giving you a hard time?”

Erik hesitated. “Lemkil…? Well, he doesn’t treat his daughters right, and it disturbs me. I mean, I understand why he might be bitter--his wife died giving birth, and he loved her very much, but I would think that would be a reason to treat them better, not worse. I think Britte might be picking up on his behavior too. She chases her sister everywhere, and not in a playful way either. I’ve caught Sissel hiding from both of them with bruises on her arms and face many a time. I just worry, that’s all.”

“That is quite a shame. Perhaps if someone were to help ease his suffering he might treat the girls better. I shall try and befriend him and see if I can’t get him to see their worth.” Fayrl stood up straight and turned back to the door, pausing to look over his shoulder. “While my wife and I are in town, please do not hesitate to speak to us at any time. You can always tell your father we are bothering you for food or drink. Just bring a bottle of mead or a bit of bread anytime you need to speak. I shall pay you the coin to keep your father from becoming suspicious. Just know, you can count on me to assist you. I serve one who wants to see you fulfill your great potential.”

Erik blinked in confusion, and nodded mutely.

“There is divine power at work here, Erik, and it is watching over you.” With no further explanation, Fayrl walked quietly up the darkened stairs, cloaking himself in invisibility and leaving the befuddled Erik behind him.

He stealthily made his way back up to the main hall of the inn to Ma’zurah’s side. As soon as no one seemed to be looking, he reappeared back in his seat next to her. “Thank you for waiting, my dear.”

Ma’zurah choked on a mouthful of stew. “Gods! You are as bad as Julan when Ma’zurah taught him invisibility! Here.” She shoved a bowl in his direction. “The innkeeper brought food. The mead is not sweet enough though.”

Fayrl grinned. “Is there a fun or interesting story there which you would care to share with your dearest friend, Fayrl?” He gave her a sly wink.

Ma’zurah waved a dismissive hand at him. “Not really a story, no. He just kept sneaking up on Ma’zurah with that spell and tweaking her tail.”

Fayrl frowned at the implication of her wording. “You know I cannot use magic, Ma’zurah. Not unless you want to see a small flame dance upon my fingers. My skills in stealth are not magical.”

“Well, Ma’zurah does not know how it is possible to disappear without magic or a potion, but Ma’zurah would love to teach Fayrl a few tricks.” She looked around the room, and noticed Erik place a bottle of mead by the balding man, Lemkil. The man took a drink and set his drink down on the table, turning to speak to the man next to him. Ma’zurah’s eyes took on a mischievous light.

“Hey Fayrl,” she whispered in Dunmeris, “Ma’zurah dares you to knock over that man’s drink without touching it. Call your magica to your hand like you do with fire, but let it become an extension of your arm instead of a burning flame, then reach out and flick the drink!”

“You want to teach me magic?” He laughed at the thought. “I must say, I think it quite impossible. Though if you like to amuse yourself with frustrating failure, I don’t see why we cannot give it a go.”

He gauged the distance between himself and the other table with a critical eye. “I would rather not send a trail of fire across a room like this. There is no doubt enough flammable liquid seeped into the floorboards to set this place ablaze in moments.”

“Ma’zurah can suppress Fayrl’s fire if it starts to appear, but perhaps Fayrl would like to try with something closer first?” She grinned and stuck a fork into the rough wood of the table. “Try that. Do not touch it, just visualize touching it while you pull the magicka from the pit of your stomach. This is a very easy trick, and very useful too. Especially for pranks. Fayrl should not have trouble with it. Ma’zurah thinks even small Nord children with no practice could learn it if Nords were not so paranoid about magick.”

Fayrl’s stomach twisted in on itself. How many times had he been made fun of growing up for being as bad at magic, or worse, than a simple Nord child? How many times had he been told that he had so little magical ability that he was a disgrace upon his family’s name? He had heard others his age whisper behind his back, too afraid of saying the wrong thing to his face because of the influence of his family name, but the looks and easily overheard whispers were enough. It was just as bad.

He pulled the fork out of the table and set it down flat. “I’m not in the mood for children’s games,” he stated flatly. He set about concentrating on eating his food.

“It is not just a children’s game!” Ma’zurah protested. “It is the fundamental spell for almost every ranged destruction spell. Ma’zurah uses it every time she throws an ice spike. She used it to lift Fayrl earlier today. It is the most basic technique of extending the spirit outside of the confines of the body. It is an important spell to learn, and could save Fayrl’s life. That it is useful for games is merely an incentive. Why does Fayrl not wish to learn?”

Fayrl waited a long moment before answering, busy as he was with his food. After a moment he took a slow drink of mead. “It is a waste of time,” he said finally.

“It is not!” Ma’zurah’s brow furrowed and she glared at Fayrl in indignation. “It is one of the basic, required spells for the school of Mysticism! A school, Ma’zurah would like to remind Fayrl, that Ma’zurah has made her focus of study! How could Fayrl say that it is a waste of time?!”

“It is not a waste of time for you, nor for other mages,” Fayrl clarified. “I don’t see why you are so obsessed with trying to get me to learn these spells. My talents lie elsewhere and that is fine. Isn’t it better for us to have a wider concentration of abilities? Your time could be better spent on other magical endeavors.”

Ma’zurah pressed her lips together. “Fayrl is not a waste of time! And all knowledge is worth having! Fayrl did not even try!”

“I didn’t say I was a waste of time, I said teaching me magic is a waste of time. There is so much else to do.”

Ma’zurah gave an exasperated sigh and threw her hands up. “Fine then! Tell Ma’zurah about Fayrl’s talents!”

Fayrl’s expression lightened to something more mischievous. “Oh, I am happy to tell you all about my many talents.”

Ma’zurah snorted a laugh.

Fayrl held up a finger. “But first, we have something of a plan to get to. You know the boy, Erik, the innkeeper’s son?”

