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Chapter Text

Two months.

Two months since there had been any mention or true sighting of Vivec, two months since their junior councilman was last seen, two months of Vivec running rampant through the Resdayn countryside yet not leaving a single trace as to where he could be.

Two months.

Almalexia sharpened her sword by campfire, staring deep into the flames as if they might show her where Vivec had gone. It was as good a lead as any, he’d just vanished, clean off the face of Nirn. The last person to see him at all had been Sotha Sil, chasing him out of his study when Vivec disturbed his work, and now two months had passed and yet no-one else had seen head nor tail of him.

It wasn’t right, there was just something not right about all of this.

Almalexia raised her sword, watching the sharpened edge gleaming in the firelight. Oh, Nerevar and Voryn might be content to sit in the castle and receive reports about the continual failed search party for Vivec, but she was not. How could she sit and wait like a good little Queen when her friend was missing, and almost certainly in trouble. There was no other explanation for it, Vivec would not just disappear like that, he’d talk to everyone and everything in his path, and send them frequent updates as to the ridiculous things he was getting up to, or tall tales of what he wanted them to think he was getting up to. He would not just disappear, and he certainly wouldn’t maintain his silence once he’d heard that Nerevar had set up so many search parties to come looking for him.

Vivec was in danger, and she was going to find him. If she had to rip apart every tree, stone and Nord between here and Oblivion to do so, then so be it.

“Queen Almalexia,” one of the guards called out, bowing to her. She beckoned for him to stand upright and speak. “A message, from King Nerevar. The courier will leave in the morning, his highness requests an update from yourself to be sent with the courier.”

Almalexia fought to not roll her eyes at that. If she’d found something, Nerevar would be the first to know. If she found something, a lead, a hair, hell, even Vivec, she’d send for Nerevar and his army without hesitation, determined to end this search as soon as possible, to get Vivec home and out of her head. Nerevar’s requests for updates were a thinly veiled sign that he was worried for her, but more than anything, it was a thinly veiled disguise for his growing anxiety that Vivec had met his end. But Vivec wasn’t weak, she knew that. Nerevar knew that. While there was still a chance, she’d keep searching, Nerevar’s anxieties be damned. She opened the letter.

By the Three, did Nerevar like to waffle when he was this worried. Two pages of updates that could be succinctly summarised as: No Vivec in Eastern Resdayn. Sotha Sil is searching Vvardenfell. Dwemer haven’t seen him. The letter finished with Nerevar’s heartfelt wishes that she would return soon, of how dull and dreary the castle was without the three of them, and Almalexia skimmed it over. She wanted battle and search updates, not romantic letters sent from one heart to another. There was a time and place, and during the search for Vivec was neither.

“Grab me my quill and parchment,” Almalexia declared. “I shall write the letter now.”

It was going to be short, to the point, a laughable contrast to her husband’s worried waffle. No news yet, will keep searching. In the morning the courier would return to him, and she would return to her search. Vivec couldn’t be that much further, soon enough they’ll have searched every inch of Resdayn, and then… what, did they start searching Skyrim? Black Marsh? Open a portal to Oblivion and search there too? Wherever her search took her, she would go, with complaint of course, but go none-the-less. Vivec needed her. And she wasn’t about to rest until he was found, dead or alive, sane or insane, intact or in pieces. He was coming home.

No matter how long it took.

Chapter Text

Half-muffled screams and grunts of pain filled the air as Vivec tried to cover over his ears, desperate to not hear the tell-tale sounds of torture happening just outside of his sight. The Nords that captured them knew what they were doing all too well; they’d been targetted specifically, himself and Sotha Sil identified and singled out from the rest of the warriors captured or killed that day, and now working their pain against each other. Letting Vivec’s imagination run wild from the sounds of Sotha Sil’s screams was more effective than anything they could physically do to his brother in front of him. They could only physically kill him once, but to a mind left to run wild, his death could come at any moment, or in every moment that Sil fell silent.

How he wished he could yell back to Sil, to shout words of encouragement to his brother, to berate the Nords that stood outside the cage and jeered at him, laughed at his horror, but alas. The Nords had hit him with some silencing curse, it had as good as cut his tongue out of his mouth, swelled it so large he struggled to eat around it. He could no sooner speak than he could run with the chains they had placed around his wrists and ankles. It was no silencing curse in matters of magic, he could still cast what petty spells he knew, but his words had been taken from him, and with them his greatest strength.

They had not cursed Sil with the same fate, letting his brother scream and cry out, trying to force information from him at knife point, with fists, with all manner of threat and danger and pain that Sil refused to repeat to Vivec when he was returned to rest. They’d left Sil to be the only one to talk, yet bound him in enchanted chains, so heavy his brother could barely stand, draining every inch of magic he had from his body, a feeling so foreign to Sil that he looked ill, even without the pain on top of it. Sotha Sil could cast no spells, and Vivec could not speak. What a miserable situation they had found themselves in.

The screams had stopped, and Vivec felt his heart stop, desperately straining his ears for any sign of life coming from Sil, until he heard the heavy footsteps of their Nordic captors rang out again, followed by the sound of chains rattling and a body being dragged along the floor, until at last Vivec saw them. Sotha Sil looked battered, bloody and bruised, his nose broken and his prosthetic arm long since stolen away to the far side of camp. His right eye was nearly swollen shut, but his left eye met Vivec’s as he was dragged into the cage next to him, reassuring Vivec that he was still alive, before the Nord dumped him harshly onto the floor, leaving the cage and locking it behind her. Almost as soon as she was gone, Vivec crawled over, reaching a hand through the bars towards Sotha Sil, who hadn’t moved but to breathe.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Sil croaked out, his one good eye trained on Vivec’s face, flush with worry. “We’ll be fine. I didn’t talk.”

Vivec knew he didn’t talk. Sil would never talk, would never sell any of them out, which was why he kept getting himself hurt so. They’d left themselves with only Sil to talk to, and Sil didn’t have the social skills or person know-how to try and convince the Nords that he would be willing to sell secrets for his own safety, to trick the Nords into running into battles the chimer were sure to win. Sil could envision those situations, could plan and strategise them all, but talking to the Nords would have been Vivec’s strong suit. Sil didn’t stand a chance.

And speaking of not standing a chance… Vivec reached through the bars, casting a healing spell over Sil as he closed his eye, relaxing into the healing glow. Neither of them were healers, but Sil at least knew the theory behind it. Sil never studied healing, yet he could do it effortlessly, make anyone look like they’d never been injured… Vivec could already see the scars from previous torture sessions marring Sotha Sil’s skin, even as he tried to heal the newest wounds. He could never heal Sotha Sil as well as Sotha Sil could have healed him, or himself.

If Sil was the only one who could speak, and Vivec was the only one who could cast spells, they were doomed. All they could hope for was Nerevar finding them soon.

Chapter Text

“Favas Ven?”

Favas looked up from his drink, already four tankards deep into a drinking session, and straight into the eyes of an Imperial guard stood at the edge of his table. Favas squinted at him, unsure what was going on here. The guard stared at him without a hint of emotion on his face, and Favas slowly lowered his mug.

“Who’s asking?” He asked, the guard frowning.

“By order of Emperor Uriel Septim the seventh, you are hereby commanded to answer,” the guard instructed. Favas stared at him, too drunk to really understand the implication, and then glanced behind the guard to the door at the far side of the bar. Three more guards were blocking the entrance to the bar, all the other patrons staring at him. Favas turned back to the guard.

“Fine. Yes, that’s me. Can I help you?” Favas asked.

“To your feet, citizen.”

“Must I? I think I’m at risk of falling over as soon as I stand,” Favas warned, but the guard didn’t like the answer, grabbing Favas by the shoulder and dragging him to his feet. “Hey! Hey! By Talos, I’m standing! I’m standing!”

“Favas Ven, you are under arrest for the murder of Usha-Gra-Drom. What say you in your defence?”

“What?” Favas asked, his heart sinking through his knees. The bar around him had gone silent now, watching, listening. “I don’t even know who that is! I didn’t kill anybody!”

“Think you’re so clever, so strong, hmm? Killing the little girl of the Drom family just because her father fired you? Think we wouldn’t find you out?” The guard asked, grabbing Favas’ hands and pinning them behind his back with force.

“What?! I wouldn’t!” Favas insisted. “Someone’s framing me, I didn’t kill anyone! You have to believe me!”

The guard half lead, half shoved Favas through the bar, dirty looks being shot his way the entire stretch of the bar, while Favas turned to his drinking buddies, stood with their next drinks, staring at him being lead away like he was nothing but filth. “Cicero, Hilo, you know I wanted to be fired! Tell the guards! I wanted to leave this city! Tell them I wouldn’t have done it!”

But they didn’t speak up, only watched as he was dragged from the bar, the other guards grabbing his arms as he neared. By the gods, was he about to be locked up for a crime he didn’t commit?! They couldn’t! They simply couldn’t do this! Who would kill a little orc girl and pin the blame on him, anyway?

Oh Gods, what was going to happen now?

Chapter Text

From twisted dreams, a hard, heavy hand grabbed Sotha Sil by the chains that bound him, dragging him awake and from the cage they’d placed him in, across the ground outside of it while Sil could do little to fight back. He was too tightly bound, the chains too heavy to try and lift his own body, never mind fight back. He could do nothing but watch the stars overhead as he was dragged back to the centre of camp once more, thrown to the floor.

How many times had they done this now? Tried to torture the information out of him, set him in the centre of camp for all the different Nords to shout their own ideas on how to get him to crack? They’d have to try harder than this.

Without warning something barrelled into him, knocking Sil back down to the floor, yet the anger that rose in him was quickly diminished as he saw Vivec’s eyes meet his, full of fear yet determined, and Sil stared back, trying to convey all the confidence he did not have.

The Nords were hooting and hollering, jeering at them laid in the centre of camp, while one of the larger, more bearded Nords stepped forwards, shouting something to his congregated warriors that earned more cheers, before he grabbed Vivec by the shoulder, dragging Vivec to meet him, while Sil tried to keep Vivec with him. The Nord thrust his fingers into Vivec’s mouth, Vivec gagging around the sensation, before the Nord pulled something out, kicking Vivec back to the floor.

“If the puny mage won’t speak, we’ll make sure the gobby one does instead,” the Nord declared, earning the cheers of the rest of the gathered Nords. Vivec pawed at his mouth, his hand coming away bloody.

“I may be more willing to talk in general, but you will not get anything from me that you wouldn’t get from my brother,” Vivec declared, his voice slightly slurred as his tongue returned slowly to how it once was, the gathered Nords responding with mockery. Vivec’s hand squeezed Sil’s arm, and Sil made to take Vivec’s hand back, but the Nord had stepped forward, dragging Sil away from Vivec once more while Vivec and Sil shouted, trying to grab the other once more. Instead Sil was dragged to his knees, the heavy chains trying to drag him down to the floor, while one Nord tried to keep him upright, a smirk across his face, and another Nord carried something in their hands, making their way closer, and Sil fought the urge to flinch away from it.

“We’ll see how long that lasts,” the Nord replied, the other one bringing the item, a mask with prongs pointing inwards from where the mouth should go, up to Sil’s face as Sil tried to escape backwards, but someone was pushing him forwards, stopping any attempts at escape or fighting back, and somewhere behind him Sil could hear Vivec yelling out at them to stop, but they wouldn’t. Didn’t. They pushed the prongs up against his lips, and when he refused to open his mouth, they grabbed and twisted his ear, pushed a knife up against the flesh of his arm until it bled, kicked and stomped at him, until he screamed out in pain, and the prongs were thrust into his mouth.

The mask had no eye holes, no nose holes, and if it weren’t for the prongs forcing Sil’s mouth to remain open to breathe through the slit, he’d be unable to breathe at all. The prongs forced his jaws open just enough to be uncomfortable, any less and they cut into the roof of his mouth, down onto the flesh beneath his tongue, and Sil tried to spit it out, but now the mask was being forced down onto his face, something else coming around the back of his head to meet it, his ears being sealed under cold metal until-

Silence.

All of a sudden, the sound of jeering Nords, of Vivec’s cries for them to stop, even his own panicked breathing, it was all gone. Not a hint of sound anywhere. Nor could he see, not even a light behind his closed eyelids was visible. Nor could he smell, or hear his own increasingly panicked cries, and where before he could feel the Nords holding him still, pushing him, hurting him, now all he could feel was the pain in his mouth, and not a single thing more.

He brought his hands to his head, or at least, he thought he did, he couldn’t feel them, and their presence at all felt strange, as if they weren’t really there, but his attempts to pull the mask off were met with only more pain, bringing tears to his eyes as he let go. What was this enchantment? What had the Nords done to him?! He couldn’t feel anything! Couldn’t sense a single thing!

There was a brief feeling of falling, distant, as if he was trying to feel it for someone else, before he felt the ground crash against his shoulder, but felt it more when the mask jolted with the impact, cutting into his mouth one more. He couldn’t feel anything… the Nords could be tearing him apart for all he knew, or Vivec could be trying to soothe him, and he’d never know.

The silence felt like it was drowning him, and Sil fought to keep his panic in check. He knew sensory deprivation was short journey away from the Shivering Isles, knew that stronger mer than him had cracked under the pressure of it, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t. Nerevar needed him, Resdayn needed him, Vivec needed him. He had to stay calm, had to stay grounded. He could do this. He had to do this.

House Sotha’s legacy could not end with him losing his mind to the silence now.

Chapter Text

“Seht? Whatever are you doing here?”

Sotha Sil stopped as soon as he entered the chamber, watching where Voryn Dagoth had set up his camp, between the doorway and the heart, his bedroll stretched across the floor, a quill and parchment set out beside him.

“Nerevar’s orders. He wishes for me to study Kagrenac’s plans, to find out what he was doing, what he hoped to use Lorkhan’s heart for.” Already he’d studied the tools, nearly killed himself trying to pick them up too. Whatever enchantment Kagrenac had placed on them was too powerful, he was struggling to get past that first hurdle in studying them. His best shot was to study the heart first, he’d surmised. At least that didn’t seem to cause as much trouble.

“How is he?” Voryn asked, his voice soft, full of worry, and Sil couldn’t keep the pain from his own.

“He’s… in decent spirits, all things considered. He’s not always fully aware of what’s happening, but… he keeps asking for you. When we remind him that he asked you to guard the heart, he acts as if he never forgot.”

“What do the healers say?” Voryn asked, and Sil swallowed.

“That each day he keeps living is a blessing from Azura. That Dumac’s hammer has done more damage than just the eye can see. Even if he survives the week, he won’t ever be the King we once knew again.”