“The cute redheaded one?” Ma’zurah smirked. “Is he not a bit young for Fayrl?”

Fayrl laughed. “I did not mean I was going to be using my talents on him. I spoke with him. It seems he has a couple of problems which are deeply troubling for him. It has provided me an opportunity to strengthen the Blade as well as to help out some of the local people. For this information, I must, in good faith, help him to solve his most personal task as well. I thought perhaps we could divide our efforts to complete the tasks more quickly.”

Ma’zurah raised one whiskered eyebrow. “Sure. What is this personal task, and what is it that Fayrl plans to do?”

“The poor boy wishes to become an adventurer. Of course, his father is overprotective of his only son and refuses to let the boy even dream of leaving life here. It’s all very sad. I told him I would help to convince his father it would be alright for him to go adventuring. Erik seemed so very passionate about it, but too afraid to disobey his father, though it seems to be draining his very life essence day by day.”

Ma’zurah nodded and glanced at Erik, helping another customer across the room. She wasn’t surprised he wanted out. How anyone managed to live a settled, mundane life she wasn’t sure.

Fayrl took a sip of mead. “My task is to deal with the drunk who beats his young daughters for the merest of reasons, that their mother died birthing them--a harsh sentence upon the innocent. What happens to him will be an unfortunate accident; a stroke of fate. Though I must, of course, spend the time to speak with him to judge if he be truly such a man as the young Erik says.”

“Alright…” Ma’zurah said slowly. She knew he had been tasked with making sacrifices for Mafala’s Blade, and if the man did abuse his daughters, he was a fitting target. She was only a bit surprised that Fayrl had found someone suitable so soon. “Ma’zurah has never been an assassin, but she bows to the wisdom of Mafala. How will Fayrl keep suspicion away from himself? It seems to Ma’zurah that if there is a visitor in town, and then someone in that town mysteriously dies, the town might not want the visitor to leave.”

“My dear, have a little bit of faith in me. The whole thing will appear an accident of his own fault. Also, I shall have an alibi. One which many people will see, and therefore, I will not be at all to blame. Even should they suspect me, I will alleviate their fears. They will have no evidence of my involvement. It will appear more likely that a rival or neighbor be capable of such an act than myself. Be not so anxious. You have only to help the boy with a way to find his own path.”

Ma’zurah nodded. “Ma’zurah will do her best. What shall we do about the goat and the Giant?”

Fayrl sighed. “Yes, that. Well, I think it is best to approach Giants in the dark. Let me begin to work upon my target and then we can head out and see about this goat business.”

“Oh!” Ma’zurah sat up straight. “Yes! Ma’zurah forgot! Since Fayrl gave Ma’zurah his amulet, Ma’zurah wanted to let Fayrl borrow something of Ma’zurah’s.” She fished her necklace out from under her collar and carefully removed one of the rings from the strand. “Ma’zurah thought that since Dunmer do not see in the dark as well as Khajiit, this would be the most useful. Here. Hold out your hand.”

Fayrl gave her a dubious look but held out his hand anyway. “What does it do?”

Ma’zurah slipped the ring onto Fayrl’s finger. “It allows Fayrl to see in the dark, and will slowly restore him when he is fatigued,” she told him with a mischievous smile. She moved her hand away to reveal a ring with a stylized silver oval with a deep blue stone at its center the color of the night sky flecked with tiny specks of silver like stars--the Ring of Azura.

Fayrl’s heart was suddenly very loud in his own ears. “But this ring--you could not possibly have me wear this. This is a very important symbol of your place as Her Champion.”

“Ma’zurah is its guardian, and she says Fayrl should borrow it. It is useful to him, and that is useful to Ma’zurah. What could be a better use? Besides, Ma’zurah has many symbols from her Mother.” She held out Moon and Star for him to see.

Fayrl stared at it in disbelief. No matter how much he knew who she was, or how many times he saw the symbols or heard the stories to confirm it, it was still such a shock to see it in the flesh. To know that Nerevar reborn was sitting beside him in some shabby inn in the armpit of Skyrim--it was too surreal. It felt wrong. The Nerevarine deserved better; a better story, a better companion.

“As you say,” replied Fayrl, looking back to his drink and taking another sip.

Ma’zurah grinned and leaned forward, hugging Fayrl and brushing her whiskers against his cheek. Her purr vibrated in his ear.

Fayrl had to restrain himself from kissing her. How long was it since he had last prayed? Far too long. That could be a problem for him. He tried to think how he might be able to fit it in with their other plans so far. Probably best to wait until after the business with the Giant, but perhaps before luring the drunk to his death. Though a good murder did sometimes have an arousing effect on him. Perhaps if there was no time before, he could use it as a sort of reward for a good day’s work.

The voice of the innkeeper suddenly caught both of their attention. Ma’zurah glanced up to see the innkeeper talking to his son, and cocked an ear in their direction.

“I heard you sneaking around downstairs last night. Were you trying to break into my chest again, son? I've told you to leave it alone.”

“I just wanted to try on your old armor, from back when you were a soldier,” the boy protested. “I thought I might be old enough to wear it.”

Ma’zurah blinked. Perhaps he was even younger than he looked, despite the beard.

“I've told you a hundred times, I lock that chest for a reason,” the innkeeper chided. “I don't want you getting a head full of ideas about adventure and glory.”

“I'm old enough to decide how to live my life, and I'd be honored to wear your armor, if you'd just let me. I'm strong enough to handle it.”

Ma’zurah silently agreed. He looked it.

“Strong, yes, but how clever are you? I'll tell you what, if you can open the lock on my chest, you can have everything in it.”

“I'll take your challenge, but if I win I get to start a new life as an adventurer, and with no objections from you.”

Ma’zurah exchanged a glance with Fayrl and grinned. This presented an opportunity.

Fayrl wondered if he should just pop down there now and open the chest. Yet, it was already dark outside and they had much to get to. He could always do it in the morning if need be. “Is there anything you need before we head off to look for a goat and try not to be trampled by Giants?” he asked Ma’zurah.

“You mean other than to find out where the damn Giant is? No. Ma’zurah is ready.” She tossed her hair with a playful quirk of her lips.

Fayrl nodded and rose, heading towards the bar. As he passed the balding drunk that was to be his target, he bumped into a chair, almost falling over onto the man.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, sera. I did not mean to disturb you. Might I buy you a drink as an apology?”

“Sure, free drink is free drink,” Lemkil grunted. “I got enough troubles already though, so if you’ve a mind, don't go adding to them.”

Fayrl put up his hands in a gesture of peace. “I understand, my friend. I have troubles too, though I don’t want to bother you with them. Maybe we can grab another drink later and not talk about them together?”

He bowed and walked to the innkeeper, paid for his food, and ordered a bottle of good mead for Lemkil.

“Oh, you don’t have to go and pay for any more poison for that lout,” Mralki commented in response. “He spends enough of his own coin drowning himself without anyone’s help.”

“I have already offered the gift. I would hate to look like it was mere words.”

Mralki shook his head. “Suit yourself. It’s your money.”

“Oh, one more thing. Where is this Giant who the goat was supposed to be given to? My wife and I thought the cover of night would be the best time to go and look and see if the poor man’s goat was still there. Such a sad tale.”

Mralki looked surprised. “If you insist. The Giant spends his time just south and east of here, big fellow, you can’t miss him. Bit of a ways at this hour though. At least twenty minutes in the dark. You sure you want to head out there tonight? Why not just rest by the fire and have another bottle of mead?”

“That sounds lovely, but the story struck a chord with my wife. Once she calmed down about the insults she said she just feels so sorry for the poor creature. She keeps worrying about it up where a Giant might squash it under foot. You know how it is when a family member gets their heart set on something, what can you do but help them to achieve it? Love can be a struggle sometimes, but the reward for being there instead of fighting them on their passions is well worth the risk.”

“Right,” said Mralki with a frown. “Well, there’s not much more I can tell you about the camp, I don’t go venturing over there myself. I find it best to steer clear of Giants.”

“Thank you for your help. I suppose we shall see you in a few hours then.” Fayrl walked back to the table, giving Lemkil a polite nod as he went.

“Ready, my dear?” he asked Ma’zurah.

“Sure!” Ma’zurah bounced to her feet then paused. “One second, Ma’zurah wants to bring her pack. And potions.” She unlocked the door to the rented room and retrieved her pack from the bed. She emptied most of the contents into the corner of the room, sorting through her things and tucking potions into the pockets of her skirts. “Fayrl should wear armor!” she called.

Fayrl frowned. The armor was so gaudy. And tacky. Not to mention uncomfortable. “Do I have to? We are just scouting to see if the thing is even still alive.”

“And then retrieving it if it is!” Ma’zurah retorted.

“Well I don’t plan on getting near enough a Giant to need the armor. Besides, it will only slow me down and perhaps even make noise. It’s safer without.”

Ma’zurah straightened, pack in hand, and turned to look at Fayrl standing in the doorway of the room. He gave her a critical glance in return. “You shouldn’t talk, you never wear armor!”

Ma’zurah smirked and cast a bubble shield around herself momentarily with a complicated gesture of her fingers. “Ma’zurah does not need armor. Ma’zurah has spells. Does Fayrl have spells?” She fluttered her eyelashes at him innocently.

Fayrl frowned. “You know that I do not. However, I still think the armor is more trouble than it is worth in this situation.”

“Oh fine, but if Fayrl gets hurt, he owes Ma’zurah a forfeit.” Ma’zurah crossed her arms at him and brushed past him out of the room.

Fayrl grinned. He almost wondered if he shouldn’t try to get himself hurt, just to see what it might be that she would ask of him. He got his belt and weapons and strapped them to his sides and then followed her out.

---

They crept through the darkness south of the town, fields of wheat and oats growing around them. Ma’zurah spotted the silhouette of a Giant walking against the horizon and gestured to Fayrl. They snuck closer, their footsteps muffled against even the crunch of grass beneath their feet. A closer look revealed the Giant, his huge club propped against his shoulder, leading the goat by a crude rope like a dog on a leash.

Fayrl gestured for Ma’zurah to fall back so they could talk without rousing the Giant’s suspicions.

“How do you want to do this? I think if we cut the rope and herd the goat away quickly we should be able to do it without him even knowing the goat is gone. At least for a little while. Think you can silence the goat? If not I have some potions for that, but the goat might be a little woozy on the way back and need to be carried.”

“Ma’zurah can muffle the goat. Do not worry.” Ma’zurah whispered in response. “Cutting the rope is probably the best option. Should Ma’zurah do it, or would Fayrl like to?”

“Let a mer do something, my dear. I’d feel useless if you didn’t let me at least cut a rope.”

Ma’zurah grinned at Fayrl and took his hand before disappearing and leading him in the direction of their target.

As soon as they were close, he gave a quick squeeze, then let go of Ma’zurah’s hand. Still cloaked in shadows he cleaved the rope in two with a single stroke, the limp section falling to the ground, long enough to make a serviceable lead.

Ma’zurah snatched up the dropped section of rope and cast a muffling spell on the goat, leading it away. It went passively, apparently used to being led. Fayrl followed cautiously behind, keeping an eye on the Giant.

The distance grew further and further between them and the Giant with no apparent reaction from him. He merely continued to walk in the same direction he had been walking. Nonetheless, Fayrl felt on-edge until they reached the edge of town.