“But he’ll still be Nerevar,” Voryn replied quietly, pulling his reading material closer to him. Sotha Sil blinked away his own tears; Resdayn was in mourning already, for a King just barely holding on to life, for a King that Sil had long since decided must simply be immortal. He’d fought and won so many battles, came out of so many near scrapes that there simply could not be a way to kill him, and yet… his friend was dying. There was no sugar coating it. Nerevar was dying. And there was not a soul in Resdayn who knew what to do without him there. Sil cleared his throat and made his way closer to the heart, hearing Voryn stand to his feet behind him.

“Sil, stop. Don’t get any closer to it,” Voryn ordered.

“I can barely study it from here,” Sil said pointed out, turning to face Voryn, who took a shaky breath.

“There’s something not right about it. You mustn’t get closer,” Voryn stated, while Sil gave him an incredulous look. “When I stand too close for too long, I start to feel… not like myself. Not at all. Come back here, before it tries to affect you too.”

“If it is having an effect when you stand near it, I have no choice but to get as near as I possibly can,” Sil answered. “How long must you stand there before the effects become profound?”

“Sil, don’t risk it. Tell Nerevar I have said it is too dangerous to get near. You must not get near it.”

Sil sighed, disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to study it, and thought to leave, but a nagging thought at the back of his mind turned him back towards the heart. “I won’t stay long, Voryn. I must give a report to Nerevar, I do not wish for him to pass without some knowledge of what he gave his life to stop.”

Despite Voryn’s repeated protests, Sil pushed onwards, coming face to face with Lorkhan’s heart, still beating a slow, rhythmic dance in the centre of the chamber. He stood and watched it for a moment, before casting a detect enchantment spell over it, and yet… the answer was obscured, a magic so foreign to Sil he couldn’t even begin to dissect it. Whatever magics tied Lorkhan’s heart to this mountain were not like any that the mortals of Nirn, nor the daedra of Oblivion, could cast. It was something else entirely.

Sil sighed, but there was nothing to be done about it. Lorkhan’s heart would not give away its secrets so quickly, and usually, he was not in a rush with his studies. An answer that took three years to get was more valuable than one that took two minutes, after all, and the act of discovery and study itself was more appealing to him than the knowledge he gained afterwards, but… Nerevar would not live long enough to see the results of this act of study. Always he was keen to hear of Sil’s newest discoveries, newest creations, and yet, no matter what Sil did, he would never know what he made of this heart. Would never find out how the heart could be utilised, or destroyed.

His King, his friend, his dear commander… he was dying. And maybe, just maybe, Kagrenac’s study of the heart could give them a way to use it to save him, but Nerevar would refuse. Nerevar wished for a way to destroy the heart, as commanded by Azura. To never let another soul attempt what Kagrenac had failed to do. In his heart, Sil knew it was right, but there was that nagging thought in his mind again, that an immortal King, an immortal guardian of Resdayn would be more valuable than anything, but his heart drowned it out. Nerevar would not wish for that. Nerevar would wish to die when his fate was sealed, and not a moment later.

And yet… that nagging voice…

Nerevar would die, yes, but never would he be forgotten. Resdayn’s great protector, the mer who ousted the Nords, and stopped the Dwemer, history would never allow his name and deeds to be forgotten. History always remembered great Kings, but never did it remember minor houses. A thousand years after the death of Nerevar, he’d be remembered much the same as he was when he was alive, but barely a hundred years would pass after Sil’s death before his name was forgotten among the countless swathes of advisors who’d worked tirelessly to guide those same Kings, given up their lives in their service, failed to carry on their own family and legacy in the name of furthering that of their King’s. Nerevar’s name would live forever, and yet, House Sotha would die with him…

And he wouldn’t be the only one, that voice reminded him. Who remembered the lowly warriors who served the King, or the battle-hardened wives who kept the country running better than he did? A thousand years from now, everyone else would be forgotten, except Nerevar, no matter what they did now. A thousand years from now, and House Sotha and everyone he held dear within it and outside of it, they would all be forgotten. Everyone except Nerevar.

That was the way it was simply meant to be, Sil’s heart replied, feeling the pang of loss. He was little more than a small pawn in this world, even with his inventions and studies. He could not keep Sotha Nall’s name alive forever, could not protect Vivec and Almalexia from the ravages of time. There was simply no stopping that.

Unless, of course, he finished Kagrenac’s work…

Sil shot around on instinct, a flame spell at the ready, coming nearly face to face with Voryn, who stood staring at him, unblinkingly. Sil took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. “Voryn, is everything alright?”

Still Voryn did not blink, acting almost as if he was staring through Sil to the heart beyond him. Sil took a step forward, reaching out to Voryn, who did not react, still staring at the heart. “Voryn? I… I shall return to Nerevar now. I think, perhaps, you should return to the entrance too.”

Sil tried to usher Voryn backwards, watching as he finally blinked, as if awaking from a trance, turning to Sil with a look caught somewhere between horror and fascination. “Do you feel it, Seht? The weight of destiny, here, in this chamber? It is here where Lorkhan still lives. Here, where he shall die. Do you hear him speak?”

“Voryn,” Sil snapped, watching Voryn blink more rapidly, running a hand through his hair. “What has gotten into you? Come, let us return. I shall make note to Nerevar that you should take a break from your duties soon.”

“No,” Voryn insisted, but allowed Sil to guide him back towards the entrance. “Nerevar chose me to guard the heart, and guard it I shall do, until my dying breath.”

“There will be no need for that,” Sil insisted. “Come. I shall bring Vivec with me next time, he can take your place, let you visit Nerevar once more.

And let Vivec hear the voice in the back of his mind too...

Chapter Text

With a cold sweat and a half muffled scream, Vivec found himself once more thrust into the waking world, the pitch black of the room doing nothing to dampen his terror. Anything could be hiding in any of those corners, any location could be the source of the next pain, the next embarrassment, the next…

He ran his hands over the bedside table until he found it, a small, glowing ring, which he slipped on his finger and cast the enchantment, finally letting out a sigh of relief as the ring released a magelight, filling the room with a blinding, dazzling glow. A magical, pure white glow, nothing like the flames the cultists of Molag Bal used. He wasn’t there, not anymore. He was in Mournhold Castle, as far from Molag Bal’s grasp as he could be, as safe as anyone could get. All it would take was screaming as loud as he could, and Nerevar would come running to help him without hesitation.

But he didn’t want Nerevar, not at this hour. He wanted to sleep, and weeks of trying and failing to fall asleep after the nightmares that inevitably arose when he closed his eyes told him there was very little that would stop them. All except for one thing.

Vivec rubbed at his face, desperate to rub away the tears that had formed, and turned back to his bedside table, his hands shaking uncontrollably as he tried to reach the drawer. He shouldn’t, he knew he shouldn’t, it was a nasty habit he had thought he had kicked, but when the memories of all that Molag Bal did to him were too encompassing, it was the only thing that gave him peace. Vivec pulled out the moon sugar pipe and the sugar he’d managed to steal from one of the slaves, loading the pipe with shaking hands.

For nigh on three months he’d been trapped with that monster. For nigh on three months, all his life had been was torture, and pain, his body no longer his own, unable to escape, unable to move, unable to do anything but what Molag Bal had asked of him. He knew moon sugar would only damage him further, but damnit, it was his body to damage, and he’d spent too long being unable to do anything with it, to damage it or keep it safe. Why couldn’t he use his own body for his own pleasure?!

He lit the pipe with a quick, easy flame spell, breathing in the fumes and feeling his body relax into his pillows once more. If Nerevar caught him now, smoking sugar once more, in the Royal Castle of all places… Vivec didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to think of the anger and disappointment his dear Nerevar would feel at him relapsing back into the throws of moon sugar, but… what other option did he have? Nothing else kept the nightmares away, nothing else made him feel all soft and safe once more. Molag Bal’s torture hadn’t ended when he’d escaped almost four months ago now, and the only escape from the psychological torture Vivec could find was in his pipe once more, relishing the dizzying highs of the night as they lulled him back to sleep, trying to hide the tell-tale shakes during the day once more…

Nerevar couldn’t find out. Not about what Molag Bal did, nor how Vivec chose to escape from the memories. It was his shame to bear alone.

Chapter Text

The last sword clattered to the ground as its wielder continued to jolt against the electricity shot through it, long since dead from the blow. Which was fortunate, as Voryn had not a single drop of magic left to spare to battle.

His magic drained, Voryn dragged himself over to where Nerevar lay, unmoving, against the floor, felled by one of the Nords who’d sprung the surprise attack on them. His heart was in his mouth, a thousand fears and things left unsaid ran through his mind as he gently turned Nerevar over. Without his friend, how could they hope to win this war? He swallowed down sobs, which stopped as soon as he saw the rise and fall of Nerevar’s chest.

He was still alive. He was still alive!

But those wounds, he wouldn’t remain that way for long. And if Voryn had just the one healing potion, or the one magicka potion, he could save his life, but he was out. He was out of anything that could save Nerevar’s life. Unless...

Unless…

There was magic, used by the Telvanni wizards, to remove the life from one to grant to another, used to prolong their life beyond what they should have. Always they took life from a subject to give to themselves, but…

But…

Voryn bit his cheek, summoning his own health into his hands, forcing it to become magic, forcing it to replenish his magickal reserves, even as the drain on his own life became too much. But he had to do this, to give his life for his own Nerevar, he could think of no death sweeter, and when he turned the converted magic onto Nerevar, he watched with sweet relief as Nerevar took a deep breath, his wounds healing in front of Voryn’s eyes.

Nerevar would live. He would live.

What was a few decades less of his own life worth compared to that, anyway?

Chapter Text

A sharp jab in the ribs startles Sil awake, groaning and grasping at his head, only for his hand to be pulled away from it as soon as he tried. His head felt awful, agonisingly painful, made all the worse by the fact that these warriors wouldn’t let him even try to sleep the worst of it off, even now as they made camp. All he wanted was to lie down and sleep and hope this nightmare would finally end, but they wouldn’t even give him that.

“Easy,” one of the warriors stated, but the words were still struggling to get through to Sil’s active thoughts. “Don’t jump too hard, you don’t want to hurt yourself more.”

“What are we meant to be doing with him, anyway?” One of the other knights asked from behind his hand, as if that would stop Sil from hearing him. His mind might not be working as it usually did right now, but he could still hear them, even if they were covering their mouths. “We can’t keep him.”

“We’ll find somewhere safe to leave him and be on our way, we can’t exactly leave him back in Ald Sotha, can we?” The other warrior shrugged.

“So we’ll feed him, dump him on the nearest do-gooder, and just not let any of us sleep in the meantime to make sure he doesn’t die?” The knight asked. The first one shot him a harsh look.

“You’d hope someone would do the same for you, wouldn’t you?” The warrior shook Sil’s arm as he started to nod off again, biting his lip. “Don’t fall asleep just yet, kid. You’re not well, you need to stay awake.”

“I want to sleep,” Sil tried to insist, but the words got jumbled in his mouth too much, and after a few failed attempts to get his feelings known, he gave up, trying to lay down instead, only to be dragged upright once more by the warrior, letting out a frustrated cry.

“I know, I know. Once we get you to a healer, you can rest then, but in the meantime, why don’t you stay on watch with me? I have a story or two to tell you,” the warrior offered, and Sil tried to fix him with the coldest stare he had, but he was sure the effect was lost in his drowsy haze. He wasn’t a child, nor was he incompetent, but the way they spoke to him made it known they they thought he was both. All he wanted was rest, to be back home, to fall into his mother’s arms once more, even if it was only in his dreams. And they were keeping all of that from him.

How he wished to sleep, and dream, and never wake up again. How he wished he could do just what they feared...

Chapter Text

“What was he like?”

“Who?”

“Saint Nerevar. You speak of him so often… what was he like?”

Vivec’s brow furrowed as he slowly lowered his quill, running a finger over his lips. Archcannon Llueve stared back at him with such awe, how could he not answer? Even as he felt a shiver run down his spine, how could he miss the opportunity to speak of his own dear Nerevar?

“He was… perfect,” Vivec explained slowly. “To Sotha Sil, he was a listener, an enabler, one who encouraged his creations and needed his knowledge. To Almalexia, he was a wonderful husband, kind, attentive, involved but not overbearing. To me…”

“To you?”

“He was a teacher, patient, loving. In him we learned how to become the Gods we are, and in his name we continue to guide Morrowind as he guided us. In his blessing of our powers, he wished for us to protect our people forever more. And that we shall do.”

“That’s… incredible,” Archcannon Llueve said wistfully, writing down his own notes while Vivec carefully fingered the nib of his quill. Nerevar truly had been perfect, a perfect, flawless leader for the chimer people. No-one could ask for more.

Vivec pushed on the nib too hard, feeling the tip break the skin of his finger, biting back the thoughts that plagued the back of his mind, ‘And yet Nerevar did not want this. And yet Nerevar killed thousands, indiscriminately. And yet Nerevar died cursing all your names… He was not the perfect man you have made him out to be’.

Vivec dropped the quill, waving a hand over the wound that it might heal, watching the last drops of blood fall upon the parchment he had been writing on. It didn’t do well to dwell on the past. Nerevar was dead, and in his name, they’d keep the land he so loved safe. He might not have said as much, but surely it was what he had wanted. He’d always wanted them to rule together, to guide the country together, if he died before his time…

“And yet, in your sermons, Lord Vivec, you describe so many lessons you teach him, but you call him the teacher,” Llueve pointed out, while Vivec let out a soft laugh, picking up his quill and returning to writing, that he didn’t have to look his Archcannon in the eye.

“Oh, Llueve. Do not believe so readily in the stories a liar will tell you. Know that when I contradict myself, I speak of the truth.”

Chapter Text

“Child? What are you doing?”

Sil blinked, glancing at the broom in his hands and the dirty floor beneath it. He was sure he’d just been sweeping, hadn’t he? Or was that just an assumption based on what he was holding? The floor sure didn’t look clean around him…

“I think I’m cleaning,” Sil tried to explained, but the words didn’t arrange themselves properly in his mouth, and the sounds slurred together into a jumble, and he gave an annoyed huff. “I’m trying to help,” he tried again, but even he could hear that the sounds were barely intelligible, and he gripped the broom in his hands in frustration. A temple priest gently took the broom from his hands, placing a hand on his arm and guiding him away.

“Come, sit down, you look pale.”