As soon as they passed the first shack, Ma’zurah let out a breath and gave a long laugh. The task had been much easier than she had expected. She had thought they would have to fight the Giant to retrieve the goat. She bounced to Fayrl and pulled him into a hug, purring. “That was great!”

Fayrl smiled at her. “We make a good team. It is hard to deny. If only we had a third, a warrior, we would be completely unstoppable. But were it not for my expert rope cutting, I think we would have perished. I’m completely invaluable.”

“Indeed.” Ma’zurah told him seriously, then laughed and brushed her whiskers against his cheek, purring deafeningly. She bounced off, leading the goat back toward the inn.

A sudden cry drew the pair’s attention. “Gleda! My beauty!”

Ma’zurah rolled her eyes and passed the rope to the ecstatic farmer.

The man knelt in front of the goat and examined her. “And not a scratch on her!” he exclaimed. “Happy day! I still can't figure out why you stole her. You left a note explaining it, but half of it was gibberish and the rest had mead spilled on it. The most readable part said something about ‘repaying Ysolda in Whiterun,’ and even that's mostly scribbles."

“As I explained before, my good fellow, it was likely my cousin and his friend Sam who were involved in all of this,” Fayrl interjected. “Though if he has taken to causing more trouble, I really do need to track him down. He is ruining our family’s reputation, after all. Tell me, is there anything in the note that you can recall? Anything that stuck out other than just a woman in Whiterun?”

The man leveled an unimpressed look at Fayrl. “Don’t give me that garbage. I know it was you. But you returned my Gleda so I’ll tell you that there was also a bit of nonsense about selling Gleda to hire a priestess for some big event. And something about some staff you had in safe keeping. Never said where, but you sure didn't have it with you! That’s all I know, so if you’ll excuse me. Come along Gleda my dear!”

Ma’zurah stared at the man’s receding form. “Well,” she said. “Ysolda in Whiterun. What on Nirni were we doing?”

Fayrl shrugged. “Judging by the rings on our fingers and the word priestess, I would assume we were getting married. Not sure why we thought we needed to sell a goat for the money, but we also threw a naked party in a temple, so I suppose anything is possible. I just wish we knew what happened to Sam. I feel like somehow he is behind this. Probably took our gold so we had to steal a goat.”

“No…” Ma’zurah said slowly, “Ma’zurah checked. She was not missing anything. Perhaps the rings were more expensive than they look because of the enchantment? Ma’zurah supposes it does not matter. Come along ‘husband,’ we have an assassination to orchestrate.” She quirked an eyebrow at him and kissed his cheek flirtatiously.

Fayrl grinned in response. “You know just what to say, it’s no wonder I chose you to marry at possibly the most drunk point in my whole life.” He followed Ma’zurah back towards the inn, glad that he wasn’t wearing particularly tight trousers.

The inn had already emptied significantly when they entered. Lemkil was drinking sullenly in a corner, and Erik was eating a bowl of stew at the bar. Only a few other farmhands remained, tipsily singing off-key about a farmer’s daughter with a pair of enormous melons. The innkeeper was not in sight.

Fayrl swiped a half empty bottle from an uncleared table and went to drink near Lemkil.

Ma’zurah wiggled her fingers in farewell at Fayrl, and pranced to the bar, taking a seat opposite Erik. “Hello!” she chirped.

Erik looked up at Ma’zurah. “Oh, hello there,” he said, standing up. “Is there anything I can get for you?”

“Nope!” she replied cheerfully. “This one only wanted to introduce herself! This one is Ma’zurah! Ma’zurah overheard you talking to your father earlier, and maybe has a way to help.” She winked at him playfully.

“Oh, thank you,” replied Erik. “I appreciate it. Your husband has already… spoken to me. He seemed to believe he might also be able to help. Really, I should be here to help you. As father says, my place is here at the inn, not off living in the world outside. He thinks it’s too dangerous, that I’m not clever enough.”

Ma’zurah tapped her nose. “The world is dangerous, yes, but that is no reason not to try. You want to explore the world, yes? Ma’zurah will teach you a skill.” She winked again, pranced over to Fayrl, and deftly swiped two of his hair sticks.

Fayrl relaxed as soon as he saw it was only her and went back to his drink.

“Please and thank you! Ma’zurah will bring them right back!” Ma’zurah fluttered her eyelashes at Fayrl and returned to the bar.

Erik looked at the hair sticks in Ma’zurah’s hands. “What are you going to show me with those?”

Ma’zurah held up a finger. “If you want to be an adventurer, you have to know how to get into places that have not been opened in a long time. Places like tombs, or ruins, or abandoned buildings. Those places are usually locked, and they usually have locked chests in them. Your father is right, you do need to be clever to be an adventurer, and Ma’zurah can teach you to be clever like the Khajiit.”

Erik brightened at the mention of getting into locks. “You mean, you will show me how to get into my father’s lockbox?”

“Exactly.” She smirked. “Now where is this box so that we can practice this skill?”

Erik looked nervous. “It is in the basement. But I can’t leave the bar. We still have customers, and we don’t close the bar for another couple of hours yet. There could be someone who needs me. I can’t just leave the bar unattended.”

Ma’zurah laughed. “Where is your father? Call him here!” she said in an overly loud and exaggerated voice. “Ma’zurah needs your help tending to her horse!”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s a good idea, I wouldn’t want to disturb him when he’s--”

Mralki came stomping down the back set of stairs. “Erik, what are you doing? You have customers yelling for your help in the bar?” He turned to Ma’zurah. “My apologies, my son is not the most bright boy, but he is a good lad. Now Erik, be a good lad and help the nice lady who is paying us money with her horse.”

“Yes, sir,” said Erik gloomily, and went around the counter to Ma’zurah’s side. “What seems to be the trouble?”

Ma’zurah gestured for Erik to follow her out the front door and paused on the porch. “Alright, Ma’zurah will teach you several skills. How to open locks, how to improvise, and how to sneak. Ma’zurah will cast invisibility and muffling on you. You will take Ma’zurah’s hand and she will cast the same spells on herself. Then you will lead Ma’zurah to the place with the box and Ma’zurah will teach you how to open it. Deal?”

Erik’s expression was torn between one of apprehensiveness and determination, but the determination won out after a short moment. “You have a deal.” He held out his hand for her.

Ma’zurah took his hand and cast the spells, then slowly creaked the front door of the inn open, as though it had been improperly latched and pushed by a breeze. They snuck inside, leaving the front door open, and when Mralki went to close it they snuck down the stairs to the basement. As soon as the basement door closed behind them, Ma’zurah let the spells drop and gave a flourishing bow to Erik.

Erik panted heavily and clutched at his chest. “I can’t believe it! Father looked right at me! I swore by Shor he had seen me!” He looked down at his arms. “And look, I came out right again afterwards!”

“Of course,” Ma’zurah replied with a raise of her eyebrow. “Ma’zurah is not a new apprentice. She knows what she is doing. Now take these.” She passed him the metal sticks.

Erik looked at the sticks in his hand. “How do I use them?” he asked, turning them this way and that.

“It has to do with the structure of the lock. The key presses the tumblers to the correct position to allow the latch to move. You use the sticks instead of the key to do the same thing. Most common locks will open if you manipulate them like this.” She held his hands and mimicked a flick and turn gesture. “Now go try it!”

“Alright.” Erik walked to the corner and removed a pile of supplies from atop a large rectangular chest. He crouched in front of it and regarded the lock very seriously. At Ma’zurah’s prompting he put one metal stick into the lock, and then the other, jostling them together without much success.

“You hear how the tumblers click?” Ma’zurah said quietly from behind Erik. “Visualize the inside of the lock. The tumblers come down like so.” Ma’zurah held her fingers out in demonstration. “Use one stick to hold down the lock, and the other to flick the tumblers into place. Start at one end, listen for a click that sounds different, and then move to the next tumbler.”

Erik nodded and followed Ma’zurah’s instructions. He heard a click and felt something slide into place. “I got one!”

“Good!” Ma’zurah cheered. “Now get the other ones carefully so you do not knock that one down.”

Erik spent a few minutes to get the tumblers in place. He made a few mistakes and knocked several of the tumblers down in the process, but eventually the lock clicked open.

“Very good!” Ma’zurah praised. “Now you know how it is done!”

Erik opened the chest and sat back on his heels, staring as though he could not believe what he had done. It contained a set of dented iron armor, complete with gauntlets, boots, and shield. He lifted them out as though they were the most priceless treasures he had ever seen. “I can’t believe it. Now father will have to let me go.”

He turned to Ma’zurah, the breastplate cradled to his own chest. “Thank you.”

“Of course. How do you want to tell him?” Ma’zurah asked. “Ma’zurah can sneak out and come in the front door, and you can come out the basement now and tell him, or we both can slip out and you can tell him later.”

Erik put his hand to his chin in thought. “I think I should tell him straight away. I’m going to go right up to him now. No, wait. I should put the armor on first. I want him to see how well it fits me.”

“Alright!” Ma’zurah grinned. “Let Ma’zurah show you how to strap it on, then give Ma’zurah a slow count of a hundred to get back in the front door before you come up.”

Erik nodded enthusiastically and began fumbling with the leather straps. With Ma’zurah’s help, they secured the buckles of each piece onto Erik’s body and Erik tested his movements. When he was fully armored, he looked to her for approval. “What do you think?”

“Hmm… It could use some maintenance, but it fits. Ask your father how to care for armor before you leave. If he will not tell you, ask another person who might know. Armor maintenance can get expensive, and it is easier to do it yourself. Now, give Ma’zurah a count of a hundred.” She grabbed Fayrl’s hair sticks, winked at Erik, and disappeared up the stairs.

Chapter Text

Fayrl went to the bar to get another bottle of mead from the innkeeper and approached Lemkil. “Mind if I join you? I’ve half a bottle to share for my silent company. Unless you want to talk of course, then you’re welcome to whatever you like.”

“Y’know,” Lemkil said, patting the seat next to him, “You seem alright.”

Fayrl smiled and nodded his thanks, taking a seat.

Lemkil took the offered bottle and topped off his mug. “Word’ve advice, do yerself a favor and don't have children. They're good for nothin’ at all.” He shook his head in melancholy.

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Fayrl responded, adopting an informal and noticeably drunk tone. “Didn’t see my own son for the first five years of his life. When I met him, he didn’t know who I was. Rich, isn’t it? Course, I left not long after that. I’m not with his mother. With a different woman now. One I can’t get pregnant.”

“Ugh. That’s lucky. Curse my good-for-nothin’ daughters!” Lemkil drained his mug and slammed it back onto the table, reaching for the bottle again. “My wife was twice th’ woman they'll ever grow to be. She gave her life birthin’ ‘em. Whatta waste.”

At the bar, the innkeeper sighed and rubbed his eyes.

Fayrl put a hand over Lemkil’s. “It’s alright. I know what you mean. My first wife, the most beautiful and wonderful woman I’ve ever known, stolen away by the Namira cult. Those bastards wouldn’t know a good woman if she put an arrow through their eye.” He poured another full mug for both of them. “To the best women there ever were,” he said, raising his mug.

“The best women!” The man raised his mug and took a long drink.

“Gods, but my daughters’re useless!” Lemkil continued, “I spend every day tendin’ the fields, and what do my daughters do? Nothin’! Complain and caterwaul! Sleep and eat! Useless! Gods, what I wouldn’t give to have my wife back!” The man closed bloodshot eyes, appearing on the verge of drunken tears.