She brought him to the temple’s library, sitting him down in one of the chairs, the broom seemingly having disappeared somewhere on route. She was speaking to him, he knew that, he could hear that, but it just wasn’t making sense still. Nothing had made any sense since Ald Sotha had been destroyed, and just the memory of it was enough to bring tears to Sil’s eyes.

“None of that, come on,” The priest demanded, handing him a rag, which Sil stared at blankly, turning it over in his hands. She took it back from him and wipe at his eyes. “Oh, what are we to do with you? The physical damage is fixed, and yet the mental damage remains. Cruith believes that will fade too eventually, but in the meantime, you are a terrible cleaner.”

She sighed and stepped away, leaving Sil alone once more as he tried to cradle his growing headache in his hands. Even without a broken skull, he still had searing headaches all too often, and his difficulties focusing weren’t made any better by being aware he was struggling with focusing, or with just plain forgetting what he was meant to be doing.

And speaking of…

Where had the priest gone? He was certain she had just been here, but the library was quiet and empty, leaving him with just the books. Ah, well, he might not know what he was meant to be doing in here, but those stacks of books were looking untidy, and he knew how to fix that, at least. Surely someone else would realise what he was meant to be doing and come and get him for it shortly. They usually did, or at least, he thought they did.

He couldn’t really remember the times they didn’t, after all.

Chapter Text

A biting wind cut across his face, the first signs to him that winter was truly coming, crossing over the Sea of Ghosts. And with it brought the bitter chill of solitude once more.

How long had it been since he’d left Mournhold for good? How long had Nerevar been dead? Five winters, at least. With each passing one, more and more stories were brought to him about his old ‘friends’, now nothing but bitter memories. Stories of how they twisted their people, their very land, discarding the Good Daedra, blaspheming against their names. Not once did he hear from them himself. Not once did any of them think to visit him.

Nerevar was dead, and in the place where Alandro Sul had placed his love for his shield companion, there grew only a cold bitterness, increasing with intensity each passing winter, like a pit filled with ice, defrosting and refrosting over and over, slowly spreading through him. He’d left for his home camp so shortly after Nerevar’s death, it all seemed such a blur through the grief, he’d allowed anyone in to try and ease the pain, and yet now, he wanted not another soul in his life.

He took a deep breath and opened his unseeing eyes once more, forever scarred from that last battle in Nerevar’s name. They said Azura had cursed the chimer, stricken their eyes red, but he could not see through them. Turned their skin the colour of a bruise, but he could feel no difference in his own skin. He had never asked, only assumed he had undergone the change too, but no-one mentioned it. As far as he knew, Azura had saved him from the curse, or at least, struck him blind that he could not see it, and with it, could not see the lies his old ‘friends’ spread throughout their land.

That word… ‘friends’… it brought such an ache to his heart and an anger to his soul. They had been his friends, his loyal companions, and they’d killed Nerevar. He was sure of it. He had not seen it, had not heard it, but Azura would not lead him astray. In his heart and soul, he knew they had killed him, and turned and struck the Daedra too, taking their place, becoming ‘gods’… He hated them, despised them, and yet, he knew, if they came here today, asked him to forgive them, apologised for it all… For Nerevar, he’d forgive them. For his own sake, for the sake of holding the hands of his friends once more… he’d forgive them.

And yet, they never came.

They never came, and his loneliness had long since turned to bitterness, and words passed his lips that he could never take back, spread to anyone that would hear them. To the fellow ashlanders, to travellers on the roads, to slaves and freemen… The Tribunal had committed the most foul of all murders, struck their friend down to claim power, to overthrow the Gods themselves… and left him all alone, in the darkness, in sickness, in old age…

And yet… as his heart ached in the silence, as the cold wind swept from the sea once more, chilling him to the bone, aching for connection, for someone who understood, even for a moment, all that he had lost. And yet...

He’d still forgive them.

Chapter Text

For hours he had queued yesterday, only to be turned away when the food ran out. For hours the day before, too, his fingers seizing up in the cold as he desperately tried to stave off the chill, But today, he’s joined the queue early. Today, he was determined to get some of the food the Temple offered to celebrate Azura’s coming summoning day, handed out freely to the needy of Mournhold, and his growling stomach knew that one of those needy was himself.

Finally, after hours of standing, after hours of shivering, of hours of watching others walk away with full stomachs and gloating faces, watching them leave with jealousy in his eyes, he was here. He was finally going to get fed. He was finally going to eat for the first time in three days…

Vivec stepped up to the priest handing out the soup, holding out his hands for a bowl, and the priest reached out to hand it to him, only to pause. “Haven’t I seen your face around?” The priest asked, and Vivec swallowed.

“Unlikely,” Vivec replied quickly, trying to tug his hood over his face some more. He didn’t work near the temple district of Mournhold; while worshippers of Mephala might welcome him more readily, those of Azura looked at his kind with disdain. The priest didn’t look convinced.

“No, I’m sure I have. Ulil,” The priest shouted over another priest and Vivec tried to hide his face more. “Don’t you recognise those eyes, too?”

“I thought we made it clear, this food is for the desperate, good people of Mournhold, not for the likes of you,” the second priest, Ulil, disparged. Vivec bit his cheek, trying to stay his tongue.

“I’m starving, isn’t that good enough?” Vivec asked. “I haven’t caused you any trouble.”

Which was, surprisingly enough for him, true. He’d long since learned that crossing the temple was only helpful for getting yourself killed later down the line. Enough do-gooders thought those that taking a coin from the offerings jar was a step above killing someone else that it wasn’t worth the risk. Vivec had already seen too many injured and dead prostitutes who’d come across a temple vigilante to risk it himself.

“We don’t serve your kind here. Next,” The priest instructed, brushing Vivec aside. Vivec stared at him in disbelief.

“I’ve been waiting here for three days, I haven’t caused you any trouble. Just give me something to eat and I’ll be on my way,” Vivec insisted. “Is it such a crime to worship Mephala and be paid for it?”

“Then take some of that money you make and spend on moon sugar and buy yourself some food. You’ll get none here. Next!” Ulil commanded.

“Well, if the Temple handed out moon sugar, I wouldn’t have to choose between the two!” Vivec stated, his voice rising in his frustration. He was so hungry, he could barely stand! And stopping the moon sugar… no, the food kept him alive, but the sugar was the only thing worth living for anymore. Not to mention the last time he’d tried to stop, he’d been too sick to do anything but crawl to the dealer and beg for more… “Give me my food! I’ve waited my turn! I’ve been polite!”

“Guards!” Ulil shouted, and Vivec felt a snarl on his lips. How dare they treat him like this? He wasn’t any less worthy of this food than anyone else in the line was! Just the sight of the bowl that should have been his in the hands of the next person in line made him see red, rushing over and trying to wrench it from their hands. “Guards! Come quick!”

The other person landed a blow against Vivec’s face, but Vivec answered with a shove, pushing them onto the serving table of food the priests had brought out, spilling the food across the floor to the angry yells of all those still waiting, and without thinking, Vivec fell to the floor, trying to scoop as much food into his mouth as possible before the guards could drag him away. Still there was yelling around him, and the sound of the guard’s marching ever closer, but by the three, he’d finally gotten his food. Finally filled a little of that void.

Finally...

Chapter Text

Four thousand years ago…

Four thousand years ago, when first he’d set eyes on that young s’wit who’d grow up to become Sotha Sil, Divayth had absolutely no idea what future awaited him. He’d imagined a few scenarios: an early death, enslavement by the dwarves once they’d figured out just what he could do, maybe a low position in House Telvanni at best, really. He’d never guess he’d become some god-like figure to their people, once Chimer, now Dunmer.

And even less had Divayth imagined it to happen, and still manage to outlive him.

Divayth read the letter over again, in complete disbelief of what he was reading. Sil was dead? No, there simply had to be some kind of mistake. Sil was, after all, a great logician, and while Divayth had yet to find any true evidence that Sil’s god-like powers had come with omniscience or foresight, he had an absolute knack for predicting anything down to a tee. Sil would have been able to guess when his death was coming, he would have warned Divayth, allowed him time to say good-bye. He could barely even remember the last time he’d seen his friend’s face, Sil would have told him!

Except… that wasn’t their way, was it? They were as good friends as any two mages could be, and with that came a certain emotional detachment. Emotions could play havoc with magic, they both tried to distance themselves from them to allow their magic to flow more freely. They were good friends, yet kept each other at staff’s length. It was their way. It was just their way.

It did not mean Divayth wanted to find out his friend had died via a letter without getting a chance to say good-bye.

His hands were shaking, and Divayth swallowed hard, reading the letter over again, wishing for some hint that it was a poor taste joke, and yet he knew. He knew it wasn’t. None of the Tribunal had been seen outside of their temples in decades, Sil longest of them all. Something had been troubling them, something that would have them hiding from their people. Something that could threaten their lives. And it had succeeded. Sil was dead. Sil was…

Divayth cleared his throat, trying to bottle down all the feelings that wanted to bubble to the surface. Grief, pain, anger, regret… none of them would do him any good. Not now, and if he’d seen Sil reacting this way to his own death, he’d have mocked him mercilessly for it. No, only one emotion served him now, as it always served him: curiosity. The letter didn’t mention how Sil had died, and he wanted to know. He wanted to find out. Curiosity had guided him this far; curiosity would guide him further, help drown out all the other feelings he couldn’t afford to feel.

No grief, only curiosity.

With shaking hands he returned the letter to the envelope, pushing himself up from his reading chair, trying to ignore how light headed he felt, how weak his knees felt. Why did he feel so old some days and not others, anyway? All he needed was to grab his travelling cloak, and he’d be on his way, to find answers from the only mer alive who could supply them.

Vivec awaited.

Chapter Text

Save our people, I shall fight Dagon myself.

Almalexia’s orders were swimming in his head, repeating over and over as he ran through the burning ruins that were once Mournhold, a city now evacuated of all its living, leaving behind only the dead and the Daedra that walked among them. Those that dared try and face him were quickly wiped from the face of Nirn itself, those that fled were allowed to do so. He had more important matters to attend to now.

He’d already ran through the entire city, re-calling every last person he crossed away to safety some three miles from the wreckage, and yet, the Daedra had not been stopped. For all her assertions that she could handle fighting a Daedric Prince, Almalexia had not yet defeated Mehrunes Dagon, and that made Sotha Sil sick with worry as he raced down the cobbled streets, littered with the burning bodies of those he did not reach soon enough.

And that smell… that smell, it was all too familiar… a smell that had haunted his nightmares since he was but a boy…

He made his way to the central plaza, where he knew Almalexia had gone to fight Mehrunes Dagon, pushing through the ancient gates that had long since fallen off their hinges, broken down by the invading forces, and finally saw the battle going on within them. Almalexia had donned her snake-mask, her fiery hair billowing out behind her as she wielded Hopesflame, driving it into the chest of Mehrunes Dagon.

Dagon screamed, but the blow had barely slowed him, as he brought his own weapon, a small, seemingly innocuous dagger, down on Almalexia, Sotha Sil’s scream coming just a moment too late to warn her as it cut through the flesh on her arm.

“Ayem!” Sil screamed, rushing forth as she collapsed to the ground, his magic flaring up, desperately trying to keep her alive as the magic of Mehrunes Razor tried to drag her to Oblivion. A deep, low laughter rang around the plaza, and as Sotha Sil turned to the source, his worry gave away to pure anger.

“Did you think your little pact could stop me?” Mehrunes Dagon asked, his gargantuan frame illuminated by the burning city around him, and Sil, for the first time in a very long time, felt very, very small. “See how I burn your city, as I once burned your village. See how I kill your friends as I once killed your family. Little mortals may play at being Gods, but in the end, you’re just mortals. You pose no threat to me.”

Sil turned to Almalexia, watching the ragged rise and fall of her chest, and knew she could not end this fight. Maybe she was never meant to, maybe, those millennia ago, as he’d watched as he lost everything, it had all been leading up to this moment, to this battle, here. He stood to his feet, trying to reign in his anger, to turn it to his own use instead.

“I am not that same little boy you faced in the burning ruins of his home, Dagon,” Sil declared, using his divine powers to replenish his magic, summoning an invention he had made so long ago, that he had thought he’d never have use for, silently gleeful that he finally would. “I will not allow Mournhold to fall as Ald Sotha did. The people here will live, and you… you will never step foot in my province again!”

The earth beneath Dagon cracked under Sil’s magic, Dagon leaping forward with his razor once more, determined to cut Sil down with it, meeting a wave of electricity as Sil created a barrier to stop him, the Prince yelling out in shock at the pain the magic caused him, but it didn’t stop him from pushing forwards regardless, the razor cutting down Sil’s face.

With a yell of shock, Sil summoned a strong wind to push Dagon back, bring a hand to his cheek, where blood flowed freely, but the razor had not hit its lucky chance to kill him. Dagon was pushing forwards again, and Sil this time forced the earth beneath his feet to push the Prince up wards, setting him off balance as Sil tried to get the earth to swallow him whole, only for the Prince to correct himself too quickly, getting another blow against Sil’s face as Sil desperately tried to summon a ward to stop him, the razor cutting another blow against his face as Sil retreated as quickly as he could, Dagon giving chase.

“You are grown, but you are every much the coward you were when we first met. You cannot best me!” Dagon declared, while Sil clenched his invention in his hand. He needed Dagon as still as possible for it to work, and with a little distance, he stopped retreating, stood his ground, raising one hand as if to try and cast a spell, while Dagon howled with laughter, raising the razor once more…

The god-bronze whips shot out, binding Dagon’s wrists, the Prince yelling in surprise, then pain, as the whips dug deep into his skin.

Sil cast a disarm spell against the Prince, pulling the whips tight that the Prince fell to the floor in front of him, holding to the handle of the one still remaining in his hands. For so long he had dreamt of this moment… for so long he had wished for his revenge, for revenge for his home, and now…

“You are wrong, Dagon,” Sil declared, firm, his voice shaking with anger. “I am no coward. House Sotha lends me its courage today, that I may avenge the deaths of every innocent mortal you have ever killed. It is you who is the coward, attacking a city of innocents in their sleep, wiping out a sleepy town for no reason but your own enjoyment. You are the coward.”

Sil brought the whip down across Dagon’s back, the Prince howling in pain and surprise, while Sil felt a sadistic glee at the sound, cracking the whip down the demon’s back once more. “You cannot cut off these whips. You cannot forget these marks. They will forever be bound to you, forever haunt you, that what I have done to you today will follow you like a ghost, the way your actions have haunted me. You will never forget what you have done today.”