Fayrl put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “She must’ve been one fetchin’ magnif’cent woman. Who could ever hope t’live up to that? Once you find the right one, nothin’ can replace her. Only mead, ’m I right?” Fayrl’s speech began to slur more as he spoke. “Y’know somethin’, you’re the first red blooded man I could find who I could talk to ‘bout my Nabine. Th’ other arseholes out there, what do they know? With their perfect families and their happy lives! Hah! They don’t geddit. They couldn’t geddit even if they wan’ed. Only this lady right here knows what s’about,” he patted the side of the mead bottle.

Lemkil looked up at Fayrl, something akin to adoration in his eyes. “See, you geddit! You unnerstan’! Nobody else unnerstans!” He put an arm around Fayrl’s shoulders and drained his mug again. His head drooped. “You’re the nicccest person I’ve met since my… sssince years ‘n years. Th’only one who doesn’t make those... eyes at me. You get what’ssss important. We’re kin’red spiritissss.”

“Yes! ‘Zactly!” Fayrl put his arm around Lemkil’s shoulder. “We gotta stick t’gether. These people, they don’t know. They don’t--”

The front door to the inn opened, and Ma’zurah walked in. “Hey, Fayrl!” she chirped, sitting down on his other side. She handed him his hair sticks, grinning.

Fayrl pouted at Ma’zurah. “M’busy with m’new frien’!” he yelled, his voice half slurred and half pouting, trying to get Ma’zurah to realize that he was in the middle of his set up.

Ma’zurah rolled her eyes and walked to the bar.

“Women eh? Only th’first one matters,” Fayrl said to Lemkil. “Only that perfect one means anythin’. Why, Nabine? Why’d th’cult have t’take you from me?” He sniffled and put his head onto Lemkil’s shoulder, letting out soft, hiccuping sobs.

Lemkil let out a soft snore.

“Yeah, sleep it off, my friend!” wailed Fayrl, wrapping his arms around Lemkil’s shoulders. “It’s the only way t’deal with th’ pain!”

Erik came up the stairs behind the bar, a wide grin plastered across his face.  Mralki did not even see him, occupied as he was with his attempt to engage in small talk with Ma’zurah.

“Father,” said Erik, “I have done it.”

Mralki started to turn, “What’ve you gone and done now, Eri--Shor’s Bones! Erik! Is that my--?”

“It is, father. I have opened your safe, just as you instructed me. See? I can be clever as well as strong!”

Mralki looked at his son. “You look so much like I did back when I enlisted. Of course, the armor was in better shape then.”

Erik fidgeted in place. “So does that mean you will consider it?”

“No,” said Mralki, “I’ve made up my mind.”

“But father,” cried Erik indignantly.

Mralki put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “I saved a few septims in case of an emergency. This is starting to feel like one. Erik, we'll visit Whiterun soon. To fit you for some proper armor. We can’t have you starting your journey with armor in this condition. You’ll have to make your own dents and scrapes. Something to pass on to your own children.”

“Wait, father, do you really mean it?”

Mralki nodded. After the harvest, before the roads get icy. We’ll have someone look after the inn for a few weeks and go get you fitted proper like.”

Ma’zurah grinned. “Congratulations!” She gave Erik a conspiratorial wink.

Just as Erik was turning to thank Ma’zurah, Fayrl came stumbling up to her, his eye makeup and lipstick smudged. “Muhri marido, M’zurah!” he slurred and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her her into a crushing kiss.

Ma’zurah gasped, eyes growing wide. She had no idea what Fayrl was doing, but it was obvious by his steady grasp that he was not nearly as drunk as he pretended to be. She had to assume this was part of a ruse. She opened her mouth to his and her eyes fluttered closed. Gods! He was a good kisser.

He broke the kiss, tangling one hand in her hair and turning her head, making it look like he was sucking on her ear. “By Azura’s breeches,” he whispered in Dunmeris instead, “I am so sorry. Just play along and I will make this as short as I can.”

She gave a miniscule nod and wrapped her arms around him, leaning her head further to the side in invitation. His breath brushed her ear like a soft caress and she moaned, feeling simultaneously aroused by Fayrl’s forwardness and amused at his overacting.

“Thank you,” he breathed, then pulled back, switching into the common tongue to get the attention of everyone in the inn. “You are so beautiful, I cannot resist you a moment longer, my love! My need for you is so great! It mounts as the winter snows upon the Throat of the World!”

Ma'zurah stifled a giggle. The whole scene struck her as absurdly funny.

Fayrl lifted her up by the hips and set her on the bar across from the innkeeper and his son. Ma’zurah disguised a laugh as a gasp and wrapped her legs around his waist, her loose skirts pooling around her hips.

Erik looked aghast. His father tried to move him out of the direct line of sight of the scene.

“I cannot resist you any longer!” proclaimed Fayrl. “Let me take you now! Here in this wonderful inn, before any who would care to witness! Let them bear witness to a true passion, like those of the great stories.” He pressed himself forward against Ma’zurah and she gasped again in earnest, trying to resist the urge to buck her hips. He was just as turned on by this situation as she was, and she could feel it.

“Pardon me, sir!” interrupted Mralki in a tone that was half angry and half embarrassed. “If you would care to move this flagrant display of affection off of my counter, where I serve food and beverages, and into your room, which I might remind you, you have paid good coin for.”

Fayrl turned to the innkeeper as though he had caused him a grievous offense. “And deprive your patrons of the chance to see what true passion looks like?!”

“If you do not go to your room, I will have to ask you to leave the inn,” insisted Mralki.

“Why, I never!” Fayrl’s indignant exclamation was loud enough to turn the heads of any who may have missed the scandalous exchange thus far. “Fine! I shall take my beautiful wife to one of your fine beds and make the most exquisite and passionate love to her that none of you will have the pleasure of witnessing! But I warn you, though you may cover the sight of our passion, I refuse to restrain the sounds of it for your prudish, Nordic sensibilities!”