Sil brought the whip down again as Dagon tried to stand, tried to push free, but the god-bronze struck out once more and the Prince fell to the floor. “I want you to submit to me,” Sil snarled. “You will beg for my forgiveness, beg for me to stop, and only then will I let you go, and seal the doors to the Deadlands behind you. I want you to kneel, Mehrunes Dagon.”

Dagon scoffed, trying to push himself up once more, but Sil brought the whip down once more, twice more, the Prince screaming for mercy from the chains built specifically to bring him torture, but Sil wouldn’t have it. Not until he had what he wanted.

“Kneel before me, Dagon!” Sil commanded, the whip once more bringing screams from the Prince, and joy to his heart.

Chapter Text

“How long has your family been dead for, anyway?”

Sotha Sil flinched, turning to stare at Vivec with a look caught between disbelief and exasperation while Vivec simply grinned back. It was always nice to keep Seht on his toes, never predicting Vivec’s next question. They’d just been talking about the country’s fishing, after all.

“My Mother and sister have been dead a little over a decade now,” Sil explained. “My grandparents had died long before that, my uncle died shortly after my parent’s marriage, and my auntie was killed during a Nordic invasion when I was seven. Any other questions, or does that answer all of them?”

“You had a big family,” Vivec said with an impressed whistle. “What about your father? Did you have one?”

“The late Lord Sotha died before I was born,” Sil explained with a pointed tone. “I never knew him, but according to everyone who did, I am the spitting image of him. Good thing too, or people would doubt my legitimacy.”

“Lucky,” Vivec scoffed, to which Sil frowned at him. “That you never met your father. Take it from me, Seht, they’re filth. Vermin of this world.”

“Rich coming from you,” Sil shot back, turning back to his tinkering. “And for your information, by all accounts my father was a great man, beloved by everyone he met. Highly sociable, very knowledgable on Ald Sotha’s trade, and a caring, loving husband and father to my mother and sister.”

“People always say that about the dead,” Vivec scoffed. “And to the living around their children too.”

“I doubt that,” Sil insisted. “Nall used to insult our auntie until she was blue in the face, even at her funeral, yet she never had a bad thing to say about out father.”

“Then she was lying to you,” Vivec said with complete confidence. “Father’s are good for nothing, insulting, lying bastards who will blame you for everything and anything wrong with their life. You got off lucky, having a fully dead family. No-one to cause you that pain.”

“Vivec,” Sil said, slowly, putting down his tools and turning to Vivec with a look of concern. “You… do know that’s not true for most families, right? That most families genuinely love and care for each other, and look out for each other?”

Vivec huffed, crossing his arms, “Yeah, right. They say they do, until you mess up and find that they see you as nothing more than a waste of space.”

“No, they don’t,” Sil insisted, and Vivec could feel his own temper flaring, just a little.

“Yes, they do,” Vivec insisted. “You don’t remember it, you’re so deluded in your grief you’ve forgotten how bad having a family is.”

“That’s… Vivec, I fought with Nall. I fought with her all the time. And I had disagreements with my mother, some even truly nasty ones, but I never doubted that they loved me. They would never dream of raising a hand against me, or I against them. I think you just had a bad family.”

The sincerity in Sil’s eyes did nothing to lighten Vivec’s anger, as he crossed his arms tighter, glaring back at Sil. “You’re wrong. They just- families just- They’re not worth the pain, Sil! They either drag you down or ignore you, or ignore what the others are doing by dragging you down and insulting you and!- and-!”

Vivec swallowed, watching as Sil’s brow furrowed, standing from his chair and taking a step closer, to which Vivec took a step back, and Sil stopped. “What do you mean, your family didn’t try to drag you down with them?” Vivec asked quietly.

“They just… didn’t. Families want the best for each other, they help each other up, not drag each other down. Vivec, I’m sorry. I’m sorry you didn’t have that, but my family was not like yours. And I’m glad for it.”

“You had money, no worries, and a loving family, and I had… what I had,” Vivec muttered. “And you wonder why our paths were so different.”

“So different, and yet the same destination, in the end,” Sil stated. “Vehk…”

“No, don’t,” Vivec insisted, shaking his head. “I… I need some time. Leave me.” He stood up, meaning to leave, pausing as Sil cleared his throat.

“You may have your time, as much as you need, but Vivec… remember that you are still my brother, and if you need me… if you need a loving family, I’m here. Any time. That is what family is for, after all.”

Vivec screwed his eyes shut. Oh, where was a brother when he was being insulted to Oblivion and back, where was a brother when his self-worth had dropped through the floor to the point where running away to the streets of Mournhold was a better alternative than remaining at home? Where was a brother when he truly needed him, rather than now, when he was safe, and loved, and learning that his family had been anything but normal…

“Thank you, Seht,” was all he managed to say.

Chapter Text

It had been a silly mistake. A damned, silly mistake…

Sil staggered as he walked, forcing himself to keep going, to make his way to the water’s edge, his right hand hovering over the gaping wound on his left, trying to bite back his own whines. That daedroth had gotten him good, nigh on tore the skin from his arm in its maw before he finally felled it, and now, he had gotten himself well and truly in a fix.

He lowered himself gingerly beside the water, trying to scoop up as much as possible in his one hand to pour over the other arm, flinching as the water touched the wound. It wasn’t good enough, the salt of the sea water hurt, but it was better than letting whatever vile poisons could be found in a Daedroth’s mouth to seep into the wound. Biting his tongue, Sil plunged his arm into the water, fighting back his pained screams as the salt burned every inch of exposed flesh.

Mehrunes Dagon had opened another portal, sent another invasion into Nirn, to destroy yet another town, and he couldn’t sit back and let it happen. He simply couldn’t, not now that he was grown, and magically adept, and able to fight back. And at the start, with reinforcements and his magic, it had all gone his way, the Daedra were dying, he was getting his revenge…

And then, the other warriors started dying instead.

He pushed on, increasingly alone, trying to save as many people as he could, to make up for all the lives he couldn’t save in Ald Sotha, but his magicka reserves were limited. He fought well, and hard, and thought it was over, just as the last dregs of his magicka wore out, until that Daedroth had appeared from seemingly nowhere, leaving him with nothing to defend himself with but a small dagger. That he was still alive at all was nothing short of a miracle, but it would take another to survive a wound like this.

Sil pressed down on the wound, whining through the pain, desperately wishing the bleeding would just stop already, but Daedroth bites were rarely that forgiving. If he could heal the wound, if he could purge the beast’s poison and infection from it, he’d be fine, but that would require magic, and he hadn’t a drop to spare. He couldn’t recall to safety without it, couldn’t heal himself, couldn’t fight, couldn’t do anything but sit by the water’s edge, rocking himself for comfort as he cried out at the pain once more. How did the Nords manage it, anyway, living and fighting without magic? He felt like he was missing an arm and a leg without it.

No, all he could do now was try to stem the bleeding, and try to get to safety. He was days of walk from anywhere else, and without any coins to pay for healing, he was running low on luck. By the time he got somewhere that could help him, his arm might already be too far gone, if he could stop the bleeding before he bled out. He only had one hope right now, and it was a hope he didn’t have much faith in.

He pushed himself to his feet, gritting his teeth at the woozy feeling of standing too quickly, and glanced at the setting sun. At least he knew which way was East and West, and with that, he could find Divayth Fyr. He had to. There wasn’t another soul in Resdayn who would ever think of lending him a hand now.

And a hand was exactly what he needed...

Chapter Text

The alarms had long since been silenced, the doors to the Cogitum Centralis locked tight, stopping anyone else from entering. His time was coming, Sotha Sil knew it, and he’d be damned if he let any of his apostles get themselves killed simply because they did not want to face the inevitable.

Here, in the Throne Aligned, he knew every inch of his city like it was his own skin, a projection of his own soul, and he could feel Almalexia making her way through it, burning with anger and hatred, hatred for him, for not being able to come up with a solution she approved of. Never mind that he had wanted to die, she had wanted to remain a God for all eternity, and if he could not help her, he stood only in her way. He knew this. He’d known as much for years, known his end would come at her blade. A fitting end for one who had betrayed Nerevar in much the same way.

He forced the last finishing touches on their way, trying to set out anything that could slow Almalexia’s approach. If she got here too early, if she found out about The Heart, if she destroyed anything vital… the past four thousand years of work would all be for nothing. He couldn’t allow that. He couldn’t allow his great city to fall so quietly, and so suddenly. Almalexia could not be stopped, his fate could not be stopped, but he would slow her as much as possible, until he could get the finishing touches done on the Heart.

The Clockwork City was always designed to be Nirn in miniature, and Nirn survived through the power of Lorkhan’s heart, through the magic of his body, through the combined magics of Gods and Mortals, and for so long, he had taken the role of Lorkhan’s heart here in the city. For it to continue to function, once he had lost his divinity, or once he was dead, he knew he’d need an artificial heart. From the moment the city was first conceived, that had been clear to him. That it would take him this long to design and plan it, this long to construct it, that had been a surprise. He’d never get it done in time. The city would have to finish it for him.

He could feel Almalexia’s presence just outside the room now, feel it like he could feel his own self, a strange quirk of their shared connection through Lorkhan’s heart. Would Almalexia realise what he had done? Or in her madness would she not care, not realise, cast aside any connection she suddenly felt to the Clockwork City as a side effect of his death? Would Vivec notice, or care? Or had he too succumbed to madness as his powers ebbed the way Ayem had done? The way Sil knew his own fate was headed. Truly, only a madman would conceive of his plan at all.

The Imperfect was destroyed, and Sil knew his time was coming. He could exit the Throne Aligned. He could face Almalexia, almost certainly win the fight, continue to live and save their people from their Queen’s madness, but… The City needed a Heart. And truthfully, he cared not for his own death. He had delayed it long enough the past four millennia, and Almalexia’s arrival was predictable and welcomed. Here he would die, upon his throne, without a final word, and his City would continue to live. Continue to thrive.

And he would die happy knowing it was safe.

Chapter Text

“What now?”

Sil’s head was swimming with a thousand thoughts, a thousand feelings, knowledge that had so long been cut off from him, flowing so freely through his mind, and it took him a moment too long to look up and notice he was being spoken to. Almalexia and Vivec stared back at him, the same haunted look he knew was present in his own face being reflected in theirs. Everything felt strange, new and foreign. His companions no longer felt like seperate beings, but like an extension of himself, as if he could simply reach out and control their bodies too. He did not want to test it, not yet, anyway. He was struggling enough to feel in control of his own body.

“We… we should leave,” Sil declared, pressing on his own head, trying to keep these new thoughts and feelings trapped inside his skull. He glanced at the heart, still beating, yet feeling so quiet compared to what it had been. “We must not tell anyone, not yet. Not until we understand what we have done and what we are now capable of.”

“Might be best not to tell anyone, anyway,” Vivec muttered. “People will tell each other soon enough once they see. Word of mouth and gossip spreads knowledge better than forced attempts at teaching.”

“Then let us go,” Almalexia agreed. “And find out what awaits us.”

As one they left the chamber that they had felt so fractured entering, as one they passed through the passage into the entryway for the volcano, as one they quietly acknowledged the guard stood at the entrance, who shifted where she stood, staring at them with open mouthed awe.

“Councillors, is everything alright?” She asked. “You look… different.”

“We are fine, continue to protect the entrance here, allow no one entry,” Almalexia declared, the guard bowing as they turned around once more, meaning to leave, only to be stopped as the guard spoke once more.

“You… What have you done?” There was something etheral to the voice, and as they turned to face her once more, the guard was no longer stood on guard, but floating a few inches off the ground, a burning hatred in her eyes, a sun and a moon held aloft in her hands, and Sil felt something foreign bubble up within him. “Do you have any idea what you have released upon this world?!”

“Azura,” Vivec greeted quietly. “We hope only to protect our people, now that Nerevar is dead. We hope-”

“Now that he is dead? And who’s fault was that?” Azura demanded, Vivec and Almalexia flinching beside him, but it was as if something else had gripped his body, and a sudden anger flared up in Sotha Sil, one that was as foreign to him as his new powers.

“I hardly saw you on the battlefield fighting to protect him,” Sil snapped, in a tone that made all three of those with him jolt with surprise, but he spoke nothing but the truth. “You never raise a finger to help those who need it, do you? Only those you deem worthy, and not a person more. What a pathetic excuse for a God you are.”

The rage Azura pushed through the guard was intense, but Sil had no reason to fear, no reason to cower. He knew any attack she levied against him, he would find a way to stop it. She was no more powerful than he was, except here he had his world behind him. He had Nirn, he had the power of Mundus itself behind him, while Moonshadow was too far from Azura’s grasp to help her here. “How dare you speak to me like that, mortal. Remember your place.”

“My place?” Sil asked, feeling Vivec and Almalexia slowly retreat behind him. Let them run. Let them cower. He’d been wanting a chance to let Azura now how pointless she was from the moment he’d first learnt she was utterly powerless as a patron god to do anything but watch tragedy unfold. “This is my place. Mundus is my place. You are the one whom is not from here, Daedra. Retreat to your own realm, we have no want of you anymore.”

“You will want of me,” Azura spat. “You, and all the mer of Resdayn, will want of me. And for all your insults, you will suffer, but when my people need me most, when my people need Nerevar most, he will return and strike you down, and destroy that which you have used in such a profane way. And you will be hated for your betrayal here today, and I shall be loved.”

“Spare me your prophecy,” Sotha Sil snarled, feeling that same strange ghost of a feeling that had driven him on in the heart chamber pushing him now, guiding his voice, keeping the shake from his hands. “The old gods are cruel and arbitrary, and distant from the hopes and fears of mer. Your age is past. We are the new gods, born of the flesh, and wise and caring of the needs of our people. Spare us your threats and chiding, inconstant spirit. We are bold and fresh, and will not fear you.”

“You dare-?” Azura cursed, raising the hand with a moon high to the sky, where the twilight star shone bright above them. “See what a lack of faith in me brings!”

Sil glared at her, but screams behind him made him turn, to see Almalexia panicking, her golden skin darkening by the second as if the ash of the volcano had clung to every inch, her beughtiful brown eyes turning a blood red colour. Beside her, Vivec seemed to be undergoing the same change, and even without lifting his hand, Sil knew from the looks on their faces that the same was happening to him, and to the guard Azura still controlled. “This is not my act, but your act. You have chosen your fate, and the fate of your people, and all the Dunmer shall share your fate, from now to the end of time. You think yourselves Gods, but you are blind, and all is darkness.”

Dark elves? But before Sil could try and refute her again, the blinding light the guard was giving out through the possession extinguished in a split second, and the guard fell to the floor in front of them, unconscious. And slowly, second by second, Sil realised just what he had said.

“By the three…” Sil muttered, falling to his knees. He hadn’t meant to… he didn’t really… he had barely felt like himself, barely really realised what it was he was saying, the words had come from his mouth the same as his breath, without thinking, without his input. As if something, or some one, was forcing him to say. “What have I done?”

He raised his hands to his face, staring at the ashen skin that greeted him, a permanent mark of what he’d said. Well and truly discarded by their Gods. And without the light of Azura’s star above them, without the glow of the Daedra, the volcano seemed ever so dark and quiet.

“It is done,” Vivec said quietly, Sil turning to face him. “It was inevitable that it would happen, and now it is done. The Daedra have forsaken us, and we must take their place. Don’t mourn their abandonment, brother. They did little for the Chimer in the first place.”

“But how do we face our people looking like this?” Almalexia asked, holding up her hands. “They will know as soon as they see us what we have done. We carry our sins like a scar.”

“There must be a solution,” Vivec insisted. “It is like Sil said, this is Mundus, and it is ours. We have the ultimate power here, not Azura. We will walk down the mountain slowly, and by the time we reach the bottom, no doubt Sil will have a solution. Right, Sil?”

Sil continued to stare at his hands for a moment longer, before nodding, rising to his feet once more. There was no time for wallowing, no time for second guessing. The Daedra had abandoned them, but they were never truly there for them anyway. The time for the old Three and the old ways was behind them, now it was time for the new Gods, the Gods of the people of Resdayn.

Now, it was time to face their people as themselves, made anew.

Chapter Text

The Andrano family tomb was… quiet.

It wasn’t as if Favas had much experience in Dunmer crypts, after all, this was the first one he’d ever been in, but there was something altogether not right about the atmosphere in this one, as if the crypt Guardians themselves were quieter than normal, as if they’d been alerted, and were trying to keep a low profile so as to catch him unawares. Every hair along the back of his neck stood up on end as he crept further in.

If he was caught by surprise, if he was surrounded… he was a goner. There was only one way out of this crypt, besides joining the dead down here for all eternity, and he wasn’t about to do that so soon after gaining his freedom once more.

Further and further he crept, hearing the distant sound of rattling, of a breathing-like wind echoing through the halls. Further and further, until the hall opened out into a room, lined with urns, a naked, dead Argonian body laid out in the middle of the hall. No doubt some sorry grave robber who’d met an early end at the hands of the guardians, although the lack of clothes was confusing. Served them right, disturbing the dead. Served them right…

He cautiously stepped over them, meaning to lift his other leg, which was caught by the distinct feeling of fingers. Favas screamed, raising his sword and trying to kick out at the hand.

“Hey!” The Argonian yelled out. “Don’t kill me, help me up here, come on.”

“Who in Mara’s name are you?” Favas hissed, kicking the Argonian’s hand away.

“I could ask the same of you, Outlander. What Dunmer invokes Mara in a tomb? I’m guessing this isn’t your family tomb.”

“And it’s clearly not yours either. So what are you doing here?” Favas demanded.

“I might be one of their slaves,” The Argonian joked, but their was venom hanging off of every word. “Nuxal’s the name. Now, help me up and tell me what name I can curse your existance by.”

“Favas Ven,” Favas stated, stowing away his sword and helping drag the Argonian to her feet, although she swayed as she stood. “Are you okay?” He asked, yelping as she stumbled to the floor again, only barely catching her. “Where are your clothes?”

“Crypt has a bonewalker,” Nuxal stated, rolling her eyes. “I only wanted to share in some of the wealth my people have brought this damned island, but the blasted thing drained all my strength. Had to drop everything to get out. And yes, that included my clothes.”

“So now you’re naked, and weak, and unable to stand, and no doubt about to make this my problem?” Favas asked, while Nuxal rolled her eyes again.

“I already killed most of the guardians for you, so you should be thanking me,” she insisted. “But if you really want to be a good little hero like your people do not ever have, you could bring me back my clothes and earnings.”

“I am not helping you rob a tomb,” Favas insisted. “You will get your clothes back, but not a single thing more.”

“Not even my sword?!” She asked incredulously.

“No.”

“Bastard robbing elf, just like the rest of them,” Nuxal hissed. “Well, go on, then. Get me my clothes. Unless you like staring at naked Argonian women.”

Favas knew he was going to regret ever talking to her soon enough.

Chapter Text

The artificial sun beat down upon Sil’s face as he marched towards the Elegiac Replication, feeling the dry ground crunch under foot, the flowers stock still in their metallic glory. It was empty now, very few dared tread outside the Brass Fortress to visit it, and when the Clockwork God marched through his city as if driven by forced mere mortals could not comprehend, they all knew to keep away. He was alone. All alone, except for…

“Nerevar!” Sotha Sil yelled, stepping up to the projection of King Nerevar. It was near perfect, every pock, every scar, every last wrinkle Sil could remember from his face lovingly re-created and crafted into the replication. It had taken no less than twenty years to get perfect, and now, it was like being stared at by his old friend. “What is the meaning of this? Dagoth has returned, and for what?”

Nerevar did not turn to look at him, did not open his mouth to speak. Sil had never designed him to do so, never programmed any intelligence for it to respond. Indeed, it had felt insulting to even try to replicate the great mind of his friend. “Azura wishes us dead, we know this much, but she promised. She promised, it would be at your hand. She promised you would return to kill us, so why has Dagoth Ur returned?”

His eyes had never looked more lifeless than they did now, staring straight ahead, straight through Sotha Sil, to something he could not even imagine what it was. “We will lose our powers without access to the heart. Without the heart, we shall fade away, but not die. Locked by our own sins. Nerevar, where are you?”

Still Nerevar did not speak, and Sil felt his anger flaring more and more. “Do you seek to mock me? Do you not understand? As we fade so too do the people’s faith in us! So too does the strength of Morrowind, and the protection we have granted it for so many years! We will rust it from the inside out, slowly weakening it until the cogs break under their own weight, and the people will suffer. Where are you?”

There was no movement, no wind within the city, yet Sotha Sil felt the chill, summoning flames to his hands to wave them off. “She promised! She promised you would come back! Why do you wait, my friend? Have I not waited long enough? Why will you not return? Why will you not kill me?!”

He knew the answer, knew that he would never see his dearest friends again, even though they did not. He had left Vivec on bitter terms, Divayth Fyr would write, but not visit, Almalexia would only see him again to deal him his final blow, and Nerevar… would not return in time. He was alone. For the first time in four thousand years of living, he was well and truly, utterly alone.

“Do you not hear me?!” Sil barked, the flames rising up around him, hot enough to melt the nearby flowers. “Do you seek to torture me? To bring me the same misery I have brought you? Have I not suffered enough? Why won’t you answer me?!”

The flames circled the entire garden by now, the flowers wilting, the projection of Nerevar flickering with the heat, Sil roaring in anger as he aimed to destroy it, to destroy it all, once and for all, to deal one last insult to his friend and student who insulted him so…

But that flicker, it almost made Nerevar look like he turned, and Sil turned to see what he looked at, and watched as the projection of Sotha Nall flickered too, the flames surrounded her pedestal, the replicated Roland’s Tear around her melting onto the floor, and in horror, Sil broke down the flames.

“Nall…” he whispered, feeling tears spring to his eyes. “Oh Nall… what have I done?”

The garden wasn’t ruined, not yet. The flowers… he could repair them, the projections were all intact, but… there was deep burns marring the stonework. The Garden would never look the same again, and he’d so nearly let Nall sucumb to the same flames she had, all those lifetimes ago. In his anger, in his madness, he’d nearly destroyed it all. He turned back to Nerevar, the projection no longer flickering, just staring straight ahead once more.

“My friend, what have I become?” Sil asked in quiet horror, yet still Nerevar did not answer. Sil’s legs gave way as he collapsed to the floor at Nerevar’s feet, exactly where he belonged, curling up on himself. He’d never felt so alone, never felt so far from any other soul as he did now. He’d never see any of his friends again. Only death awaited him now. “Why must I continue to live? Why can you not come and kill me? I have waited too long, Nerevar. Please. Please.”

“Just kill me.”

Chapter Text

With one final blow, the imperfect fell to the floor, the glow in its eyes burning out, and Nuxal fought to stay on her feet. The Clockwork City had been dizzying so far, the Imperfect, despite its name, was damn near a perfect fighter, it was all very nearly too much for her, and she downed as many stamina potions as she could as she staggered to her feet once more. She couldn’t give up now. She had reached it, the Throne Aligned was just beyond this door, and on it…

Sotha Sil…

The most reclusive member of the Tribunal, the mage, the scholar. A wizard so adept he had figured out divinity, with four thousand years of magical study and god-hood backing him up, he was not going to be an easy fight. Dagoth Ur had been difficult enough, but Sotha Sil had been a greater mage than Dagoth four thousand years ago, and now he was aged, and insane, if Almalexia was to be believed. Nuxal wasn’t sure she could be, she wasn’t sure she could trust any of the Dunmer gods or heroes, but… Sotha Sil’s creations had attacked Mournhold. There was no two ways around it. He had to answer for it, she just hoped she could talk him down without a fight. She wasn’t sure she could take a battle again so soon.

With a deep breath, the pushed open the door, stopping once through it to marvel at the sight. Spinning, dizzying brass surrounded her on all sides, a false sky visible beyond it, showing a sunset, and glorious, beautiful sunset. And there, highlighted by the false sky, it could only be one person, stood silently as she entered, turned towards her, but too far away to make out clearly.

“Sotha Sil!” She yelled, expecting a reaction, but he did not jump, did not flinch, did not turn to look at her. Some of his Apostles had said he was in an entirely different frame of mind within the Throne Aligned, she might need to get closer to grab his attention. Tentatively, watching for any and every trap, she inched closer. “Sotha Sil, I have been sent by Lady Almalexia to find out why your fabricants are attacking Mournhold. What do you have to say for yourself, and your creations?”

He did not answer, did not move, besides a slight sway of his body, and as Nuxal drew nearer, her anixety grew. What if it was a trap? What if he was wanting her to draw nearer, to attack her when she least expected it? What vile magics would a mad mage god know and use? Spells that could turn her inside out, rend her flesh from her bones, melt her in a pool of sentient gore, unable to fight yet still aware and alive? But she couldn’t reach him from here, so she had no option but to inch nearer. Still his body swayed.

It… did not sway the way she would expect someone to sway.

Wires wrapped around his body, as if he had become entangled in one of his creations, but he did not seem to struggle against it. Perhaps there had been a struggle at the start, but his head had lolled back against his back, and the closer Nuxal drew, the more her stomach dropped.

His body was entirely limp, wrapped up in wires holding him upright, his nails overlong, his hair bedraggled, his skin ashen. From this angle, from this distance, she could see a large stain across the side of his white robes, could see stains running down his cheeks from his eyes, pooled out from his mouth, and she knew it was blood. Knew it should have been blood. But the stains were pitch black, as if made by oil from a machine, and not from the blood of a living creature.

There was not a single inch of movement from his body anywhere.

“Lord Sotha Sil?” She asked tentatively, getting closer and closer. There was no sign of rot or decay upon his body, but the oil and grease was dry and old, the wires keeping him upright had a layer of dust upon them. She got nearer and nearer, close enough to touch his body, and when she did so, there was not a single response. Two fingers to his neck revealed no pulse, his red eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling above him, his mouth agape.

He was dead? It… saved her a job, she had to admit, but… how? Who would have killed the God? Because this could be no mere accident, she knew that. The wound to his side, it looked to be made by a blade. And if it was not Sotha Sil who had released the fabricants into Mournhold, then… who?

There was nothing else to it. She could do no more for the God, even as she felt her stomach lurch at the sight of him, at the thought of leaving him all alone here to return to Almalexia and explain that her dear friend was already long gone by the time she arrived. Would Almalexia accuse her of deicide? She wouldn’t put it past her. Maybe a trip to Vivec would be better suited, he hardly seemed more sane but at least he hadn’t sent her to bury Mournhold in ash to save it…

She took one last look at Sotha Sil as she retreated from the Throne Aligned, at how very quiet, still and alone he looked there upon his throne, enveloped by his own invention. A sad end for anyone, to die alone in somewhere so inhospitable, but for a God… she turned back towards the door, aiming to leave, only to halt as a portal opened in front of her, a voice calling out through it.

“Nerevarine. Here it ends.”

Chapter Text

Fire licked up the sides of the building Sotha Nall hid behind, feeling the flames reaching out to her, trying to grab her, as she crept through the shadows, trying to avoid the flames that would only reveal where she was. From within the building she had been hearing screams, screams of children, and the cruel laughter of Dremora she had no hope to fight against, but they had quickly died out. She didn’t want to think about what had happened within it.

Ald Sotha was burning, her home town was burning, her house already gone. The screams and the flames had alerted her to the attack, but by the time she’d managed to reach her house, it was already awash in flame, screams echoing through the windows, her yells for survivors to identify themselves lost beneath the loud roar of fire, and the slamming of brick hitting the floor as the foundation walls gave out under the heat, her home crumbling to ruins in front of her very eyes. Her family were all dead, their screams had ended so soon afterwards...

Since then she’d been trying to avoid the Daedra who flooded the town, seeking out survivors, trying to steady her breathing, trying to bit down her screams of pain. One daedra had already cut her deep along her left thigh when they found her by the ruins that were once her home, her arms were covered in burns where she’d tried to reach into the house to grab survivors. Curled up as she was between burning buildings, she knew she was only biding her time until her death. There was no escape, the walls of flames around the tow n were impassable.

“Ha ha! Foolish mortal!”

Nall felt the panic rise, stumbling to her feet and running blindly from between the burning houses back into the open, hearing more Daedra laugh as they spotted her, but not daring to stop and see from where they were chasing her. Her legs hurt from running, her eyes burned from the heat, her lungs were so full of ash and debris she could barely breath, but she couldn’t give up now. Not after she’d made it this long. She just needed the opportunity to escape, and she’d take it in a heart beat. She’s take it-

A hand grabbed her arm, pulling her to a dead stop with a scream, coming face to face with a large, four-armed red Daedra, grinning at her as if she was nothing but a succulent meal, and Nall screamed in horror, trying to pull herself free, yet the Daedra gripped her ever tighter.

“Looks like we missed this one,” the daedra croned, dragging Nall hard enough to put her off-balance, and she screamed out again, the hand holding tight around her burned forearm as she tried to struggle free. “Over here should suffice.”