Fayrl lifted Ma’zurah up by the hips and she clung to him, arms around his neck and legs around his waist. “Mark my words!” Fayrl called over his shoulder as he turned toward the door of their room, “you will be missing out on the greatest education of your life!”

Ma’zurah nearly collapsed with suppressed laughter, pressing her face against the side of Fayrl’s neck, trying to make it look like she was kissing him instead. Her whiskers tickled at his ear. Fayrl shuddered; the sensation of her whiskers brushing lightly against his sensitive ear made him almost as aroused as he was proclaiming to be.

“Enjoy the rest of your boring, romance lacking lives!” he called in a half-strangled voice. “I am going to make love to my wife!” He hefted Ma'zurah higher on his hips, causing her to moan in desire as she felt his erection press against hers. He stalked into their room, slamming the door behind him.

He immediately set her on her feet again. “I am so sorry,” he apologized quietly. “I couldn’t think of another way to convincingly get their attention.”

Ma’zurah stared at him, breathing hard. One kiss. She just wanted one more kiss. She was still pressed up against him, leaning on him for balance, and she did not want to move away. Her lips hovering over his. “Gods, Fayrl!” she breathed.

Fayrl stared at her, a bit surprised that she had come so close to kissing him. It certainly did nothing to alleviate his arousal. It was a worse tease than if she had actually followed through. He was sure she could probably feel just how hard his erection had gotten through the front of his trousers.

He swallowed, determined to respect Ma'zurah’s boundaries. “And now we have to make some convincing noises until my target has managed to get himself home.” He glanced away. “Do you want to do vocals, or simply bang upon the walls and floors?”

“Fuck, Fayrl…” Ma'zurah closed her eyes, trying to will herself to move away. She couldn’t think. He was so close, and he filled her senses. It was so difficult to think anything when her body just wanted to do. She could feel how hard he was and she wanted more. Azurah help her she wanted more right now!

Fayrl pulled away, worried. “Ma’zurah? Are you alright? Did I hurt you?” He had to concentrate on his concern for her. He needed to distract himself from how badly he wanted her. He was going to murder a terrible man who abused his daughters. He was going to imbue his Prince’s sacred artifact with power once more. Surely that would be reward enough. He could even fuck the fetcher before slaying him if he wanted to. Given how much the man had drunk and how much they seemed to bond, he could likely talk the man into almost anything. He could probably get the man to set his own fetching house on fire if he asked it properly.

The thought only aroused him further. His cock throbbed, and he had to stop himself from pressing his hips forward again. The thought of that much power thrilled him. The prospect of presenting another twisted soul to his Prince made him feel like there was an electric current running through his body.

Mazurah sighed as Fayrl shifted away, shaking her head in an attempt to clear it. “Yes. Yes, Ma’zurah is fine. Please get out. Fayrl can wait out there. Ma’zurah will take care of the rest.” She pressed her lips to his cheek and stepped away.

“Alright,” Fayrl agreed, not quite believing her. “Just, make it realistic.”

He vanished invisibly out the door.

Ma’zurah tore her clothes off and threw herself onto the bed as soon as Fayrl was out of the room, moaning loudly in relief as she reached for her cock and began jerking herself off frantically. “Oh gods, yes!" she cried out. "Fayrl, Fayrl, Fayrl! Balmari Ma’zurah dimi! Nei! Eas lakhag!” 

She had just enough self awareness to switch languages, but she was too turned on to care if Fayrl even heard her. In fact, the thought of him listening to her just turned her on more. Her inner thighs were already soaking! She thrust two fingers into her wet entrance. “Ah! Fayrl! Nei! Nei!” She let out an impassioned moan of desire.

Fayrl listened to the beginning of Ma'zurah ministrations before moving toward the door of the inn. He had to focus on the task at hand. He did spare a moment to mentally commend her on how convincing she was. Had he not known any better himself, he would have assumed he was in there with her still.

The innkeeper rubbed his temples wearily and shot a glance in the direction of Ma’zurah’s closed door. “Erik, can you make sure Lemkil gets home again? I don’t want to find him on the table or puking on the steps again tomorrow.”

Fayrl peered around a large wooden column, one of the support beams for the building, and saw Erik trying to rouse Lemkil from his slumber. It did not appear to be an easy task. The man refused to open his eyes until Erik hauled him to a standing position with one arm over his shoulders.

“There you go, Lemkil,” Erik said, “let’s get you back home.”

If the boy had to do this daily, it was little wonder he had grown strong enough to go off on adventures.

Lemkil did little in the way of complaining, only grumbling weakly as Erik helped him home. Fayrl followed just far enough behind to avoid making himself obvious. Even cloaked in shadow, it was possible be detected if he was careless. He watched as Erik fished around in Lemkil’s pockets for the man’s house key.

“Ey! You tryin’ ta steal frum meeee boy?” slurred Lemkil.

“No, I am trying to help you into your house so that you can sleep this off,” replied Erik with a tinge of frustration in his voice. It was no wonder that he wanted to get out of this pile of horse droppings that passed itself off as a town, thought Fayrl.

Erik left Lemkil seated in a large wooden chair by the fire, shutting the front door behind him. Fayrl revealed himself just as it closed, as though he had just walked in.

“My friend!” Fayrl called. “I have brought us another bottle to celebrate!”

Lemkil’s face transformed from an expression of momentary shock to a smile. “Oh. Iss you. An’ wiff a gift….” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“It is,” said Fayrl. “Come, let us speak, just the two of us. Are your daughters around?”

“Always,” Lemkil sneered. “No escapin’ ‘em.”

Fayrl leaned in close to the man’s ear. “Why don’t you go take the girls outside. Teach them to show you some respect. Tell them the have to sleep in the barn like the animals they are.”