It dragged her again as Nall continued to scream, continued to try and fight for her freedom, the daedra laughing in her face, pulling her off balance once more, but movement from one of the nearby houses caught her eye, for just a moment. Just a moment long enough to see a familiar eye poking out from behind the old blacksmith’s building, open wide with fear, and swimming with recognition.

No, no no no no no no…

Her brother, he couldn’t be here! Either he should have been at home and already dead, or outside of the town, unable to enter. He couldn’t be living through this nightmare! And what’s worse, she could see that calculating look in his eye, as if he was making a plan to try and save her, her little, baby brother… oh no no no…

She opened her mouth to whisper at him to run, to leave her, that it’d be okay, but he wasn’t watching, instead jumping out from behind the building, firing off a spell at the Daedra that did nothing but waste his magicka reserves as the Daedra turned to him with a sneer, the blood rushing so quickly through Nall’s ears that she couldn’t hear a single wood spoken, not until the Daedra kicked her to the floor, four swords in its arms, as it stormed towards Sotha Sil, his last words breaking through the silencing blood rush, forcing her to her feet once more.

“Nall! Run!” He yelled, and she had no option but to comply, hoping beyond all belief that he had a plan. He had to have a plan. He was the brains of the family, after all. He had to be able to figure out something, while she ran like a coward, trying to find somewhere else to hide.

Sil had to have a plan…

Right?

Chapter Text

The silence at the table was deafening, and Nerevar stared down at the wood instead of into his Council’s eyes. He knew this would be the reaction they would have. Knew they would disapprove, but the agonising wait for one of them to say something was getting to be too much.

“Are you serious?” Vivec asked quietly, and Nerevar nodded.

“Yes. We are at war with the Dwemer.”

Nerevar risked looking up, his eyes meeting Voryn’s first, a look of horror on his face. It had been his intelligence that had lead them down this path, after all, not that Nerevar blamed him. Voryn was right to tell him.

“And you did not think to consult us on this before declaring war?” Sotha Sil asked more pointedly, and Nerevar fought back the grimmace on his face. He always asked his council for advice, always trusted his most loyal advisors to steer him from rash decisions. This had been the first time he had not, in his rage and anger at Dumac’s deception, and he could not take it back.

“Azura willed for us to go to war,” he answered instead, feeling the shame of lying, the shame of his lost temper severing an alliance that everyone had told him was string thin for so long, yet he never wanted to truly believe was so. Azura had willed it, after all. That wasn’t a complete lie, she wanted the Dwemer to be stopped from their blasphemous plans, but she hadn’t told him to go to war over it.

The reactions to his answer were mixed around the table. Voryn and Alandro Sul seemed to accept the answer, Voryn was resignation, Alandro with a thoughtful nod. Vivec’s face reflected his distaste, but he stayed his tongue, while the anger on Almalexia’s face told him he was facing a more harsh verbal lashing from her later, when the rest of the Council wasn’t watching, wouldn’t hear her anger over him declaring war behind her back. Sotha Sil, however, was visibly seething.

“What does her will mean compared to our wisdom?” He asked quietly. “She will not be the one risking death on the battlefield in her name.”

Nerevar closed his eyes that he might not have to face Sotha Sil’s reasonable anger any more. He still had research at Kemel-Ze, no doubt the Dwemer had already scoured through it for any hints as to how to counter his creations, if not destroyed everything they found just to spite him. He had every right to be angry, they all did, but it was too late.

“Dumac has no interest in repairing the alliance,” Nerevar stated. “It is done. We are at war. There is no other path from here.”

He could feel it, in their stares, in their pursed lips and quick glances between each other, in the very atmosphere of the room. His Council was angry. His Council was losing faith in him, as King and Hortator, but there was no other path.

They were at war. He could only hope to survive it once more.

Chapter Text

Still the town burned, still the screams and dying gurgles of her friends and neighbours echoed through the night sky, interspersed by the march of Daedric boots, and Nall’s own whimpers of pain. She watched as two daedra passed by the opening to her hiding spot, shouting for any more mortals to come out, but she cowered instead, the heat becoming unbearable as the houses burned. She couldn’t stay here for long.

Once they passed, she stuck her head out cautiously, looking for anymore passing Daedra, before creeping out, dashing across the street to hide behind yet another building. It had been so long since she’d seen another living, mortal soul, she could well be the last person alive in Ald Sotha by now, and her stomach lurched at the thought. No, Sil had to still be alive. He couldn’t die trying to save her, he just couldn’t. He was too smart, his skills with magic just too great. He had to be hiding somewhere too, if not already escaped Ald Sotha to try and find help. She just needed to last until help arrived.

She limped across the ruins, trying to find somewhere new to hide, wincing as she felt the blood running down her leg once more. Her wounds kept closing, reopening, her desperation to not get caught leading them to never heal fully. She clung to a nearby house, trying to ignore the pitiful wails coming from the captured blacksmith impaled beside her, blood soaking down to the floor beneath her feet. Was she back at the Blacksmith’s house already? Maybe, if she could find where Sil had gone to after his fight with that dremora, she could find where he went, and they could escape together, or else she could wait for him somewhere he knew she would be when he came back with help.

She used the walls of the building to keep herself upright, skirting around it to get to the courtyard where she had last seen Sil, stopping dead the second she stepped into it. It was filled with the ash and soot of the burnt ruins, but hidden beneath a light pile of it was a figure, completely unmoving, clad in the pale blue robes of their house. Her heart felt like it was in her throat as she crept nearer and nearer; long white hair hid its face, filled with blood, and it was sprawled so unnaturally against the floor. It couldn’t be… it just couldn’t be… no way this figure that looked like her brother, dressed like her brother, even was the same height as her little brother, it just couldn’t be…

She stumbled to the ground beside it, gently the head into her lap as she tried to turn it over, feeling no resistance, no movement except that which gravity and herself made, and felt the sobs racking through her chest before she fully took in the face. A too youthful face, stained with ash, somehow peaceful in its stillness. The eyes were closed, and she gently tugged one open just long enough to see those beautiful grey eyes once more.

By Azura… It was Sil. Her baby brother, laid dead on the floor, covered by soot and ash and his own blood, and she couldn’t fight back the sobs any longer. By the Three, this couldn’t be happening! He was meant to be safe by the docks, the only bright spot in this tragedy, that he would be safe, had to be safe, unable to get home. And yet, here he was, unmoving on the floor of the blacksmith’s courtyard, having distracted a Daedra to let her get to safety. He hadn’t even made it out of the courtyard, there were no great signs of a magical battle waged and lost. Something had struck him from behind, and now he was dead. He was dead. All because of her. All because of her…

Something grabbed her shoulder with a triumphant laugh, and Nall screamed, throwing her arms around Sil’s chest, desperately trying to cling to him, to not let anything take him away from her anymore than they already had, but the Daedra dragged Nall away, and Nall watched as Sil’s body slumped to the floor once more, eyes closed, looking almost as if he was asleep. She hadn’t the strength to fight the daedra anymore, not to fight for her own freedom, or fight to get back to Sil. It was over. Her family would die here together, lost forever in the ruins of Ald Sotha.

Even as the daedra dragged her, kicked her, swore at her, she did not let her eyes stray from Sil’s dead body, laid out against the cobblestones face down once more. With enough will, she could almost imagine his chest moving, that he was still breathing, but it was such a thin hope, such a wild fantasy, she couldn’t bring herself to fight to get back to him. It was nothing but a last hope, a dying hope as the Daedra dragged her to one of their erected spikes, that someone would survive this nightmare. That her brother would be spared death at the very least.

But she hadn’t enough hope left to cling to it so tightly.

Chapter Text

The sound of movement grabbed Divayth Fyr’s attention, as he turned from the desk back towards Sil’s bed, watching as his friend mumbled in his sleep, before turning over and falling deep into slumber once more, to which Divayth rolled his eyes. He’d been much the same for the past two days, and there was no telling just how long it would take Sil to wake up. He’d only managed twelve hours at most from the potion, but Sil seemed to be hit a lot harder by it than he had.

He jotted down some notes, some theories. Was it a natural weakness of Sil’s behalf to the potion? Best way to test that would be to give to potion to other people and monitor the variation in sleep gained from each one drinking he potion. Was it how tired Sil was? That was best tested by getting Sil to drink another potion once he awoke and measuring how long he slept from that. Had he made the potion too strong? He could have sworn he’d done everything the same as last time, but perhaps the ingredients were more potent this time. Ah well, a great excuse for further experimentation lay in this mystery, and he was never one to sniff at the opportunity to do more research.

He turned back to watch Sil sleep, chewing at his lip. It was nice, to be honest, to see his friend sleeping so peacefully after his stress-related breakdown just a couple of days ago, but it made his trip here incredibly boring. There was no one else in Castle Mournhold to talk to who had even a sniff of the same intelligence they both had, no one else he could talk to and get an interesting conversation back. He’d only planned to visit for a couple of days, but he wasn’t going to leave before Sil woke up, nor was he leaving immediately afterwards. He wanted to brag to someone about his latest accomplishments who would understand them, damnit!

He turned back to the desk, to Sil’s notes laid in front of him. Sil had what one might call a knack for this kind of nonesense, but to Divayth it was nothing but incomprehensible scribbles. A celestriodrome? Any attempts to read through Sil’s chicken scratch handwriting brought him no closer to an answer as to what in Oblivion Sil was even planning. Some grand engineered piece of machinery, as far as he could tell. He’d already left many notes across it as to what he thought about each little detail, about how over the top, extravagent, or downright insane each aspect was. He grabbed his quill again, glancing over the grand design, and making another note. ‘Where will you get all these materials? This is going to be too big. Leave such fanciful plans to working in miniature, Sil.’

He put his quill down, glancing over the plans once more. Sil wanted to create a city like this? It was ridiculous, really. But if anyone had the stubborness to attempt something so impossible, he supposed Sil would be the one. He had, after all, been stubborn enough to attempt to go a month without sleep, just because of his new so-called Divine powers. For someone so intelligent, Sil was undeniably a moron.

He was certainly lucky to have others to take care of him. Not Divayth, of course, that was not his job, but his friends, the ‘Tribunal’, as they called themselves. Yes, they could take care of someone as moronic as Sil, he wasn’t the type.

Sil shifted again in his sleep, and Divayth looked back at him, frowning. Wouldn’t he need to eat soon? Perhaps he should try waking him up… but if he could go without sleep for a month, how long would he manage without food? Perhaps that was something else they could experiment with.

Once Sil was feeling better, of course.

Chapter Text

It was eerily quiet and tense, no-one daring to look each other in the eye. From Almalexia rose an overwhelming wave of anger, from Sotha Sil, despair, and Vivec… did not truly know what to feel. They’d tried to fight their way to the heart of Lorkhan once more. Tried, and nearly been killed. Tried, and retreated to Vivec’s Temple to rest and heal, licking their wounds. Between them sat Wraithguard.

Keening and Sunder were gone.

“What now?” Vivec asked quietly, to no-one in particular, but someone had to break the silence. Someone had to say something. They’d been sat for days, lost in their own minds, and with their powers weakening, Vivec felt more distant from them than he had in millenia. Felt as distant from them as he did the mortals outside of the Temple. Only Sotha Sil’s wounds had been healed in their entirety, neither Vivec nor Almalexia had the powers to spare to divine up healing, and they’d both turned down Sil’s offer to heal them with his magic alone.

“We have to try again,” Almalexia insisted, while Sotha Sil shook his head. “Giving up is not an option, Seht. We promised each other, promised Morrowind. I am not giving up now!”

“We lost the tools,” Sil said pointedly. “Without them, there is no point in trying again. We cannot reclaim the tools without Wraithguard. We cannot risk losing wraithguard too. If all three fall into the hands of Dagoth Ur, there is no telling the damage he will do to Morrowind. I think we have to face the inevitable.”

“No!” Almalexia yelled, standing to her feet. “I will not give in now! Not after all we have done! After all we have yet to do! I am not ready to lie down and die just yet, are you two?”

“Of course not,” Vivec said quickly, while Sotha Sil didn’t answer, just averted his eyes. A familiar shiver ran down Vivec’s spine. “But I’m not sure continuing to fight will do us any good either. We can’t risk wraithguard falling into Dagoth Ur’s hands, but we can’t just do nothing either.”

“Then what do you propose?” Almalexia snapped. “Sitting here waxing poetical will not win us back the tools of Kagrenac. We must fight!”

“We can’t risk it,” Sotha Sil said pointedly. “One wrong move, and we will lose more than just our powers, more than just our lives.”

“We will not fail again,” Almalexia insisted. “Vivec, tell him. We will not fail again.”

“We will,” Sotha Sil replied, sharp, resigned. “We grow weak as he grows strong. If we failed once, we will fail again. There is no other option before us.”

“There is one,” Vivec offered quietly. “Azura’s prophecy.”

The tension in the room could be cut with a knife, and Vivec could feel the ire of the other two turn on him in an instant. “No,” Almalexia said, venom dripping from her voice. “You cannot seriously suggest we lay down and allow Her to win?”

“Not win,” Vivec said. Dealing with Almalexia when she was like this… it was like dancing on a knife’s blade. One wrong move and you’d end up seriously injured at best… “And not lay down either. But… if Nerevar returns… when he returns… we should give him our full support once more. Allow him to kill Dagoth Ur for us.”

“He will destroy the heart,” Almalexia insisted. “We will lose our divinity!”

“That is the cost of stopping Dagoth Ur, yes,” Vivec replied. He could positively see the steam emanating off of Almalexia.

“He will not return,” Almalexia snapped. “You hold out hope and yet, time and time again, these ‘Nerevarine’s’ are nothing but a failure. And, on the smallest hope that he may return, I will not allow him to destroy the four thousand years of good we have done here by destroying the heart! He must be killed!”

“The true Nerevarine will not be defeated. It is as the prophecy states,” Vivec insisted. Almalexia slammed her hands on the table they were sat at, making Sil jump, while Vivec continued to give her a levelled stare.

“You and your pathetic belief in the prophecy! The prophecy states he will kill us! Destroy the heart, kill us, and then what will happen to Morrowind? Even if you have both given up on divinity, you cannot give up on our people!”

“I trust in Nerevar's ability to keep them safe once more,” Vivec answered.

“And you will not return with me to Red Mountain because of it,” Almalexia snarled.

“No.”

Almalexia grabbed the edge of the table, throwing it towards Vivec who barely managed to stop it, grunting with the pain as it slammed into his still smarting wounds. Without turning back, she headed towards the door to the Temple, anger dripping off of every movement.

“Then find your ‘Nerevarine’ and let him kill you! I will have no further part in anything you do, Vehk. Do not step foot in my city unless you have plans to fight Dagoth Ur yourself once more.”

“Almalexia, stop!” Vivec yelled, making to follow her, but she slammed the temple door behind her, and the very tides of destiny itself felt like they were shifting. The Tribunal were fractured. For once in four thousand years, the Tribunal was well and truly fractured. Of course they argued over the years, all three of them could get on each other’s tether like no other being in existence could, but there was something that felt so final in the way Almalexia had made her declaration. Vivec sagged, turning back to where Sotha Sil was also standing to his feet. “Seht, stay with me. Let us help Nerevar together once more.”

Sil shook his head, a glisten to his eyes telling Vivec he was crying, but he made no mention of it himself, made no effort to stop it. “I’m afraid I cannot. I am not meant to meet Nerevar again; I must retreat to the Clockwork City, to finish it before I meet my end. This is good-bye, Vivec.”

A rising dread filled Vivec’s chest as he rushed to Sil, grabbing his arms. “Why do you talk like this, brother? You do not have to stay away! Stay here, with me, let us help Nerevar together! You just have to choose to stay!”

“I cannot,” Sil insisted, trying to shake Vivec’s hands off of his robes, even as Vivec gripped tighter. “I do not have the power to choose. Like gears, each action turns the next, and I am in no position to stop them turning.”

“You are!” Vivec yelled, digging his nails into Sil’s arms, while Sil turned away from him. “You are! You just do not walk out of this temple today! You stay here, with me. Forget the Clockwork City! Stay here! Just don’t leave me…”

“I cannot leave my city,” Sil insisted. “I cannot leave it any more than you could abandon Vvardenfell. I alone can keep it and my people safe from what is to come. I alone must face my end. You cannot be there with me, it is not your destiny to face your death in the Throne Aligned, the way it is my own. This is good-bye, Vivec.”

With that, Sil shook Vivec’s hands off of his robes, making his way to the temple doors as Almalexia had before him, disappearing almost as soon as he stepped through them. Leaving just Vivec, alone in his temple, more alone than he had been in thousands of years.

That sweet connection they had shared had all but shattered, no longer could he truly sense them any more than he could sense any other powerful beings in Mundus. No longer could he understand their thoughts as if they were his own, no longer could he reach out, feel secure in the knowledge that they would reach back. The Tribunal was no more. There was just three Living Gods, seperated by a rift he knew in his heart and soul could never be repaired. Not before Nerevar returned. Not before Sotha Sil died, as he’d always predicted himself to do, to a betrayal Vivec could not stop.

He was left alone, stood in the centre of his temple, without a single other living soul within its walls. Yet even if he invited the entire Dunmer race within the temple, he’d never stop feeling the aching loneliness that was growing in his chest, threatening to drown him completely, wash him away in a tide of regret and resentment. He was alone.

And he did not wish to speak to anyone ever again.

Chapter Text

A crank turned a gear, the gear rotated the light, and after a moment’s hesitation, shot a blinding stream into the black soul gem clamped tight in the centre of the laboratory, the iridescent purple gem sending a sparkle of dark light across the room, a gaggle of apostles quickly making notes. Sil stood silently, watching the light dance within the gem, watching the soul trapped within wriggle and writhe under the scrutiny.

He held little pity for the trapped soul; the mortal it belonged to had broken into the city, destroyed no less than five factotums and killed three apostles before Sil had managed to stop it, killing it and taking the soul for his research. Let one so wicked bear the painful brunt of experimentation, rather than ask among his apostles for a volunteer. An unwilling soul was more likely to gain him the answers he sought.

“The monitoring equipment is all in place, Lord Seht,” one of the apostles declared. “We are ready whenever you are.”

Divayth Fyr had told him about the Soul Cairn, one of his many excursions into realms unreachable, told him about the damned souls that wandered it aimlessly, those trapped by Black Soul gems, given to the Ideal Masters in exchange for power. He had no need of power, but knowledge. Knowledge, and a starting point for his next project. This black soul gem had been taken from the Deadlands themselves, presented to Sotha Sil as a gift from Divayth Fyr, so he knew it was the genuine article. He needed as few variables as possible.

Sil stepped towards the gem, running magic through it, feeling the soul within shudder and shake, horrified by its entrapment. Sil swallowed; he cared nothing for the soul trapped within it, but he needed answers. He needed to know.

Needed to know why he could not locate Sotha Nall’s soul.

Prophets and seers could see and feel House Sotha at his back still, his mother and father watching over every action with pride, guiding him as the ancestor spirits were said to do, yet not a single one could sense his sister, despite dead siblings nearly always being among the ancestor spirits that watched over them. The mystics said it meant Nall was simply at rest, but he could not accept that. He needed physical, scientific evidence as to where she had gone.

She had been killed, murdered, by the dremora of the Deadlands, long known to carry black soul gems to enchant their weapons, or to trade with mortal mages who summoned them. If there was even an echo of a chance Sotha Nall was trapped within one, or worse yet, sold to the Ideal Masters in exhange for power, he had to find her. Bring her home in whatever way he could. He already had ideas, concepts. The factotums were clever, but soulless. If he could find her soul, whole or fractured, if he could bring her back to Mundus, could let her walk Nirn once more, either as a whole, or fractured among his factotums…

Sil stepped back from the gem, nodding to his apostles. A crank once more was shifted, a gear once more was turned, the light changing again, piercing the black soul gem, tearing it apart, ready to offer the soul to the ideal masters.

If he could find Sotha Nall’s soul once more…

He could give her the transcendence she deserved.

Chapter Text

Ugh… since when was his pillow this hard?

Vivec’s eyes fluttered opened as he slowly realised that he wasn’t, in fact, laid in bed, his head resting on a soft, fine pillow, but rather on his own arms, half-asleep from his own weight, and laid against the table they sat at for Council meetings. The pieces slotted together slowly, bit by bit, as he raised his head. Had he fallen asleep in a meeting?

The room was all but empty now, with only one other person within it. Sotha Sil sat across the table from him, reading a book, barely paying him any attention, and for a moment, Vivec weighed up the possibility of sneaking out the door before he realised he’d awoken, which was all but dashed when Sil opened his mouth to speak.

“You slept through nearly the entire meeting again, Vehk,” Sil announced, flicking the page he was reading over. “Nerevar asked us to let you sleep, even offered to sit and watch over you until you woke up when you were still asleep when the meeting ended, but I have a sneaking suspicion you don’t want to have this conversation with him.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Vivec insisted, rubbing a hand across his eyes, struggling to not let his hand shake in front of Sil. Damnit, all these nightmares were getting to him if he was falling asleep in Council meetings, and despite his nap, he didn’t feel at all rested. “The meeting was just very boring. It’s not like we’re at war any more, all this import and export and House politics nonsense is exhausting.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Sil answered, a sharp coldness to his voice that made Vivec shudder. “The others might ignore the signs, or in Nerevar’s case, pretend they do not see them, but I am not playing these foolish games Vivec. Falling asleep in meetings, that shake in your hands, even your breath smells of sugar. It does not take a genius to figure out what is going on here.”

Vivec propped his head up on one of his hands, staring back at Sil, who avoided eye contact by continuing to read his book, or at least pretend to do so. With any more venom in his gaze, Sil would be able to set fire to the book with his eyes alone, magic be damned. Vivec desperately did not want that gaze turned on him.

“I’m just… tired, Sil. I’m not doing anything,” Vivec lied, as natural to him as breathing. Sil lowered his book and glowered at him. “I’m staying up at night writing my next masterpiece so I’m sleeping in meetings, my hands hurt from all the writing and I’m eating sweets to keep me awake as I do so, not moon-sugar. Have some faith in me.”

Sil snorted, closing his book and slamming it on the table. “Faith? Unlikely. You lie to me as easily as you lie to a stranger. Do I not deserve an answer, Vivec?”

“Perhaps, but I have none to give you beyond what I already told you. I’m not relapsing,” Vivec lied, maintaining an easy eye contact all the while, to which Sil scowled.

“Vivec, please. I know you’ve been through a hell I couldn’t even begin to imagine. I know you need help, beyond that which we already give you, help we can’t give you without you telling us what you need. You know we would do anything for you. Anything at all. So please, don’t lie to me, my brother. Tell me what is troubling you so, and I can help.”

There was a sincerity in Sil’s eyes that made Vivec feel guilt like he had never felt before, but how could he even begin to look him in the eyes and bare his soul when any second spent thinking about what had happened brought him nothing but agony?

“Nothing is troubling me, Sil. Please, save your worrying for something that needs it. I do not,” Vivec answered, giving Sil his best smile, which Sil did not return, standing to his feet and whisking his book off of the table.

“You are not as great of a liar as you believe yourself to be. I hope you will come to your senses soon, Vehk, and seek our help, before you find yourself where you were when we first met you. And believe me, you are not as pleasant a person to be around as you think you are when you’re high.”

With that, Sil left the room without looking back, leaving Vivec alone in the meeting room once more, grasping his arms with his own shaking hands. Would Sil tell the others? He had no way to refute his brothers claims, not when the evidence was clear as day on his face and breath. What would Nerevar say when the illusion that Vivec was doing fine was lifted? Just the thought of disappointing Nerevar was enough to make Vivec feel sick. What was he meant to do?

Why did this have to happen to him...

Chapter Text

“Hey, you’re that Nerevarine everyone’s talking about, aren’t you?”

Nuxal looked up from her drink, into the awe-struck eyes of a young dunmer, and waved her hand, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. She was too drunk to deal with admirers at this time of night, but the boy didn’t seem to get the memo.

“Wow, you’re so cool. You saved everyone! Thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” Nuxal answered on instinct, trying to usher the boy away, but there was something so familiar in his excitement, in his red eyes and ashen face, and she felt her heart lurch at just how much he looked like Favas. But rather than dwell on it, she took a big gulp of her drink and lowered the cup back to the table.

Vvardenfell was saved. Dagoth Ur was dead. And yet she was still stuck on this shitty island, surrounded by people who simultaneously wanted to thank her for saving the whole world and put slaver cuffs on her because of her race. Everyone she loved, everyone she cared about, was dead. Favas was long cremated and interred as he had asked for, in traditional dunmer fashion, a fragment of his ashes scattered in the Cave of the Nerevarine, as Azura had demanded. Nuxal wanted nothing more than to return to Black Marsh, but the guards had insisted no-one leave the island any time soon, just in case the divine plague hadn’t truly ended. Everyone seemed to have a demand of her at the moment, while she had nothing left to give.

And speaking of demand… at the mention of the Nerevarine, a dunmer at the bar seemed to perk up, looking over to her, trying to catch her eye while she desperately tried to avoid it. Yet he didn’t seem to get the hint, walking over to her from the bar, drink in hand.

“You’re the Nerevarine?” He asked. Nuxal snarled.

“Depends who’s asking. If you want to buy me a drink, sure. Anything else, you can piss off.”

The harsh tone seemed to surprise the dunmer, but not quite enough to fully deter him. He sat down at the seat across from Nuxal, placing his own drink in front of him. “I have a problem, I was hoping you could help.”

“Take your pocket change and go buy a sword and sort it out your damn self, I’m not the province’s baby sitter,” Nuxal replied, lifting her drink for another sip, and frowning at the empty cup.

“I can’t deal with it on my own, but I’d heard that you were a hero, you help people, and I thought-”

“Well, you thought wrong. I saved everyone’s sorry lives, didn’t I? So leave me alone. I’m done with all that. Go ask your gods for help, ‘cos you’ll get none from me.”

Nuxal stood from the table, staggering away from the Dunmer before she snapped and started a bar brawl with him. She wasn’t sure where she was going, but her legs seemed to have an idea, and she wasn’t about to argue with them.

It wasn’t until she fell onto a dias that she finally thought to use her eyes and look at where she was, glancing up into an old carving of a moon and a star. Azura’s symbols. The Twilight Hour had already come and passed, but just the moon and star itself was enough to bring more anger to Nuxal’s drunken mind.

“What are you playing at, Azura?” Nuxal demanded of the carved symbols. “Have I not done enough? Have I not suffered? Why won’t you just let me rest, Sithis damn-it!”

She slammed a hand into the rock, flinching as it cut into her scales. “I don’t believe in you! I don’t worship you! Why must I serve your damned people forever? Why can’t you just release me from this hell of a prophecy. I’m not even Nerevar! You’ll torture an innocent in the name of a promise he made to you four thousand years ago? Why won’t you just let me go?”

Nuxal turned her back on the carving, sliding down the rock wall, pushing her hands into her eyes. She was tired. She was so damn tired of playing nice, of helping people who hated her guts, of playing the Nerevarine. Why wouldn’t this damned prophecy let her rest? Why couldn’t she just leave it behind?

Why her?

Chapter Text

Four thousand years, and he thought he had seen everything. Thought that nothing could ever phase him, not any more. When you have outlived nearly all of your friends time and time and time again, over and over and over, grief became but a distant memory. It was hard to mourn the loss of the faithful, when he knew he would outlive them and all their great, great grandchildren, too.

So the wall of pain that hit him now was unbearable.

He hadn’t wanted to believe it, not until he saw it with his own eyes, not until he knew for certain, not until he had solid, intangible proof, and here it was. Stood face to face with his friends corpses. Dead. They were dead. He’d expected almost any and every possible parting, but he’d never truly believed he would be the one left behind, left to grieve, left to suffer a loss that was nigh on unbearable.

“We have done our best to get them prepared, Lord Vivec,” the archcannon stated. Beside him stood a Hand of Almalexia, to the other side, some Clockwork Apostle. Representatives of the Tribunal’s different followers, tasked with caring for their deceased Gods. They had told Vivec their names, but they had escaped him so quickly.

“Thank you,” Vivec answered, stepping closer to his friend’s faces. “I would ask that you give us some time alone. There is much I must discuss with my brother and sister Gods.”

There was an awkward silence, before his archcannon ventured a quiet question. “...Lord Vivec?”

“I wish to say good-bye,” Vivec said, a little more forcefully than he had meant to, but he couldn’t bear to take it back. Not today. “Leave us. I shall notify you when we are ready to send them to their final rest.”

The representatives bowed, stepping out of the room, closing the door shut behind them, leaving Vivec alone with his dead friends once more. They had been laid on separate small platforms, ready to be carried to their funeral pyres, a short gap between the two allowing Vivec to stand between them. He gazed upon them, swallowing hard.