Lemkil smiled. “Ooh yeah! I haven’t made ‘em stay out there since las’ winter. Ey kept complainin’ th’bread was moldy. Mold is butter dan ‘ey deserve, I tol’ ‘em. I’mma make ‘em do it. We gots ‘portant men’s business.”

“Precisely,” said Fayrl. “Do it nice and gentle. It will be more of a shock that way.”

“Hah!” barked Lemkil. He stood, almost falling over sideways, and trundled up the wooden steps with a loud thumping.

A moment later Fayrl heard the sound of girl’s voices intermingled with Lemkil’s, though Fayrl could not make out the words. He cloaked himself in invisibility again as Lemkil ushered the two girls, still half asleep, down the steps and out the door in their nightgowns.

Fayrl took a seat in Lemkil’s chair while he waited. It reeked of spilt liquor and sick. It was going to be very easy to make this look like an accident. A tall candlestick flickered on the little table next to the chair.

Lemkil returned a few minutes later. “‘Ou shoulda seen their smug lil’ faces as I shut ‘em in th’barn. Priceless.”

Fayrl stood to offer Lemkil his chair again. “Thank you for taking care of that for me.”

“Hah! It wazza pleasure.”

Fayrl held up a small blue flask. “I brought something very special for you, my friend. No one else deserves a night like this. But you… you do. You really get what it’s like. You understand just how deep that darkness can get, until it threatens to consume you, to take you by the hand, and join the both of you.”

Lemkil nodded. “‘Ou do ‘ave a way wiff words.”

Fayrl grinned predatorily, though his victim was far too intoxicated to notice. “I propose a toast! In fact, I think we should do it in the Dunmer way. This is a very special Dunmeri drink, usually reserved for those fetching House nobles. But I managed to slip some over with me. Will you try it with me?”

Lemkil laughed. “A’course! I ca’ do anything a flouncy nohbul ca’ do.”

“I am so, so glad to hear it,” Fayrl replied. “Just repeat after me. Gahmerdehn am faraayn.”

“Gah mer dehn am far aayn,” repeated Lemkil in a thick accent

“Als ku’or loharag arghen.”

“Als koo or lo harag ar ghen.” Lemkil stumbled, but managing to get through the words with Fayrl’s coaching.

“Os jikhi de Ohl yi muhrmolkhun en yi albusehr,” Fayrl said, carefully pronouncing each part for Lemkil to repeat two words at a time.

“We’re almost done,” said Fayrl, feeling desire pulse in his loins as the moment approached. This man was almost too easy.

They recited slowly and carefully through the last lines. “Alma am minmer, ist os manisehar yilad Ohl, captu yi min gher Ohm baldefuur. Balori as set am as gan'tosh muhri nifi’ag ru Ohm khamir en yi demyr.”

Fayrl passed the little flask of Balmora Blue to Lemkil, who guzzled the entire bottle, apparently unwilling to leave any for Fayrl.

“Do you trust me, my friend?” asked Fayrl, steadying Lemkil as he swayed precariously in his chair.

“Course ah do! Yer muh bes’ frien’,” said Lemkil.

Fayrl unsheathed the Ebony Blade with one hand, supporting the oblivious Lemkil with the other. “Then close your eyes and tell me, if you could have one wish in the entire world, what would it be?”

Lemkil closed his eyes and did not hesitate for a moment. “I’d trade those useless gurls uh mine fo’ muh wife.”

“I thought that might be it,” said Fayrl.

Without further warning he ran the Ebony Blade through the man’s sternum. The force of the blow allowed only a soft rush of air to escape the man’s lips.

Fayrl wrenched the sword free. The man toppled out of the chair and onto his side with mouth gaping, staring up at Fayrl with glassy eyes. Fayrl threw the little remaining contents of the flask onto the front of Lemkil’s shirt and knocked the candlestick over onto the man. The fire ignited the flammable fluid, and flames began to lap up every drop of liquid, spreading to the alcohol soaked floorboards.

Fayrl turned to look at the sword, feeling a surge of power pulsating out from the sword and into his own body. It was far more intense than the last time and caused no guilt on his part either. He watched as the Blade seemed to sing in joy, humming the notes it radiated into his mind.

He felt strong. He felt invincible. This was clearly Mephala’s blessing for those who did her bidding, for one who completed her tasks, for her Champion.

“Delicious…” the voice of Mephala echoed in Fayrl’s mind, sending shivers straight through him down to the base of his cock. “I can feel his heartbreak swelling in my Blade. You chose well with this one, my Champion. He considered you the closest friend he had made in eleven years!” The Prince’s crooning voice turned gleefully savage. “Now piss on his corpse to make the betrayal complete!”

Fayrl could feel his arousal growing from the caress of his Prince’s words. Yet he would not let that stop him from obeying. The fool had honestly believed they were the same! What a joke! He loosened the tie to his trousers and relieved himself upon the corpse, allowing the stream to play across the man’s face. He moaned softly. The relief felt as though his Prince was stroking him.

He retied his trousers and reached his hand into the fire, leading the flames out into the room. He danced around the body, the flames licking around him and lapping at the body like ocean waves upon a small island in a storm. The fire began to spread outward, finding and racing along the weave of the rough, alcohol soaked rug at the center of the room. It jumped higher, climbing walls and scurrying like mice along the floorboards.

Fayrl laughed, then covered his mouth to silence his rising giddiness. He was proud of doing his proper duty. He wanted to paint himself in the man’s blood and dance in the flames until nothing was left but ash.

But no, he had to make his way to the door. Soon someone would take notice of the fire in the night. He drew the shadows to himself and slipped out into the darkness. He glanced behind himself to see the light of the growing fire only just beginning to radiate out of the small, high windows of the house. Fayrl smiled.