Almalexia looked as beautiful in death as she did in life, with not a drop of decay having touched her body. Her platform was swamped in flowers, donated by the faithful, pleading for a last gift to be given to their beloved Mother. Even lost in her mind as she was at the end, their faith and love for her were proof of how kind and noble she had been as their Queen and God. All she had ever wanted was what was best for them, even if she had strange ways to go around it. A harsh mother who wished for her children to learn self-reliance, but who had loved everyone all the same. The wounds dealt to her by the Nerevarine were hidden beneath a layer of make-up, gashes closed with such fine stitching, that Vivec himself couldn’t see where she had been dealt her killing blow. She was beautiful.

And Sotha Sil… He looked peaceful, as if he was sleeping, something he had done so little of in life, at least in death he could rest. Cleaning him had been more difficult; Vivec had taken their bodies from the Cogitum Centralis himself, he knew the state Sotha Sil had been in, but the oil stains had been carefully washed away, his grand but soiled robes replaced with funerary robes. The faithful had brought him last gifts, too; his Apostles had brought small creations or research notes and plans, but the common believers had struggled to think of what to burn alongside him, until parchment and quills had been brought to the Temple. Sotha Sil was half buried in many, many handwritten notes, little messages of what his faithful had learnt recently, that they felt the Clockwork God might appreciate. Vivec had tried to read some, but it hurt too much to continue.

At last Sil would no longer be troubled by his aching mind, but it gave Vivec no more solace than that. He reach out to take his companion’s hands, cold, unmoving, left them from where they had been crossed over their chests.

“My friends, what am I meant to do without you?” Vivec asked quietly, receiving no response. How dearly he wished this was all a trick, a horrible, disgusting trick, that they would sit up and laugh at how his eyes sparkled in the candlight from tears he couldn’t afford to let fall. As soon as he was done here, he would have to face Morrowind alone, to be their strong, noble God and leader, to help them move into the next phase of history. He could not be seen to have cried to any of them. It would not be right.

Vivec turned to Almalexia, squeezing her hand tight. “Almalexia, how I loved you. Morrowind’s most beautiful, most loving Queen. I promise you, I will ensure our people stay safe as long as is possible, in your name. They will not forget you, and they will all always know just how much you loved them.”

Vivec turned from her to Sotha Sil. “Sotha Sil, my brother, my teacher. The light of inspiration in my world. You shone so bright, the world seems so dark without you. And with you gone, I cannot see my way through this world. I need you. I love you.”

Vivec swallowed, blinking rapidly and staring at the ceiling. “I loved you both more than anything else in this world. Moreso than I loved myself, even, although I know you would both doubt such a thing possible. How am I meant to go on with two thirds of my heart and soul gone?”

There was no answer, and Vivec slowly lowered the hands of his fellow gods back to their chests, gently arranging their hands once more to look as if they were sleeping. So beautiful in life, so beautiful in death… They said corpses of Saints do not decay, and even if, in the new Temple he tried so desperately to create to guide their people once more, they were no longer seen as gods, how could their people turn their backs on their teachings as Saints instead. Vivec swallowed again, reaching into his pouch, pulling out a large rose and a handwritten poem.

“Ayem, I have brought these for you,” he declared, gently lifting her hand and placing the rose into them, before lifting his poem to his face and reading aloud, “A life that touches so many can never truly end, a love that changes so many can never be forgot. And when we reunite in the garden our souls will tend, I will show you my love nonstop.”

Vivec took the poem and slipped it under her other hand, letting out a sad laugh. “I know you hate my flowery poems, Almalexia, but forgive me this one time. I could not send you to the flames without something of mine to go with you. If I could burn my heart alongside yours, I would do it without thinking.”

Vivec reached into the pouch again, pulling out a much smaller flower, and lifting Sotha Sil’s hand in turn. “I could see no flower more suiting that Roland’s Tear for you, my brother. A symbol that I could never forget you, no matter what I do. Your House awaits you, and I will ensure it is never forgotten.”

Vivec pulled out another poem, one for Sotha Sil, and read it aloud. “Yesterday I learned how to ride a horse, and yesterday I learned how to fall off it too. But today I learned to break a heart takes no force, when you kill a love that was true.”

Vivec placed this poem in Sotha Sil’s hand, leaving his hand there for a moment longer, before taking it away. “You may roll your eyes at me now, Seht. I know our sense of humour was always clashing, since mine was wonderful and yours was terrible.”

With his last gifts in place, Vivec stepped back and stared at their quiet, still forms, swallowing hard again. “You know, if this is all a prank, this is the best time to let me know before I throw you both into the fire. I won’t be mad. I won’t. Just, please. Please, let this all be false…”

Vivec bowed his head, rubbing at his eyes with his hand. He knew this was no prank, nor was it a nightmare, or a delusion. In his heart, he knew it to be true. In his fading powers, he could sense them no longer, knew they were well and truly dead. But that very mortal part of him, the one that grew more and more familiar as his powers faded more and more, wanted nothing more than to pretend he didn’t know that. He scrunched up his eyes, wiping away the tears he couldn’t afford to shed. Not now.

“Well then. I suppose we must make one last public appearance together then, yes? Are you both ready? Because I am not, but we cannot delay any longer,” Vivec announced. Outside the doors, the Hands of Almalexia were ready to carry her to the pyre, while the people of Morrowind cried and sobbed for their lost queen, and the Apostles were ready to carry their God and teacher, demanding an contemplative silence from each that they passed. One day, his armigers may have to carry his corpse too, finally allow him to lay in rest with his brother and sister gods once more.

And right now, he wished that day was today.

Chapter Text

Deep within Vivec’ temple, the room was filled with an uncomfortable silence, candles burning bright, but not enough to chase away the shadows. Vivec sat at his table, his face pressed into his hands, his eyes screwed shut, deep in thought. Across the room, not looking at him, not looking at anything but the floor beneath her, was Nuxal, wounds dealt to her by Almalexia still smarting.

Just a few short hours ago they had cremated the Clockwork King and Mother Morrowind. There was no turning back from it now, no second chances, no possible way the two could miraculously spring back to life. Almalexia had killed Sotha Sil. Nuxal had killed Almalexia. They’d sat in silence in the temple for hours since returning.

“There is… nothing I can give you,” Vivec explained slowly. “No reward to be given for avenging my brother by killing my sister. No apology I can spare for how things ended. I can do nothing for you, but listen.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Nuxal replied, running a finger across the blade of her dagger. She still had nightmares. Nightmares about the Cogitum Centralis, the traps and monsters found within, of the Imperfect nigh on tearing her in half, of Almalexia only barely being felled by her sword, of Sotha Sil’s hanging, lifeless body. She wanted to share none of it with anyone, and Vivec least of all. He hadn’t earned the right to hear any of it.

“That is your right,” Vivec replied. “Then the next thing I can do, is talk. My sister-god was… not in her right mind. If, in her prime, she could see what she would become, the risk she posed to our people, what she would do to our brother-god… she would have asked for you to put her to rest. And my brother-god was… not well. He had lost his love for life and this world many years ago, I don’t think he would hold Almalexia’s betrayal against herself, or you.”

Nuxal swallowed, gripping the mazed band in her hand, twisting it around. She’d been tricked into helping Almalexia kill Sotha Sil. She’d been tricked into assisted deicide, as well as full deicide as well. And any assertions Vivec could try to give her that she shouldn’t blame herself were falling on death ears. And any assertions that he didn’t blame her fell short, too. She knew he blamed her. She knew he did. She knew grief like a close friend now, the only friend that would never leave her.

“It’s a shame,” she said softly. “That I never met Sotha Sil. At least it meant he remains my favourite member of the Tribunal, simply because I met the other two and learned I should hate you both.”

“A fair and reasonable assessment, although I’m sure Sil would have given you as many reasons to hate him as we have done,” Vivec agreed. “Almalexia and myself may be demanding, but Sil was as distant as a mirage, the closer you felt you got, the further away he seemed. To all but the most relient, he was the most difficult of us all.”

Vivec lowered his hands to his desk, smiling down at the wood. “Oh, but to see Almalexia in her prime. A hero and an opportunist like yourself would be in your element with her. She bestowed gifts and miracles like a grandmother bestows sweets, and a careful tongue and an active swordarm would get you far in her graces. If only you could have met us all those hundreds of years ago, when Dagoth Ur first returned, how we would have sung your praises, Nerevarine.”

“Don’t call me that,” Nuxal muttered. “And had you met me hundreds of years ago, you would have me killed, as you had so many Nerevarines before.”

“True,” Vivec conceded, “But what a glorious battle it would have been.”

Nuxal snorted, dropping her hand from her dagger, staring instead at Vivec. He was difficult to read, especially with his face as drawn as it was right now. If it wasn’t for his strangely coloured skin, he’d look ever so mortal right now. More mortal than she felt, at least. There just seemed to be a part of her that felt so very, very distant, a part she just could not reach to reclaim.

“What will you tell the people?” She asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Almalexia killed Sotha Sil; will they get to know that, or you going to hide it under layers and layers of lies once more?”

“They… cannot find out the truth. It would hurt the memory they have of her, confuse the people’s love and praise for her. It must be kept hush, the truth hidden between the words.”

“They deserve the truth,” Nuxal insisted. “Sotha Sil deserves to have his murderer exposed!”

“Sil would not wish for that, and do not pretend you know otherwise, you never met him,” Vivec replied, cutting off her refute with his sharp words. “They will know Sotha Sil was killed in a surprise attack, that in his dying breaths he tried to seal them in the clockwork city, that his attacker let the fabricants loose in Mournhold. That you and Almalexia travelled to stop them, that Almalexia fell in battle, fighting to protect the dunmer people, that you were successful… The less details, the better.”

“Are you an idiot?” Nuxal snapped. “They will blame me! The only other person known to be there when Almalexia died! They won’t know I killed her in self defence after she slaughtered an unarmed mer!”

“That is not the story I will tell,” Vivec insisted.

“Does it matter what story you tell? People will believe what they believe! Like that what-dya-call-him, Alandro Sul spreading the story of how you three killed Nerevar! You can say what you like, but people will figure out the truth and blame me for everything!”

“That is not the case,” Vivec insisted. “Alandro-Sul’s falsehood that we murdered Nerevar is only known to the Ashlanders. And you still have much to be done, to help people believe in you as a hero, to stop them from thinking so poorly of you-”

“No,” Nuxal snapped. “No more. I am done.”

“Done? You made a promise, to Azura, to myself, to the people of Morrowind. Do you truly believe your oath should be so easily broken?” Vivec asked, to which Nuxal bit back a growl.

“I made that oath in the name of Favas Ven. I promised to help because he could not. I have done more than could ever be asked of anyone, and yet still you ask more and more and more, when you, and your damned province and your acursed people have done so little for me.”

“I don’t think you understand how prophecy and Daedric pacts work. Until Azura is well and truly finished with you, there is no escape. That whether you are Nerevar reborn or not is secondary to the fact that you are the Nerevarine of legend, and that you are meant to help Morrowind flourish as it switches from worship the Tribunal to the Daedra once more.”

“And I don’t think you understand how ‘no’ works. And don’t call me the Nerevarine,” Nuxal insisted, biting her tongue, stepping closer to Vivec, her hand trailing to her dagger once more. “I am done being the hero. I wish to be left alone.”

“As do we all, but destiny very rarely lends us that kindness. And if you try to avoid it as you did before, it will strike when least you expect it, as had happened to bring you to Mournhold.”

“Are you suggesting,” Nuxal asked through gritted teeth, getting ever closer to Vivec. He did not stop back, did not retreat, only met her increasingly furious gaze with his own level one, “That Azura made King Helseth send those damned assassins after me to, what, force me to kill Almalexia and get Sotha Sil killed?!”

“I would not put it past her,” Vivec agreed.

“Is this some sick joke the gods and Daedra like to play on mortals? To trap us in stories of their own telling for their own amusement? Do you taunt me with threats of never ending service to experience the thrill of being a real god, Vivec?” Nuxal snarled.

“I cannot explain the motives of a God to a mere mortal and have it make sense. We see more, consider more, know more, than you could ever imagine, dear Nerevarine, and-”

Before her mind had caught up to her actions, Nuxal launched herself at Vivec, toppling him over in his chair, hitting his head against the floor with an almighty crack. She knelt over top of him, one hand bracing herself against the floor, the other holding a knife against his neck.

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! You play, and you play, and you lie, and you cause untold misery and all for what? To feel superior? Damn you, Vivec! Damn all three of you! I should cut you up now, force Morrowind into its new era, whether its ready or not.”

Nuxal pushed the dagger deeper into Vivec’s throat, watching as blood pooled beneath the blade as Vivec swallowed, shivering against her grip. “You call me Nerevarine, you demand my life in service, because taking everything from me wasn’t enough! I thought I’d shaken the shackles of slavery, and yet you want to thrust them upon me once more, to your damned province rather than to one master.”

“Nerevar, please-” Vivec started, gasping as Nuxal drove the dagger deeper. Any further, she’d cut something vital.

“Don’t call me that! I am not him, I never was him, I will never be him! Your ‘friend’ is dead and gone, four thousand years ago, and with him went all the mercy you were gifted by this universe. You wish for him, but due to your own selfish nature, all you have is me. And I. Hate. You.”

Vivec shuddered under her grasp, but made no move to shove her off, instead fixing her with his own stare. “I am at your mercy, Nuxal. Do as you wish.”

Nuxal chewed on her cheek, for a moment too long, she considered doing it, to push the dagger a couple inches more, to watch the liar of the Tribunal bleed to death over his own temple floors, but there was a look in his eyes that stopped her. Hope. Not hope that she would stop, not hope that she would see reason, but the opposite. Hope for his own death.

He wanted her to kill him.

Nuxal stiffened, bringing the dagger up and driving it into the ground beside Vivec’s head, pushing herself up to her feet, yet as soon as Vivec made to move, she spat at him. “I’m leaving. This temple, this ‘agreement’, this damned province. Forever. And you will not follow me, Vivec. You will make no attempts to track me down or bring me back. This ‘agreement’ between us is over. And if you dare look in my direction again, I will take your soul to enchant a damned iron dagger with. You deserve no mercy, and you will get none from me.”

Nuxal turned from him, not daring to look back, and rushed towards the Temple doors before the armigers could track her down. But where to go? The borders out of Vvardenfell were still closed, there was no route to Black Marsh for her for now. The only way to travel was North, but beside the sea, there was nothing out there.

Or perhaps…

Solstheim…

Surely if she could hide anywhere from the Living God who’d killed so many Nords, it was there...