Jubilation and Reprieve Part 2
The usual swagger of the Orsimer huntress had been hijacked by an uneven, wobbling gait, but Mazrah managed to maintain her unflappable and graceful air as best she could. She had briefly left the party to go to the toilet somewhere and to freshen herself up, as the moon sugar would have otherwise knocked her out cold if she remained on that floor. On her way back to the conference room she came upon Meg, who looked just as out of it as she was. Mazrah hadn’t talked to Meg before but there was an open, earnest look to the girl’s face that she interpreted as inviting, and Mazrah ran over and gave her a big hug.
“You’re at the party too!” she said loudly and planted a kiss on Meg’s cheek. “I don’t know your name, but you look nice. I’m Mazrah,” she explained, slurring her words, and pointed her index finger at her chest, “and you are…?”
It took a moment for Meg to find the words, shock by the sudden ambush, even if it was an extremely friendly one. "M-Meg," she replied, a little embarrassed and perturbed by the orsimer but wishing to hide it as well. She wasn't as drunk as before, having freshened up and guzzled a glass full of water, but she was still on the tipsy scale. "I mean, tha's the short version- m'whole name's Megana. You're... Mazrah, right?" She stepped back a little so that she could look at Mazrah properly and gave the much taller woman a smile. "Shakti'd told me yer name couple days back. Nice t'finally meet ya!"
“Oh, Shakti!” Mazrah said and looked like a woman who had just seen the cutest puppy in the world. “I love her, she’s so precious. Yes, I’m Mazrah, I also just told you that,” she smirked and wagged her finger admonishingly. “I think someone has maybe had a tiny bit too much to drink! But that’s okay, I won’t judge you. Hey now, what’s this?”
She touched the amulet of Mara that Megana wore around her neck. “I know what that means,” Mazrah said slyly and tilted her head, her eyes going up and down Megana’s form. “Are you looking for looove?”
Meg flushed. "Sorry, I'm still kin'a tipsy righ' now," she admitted before looking down at her amulet. "Oh!" This was the first time anyone had actually noticed it on her, or at least mentioned it to her, aside from Zahir at the market yesterday. "Uhm, well... it's more a keepsake? A friend gave it t'me a long time ago." It seemed the Nord was still a taken by how forward and fierce Mazrah seemed- it was almost enviable to the friendly but still introverted Nord.
“Awh, you got my hopes up there for a second, young lady,” Mazrah teased, her lips turned down in an exaggerated pout. Her eyes betrayed her jest, however. She was still a little flustered from the effects of the moon sugar and her embrace with Raelynn on the floor of the conference room earlier, and Megana looked very cute. “How has your evening been so far? You okay?” she asked, adopting a slightly more serious tone in case there was support to be provided to a sister in need. Meg must have had a reason to be stepping out here.
"Oh, it's been good so far," Meg replied. And she supposed it had, so far, despite her sulky mood that had her leave Jude's table, or her nosiness being halted by Jaraleet's words... Well, truthfully, it still irked her a little, and now that she thought of it, there was a small crease on her forehead.
"Say..." Looking at the Orsimer, she decided maybe having the opinion of a third person wasn't too terrible. "Uh... can I ask you a question?"
”Yes!” Mazrah said with enthusiasm and stepped in line next to Meg before hooking her arm through hers. “I will marry you! Oh, I’m so pleased,” she swooned, before she laughed and winked. “I’m kidding. Fire away, Meg.”
The sudden impulsive reply took Meg by surprise, though this time she couldn't help but laugh as well. She could tell Mazrah was a rather fun and funny individual; she would have to make sure to get to know her when she wasn't drunk or already mentally preoccupied.
"Well," she started when she finally composed herself, "say y'got someone y'really like, an' somethin' unfair's happened to 'em. They're tellin' you it's fine... but y'still wan' t'do somethin' at least..." Her voice trailed; she was being vague on purpose, and she wasn't sure if she made any sense.
“I understand perfectly,” Mazrah said with sudden clarity. “That’s the whole reason I’m in Gilane in the first place. A friend of mine was groped by a filthy drunkard and she didn’t tell me about it until days later. I had to really work it out of her, she was so ashamed,” the Orsimer said tersely. “She begged me to just leave it, but not on my watch! I tracked him down here and I beat him up. That’s how I met Sora, she happened to be in the neighbourhood and wanted a piece of the action.”
"Woah, now tha's impressive." Meg stared at the orsimer, the words she spoke resounding in her mind. Was this the same sort of situation? She wasn't sure, but the fact was that Mazrah did something for a friend in need, even when said friend didn't wanted her to leave it be. "Yer a good frien'." She wanted to be a good friend to, the best even. With all eyes narrowed in his direction, wasn't it fair that at least someone stood up for the argonian?
"I'm thinkin' I gotta clue what I havta do then," Meg muttered, mostly to herself though she was audible enough that Mazrah would be able to hear her. That said, she looked up at the orsimer and gave her a grateful smile. "Thanks. Looks like Sora really knew what she was doin' when she brought y'here. Nice t'have you part of our group!"
That prompted another hug from the Orsimer. “You’re so sweet, Meg! Glad to be here,” Mazrah said and grinned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, by the way, but whatever it is, go get ‘em.”
This time Meg reciprocated the hug; if she was sweet then Mazrah was by far an even sweeter person, in her opinion. "I know, sorry 'bout that, just askin' ye a weird question outta nowhere... can' really say wha's what but... well I know what I gotta do, an' y'helped me." She was nervous, sure, anticipating negative reactions from more than a couple of people, but in her mind, there was a single course of action she had to take.
"Hope t'chat with ya soon then, Mazrah," she added as she broke the hug. "Hope y'enjoy the rest of the party!"
“I will,” Mazrah said and waved Meg goodbye, before she headed back to the party herself.
Anifaire, after wandering away from the table she’d shared with Alim for a time, was set on making her way for the table covered in liquor bottles. She hardly knew what she would find in any of them, but considering the words of the Khajiit earlier and her enjoyment of two glasses of mead with Alim, she was interested in finding out.
She stepped up to the table, eyeing bottles and reading labels. She’d heard of their names, of course, but it gave her little insight into what she was actually supposed to do with the contents. Hesitantly, she picked up a bottle, uncorked it and sniffed.
“Auri-El,” she swore, placing it back on the table. That wasn’t like the mead she’d just enjoyed.
“Not too used to drinking, I take it?” Jaraleet asked the Altmer woman, having noticed her reaction to the smell of the content of the bottle she had just picked up but a few seconds ago. He approached the table and, with his free hand, picked up the bottle that Anifaire had put down. “Ahhh, rum. Not sure from where, but probably a bit too strong if you are just starting to drink.” The Argonian said after sniffing the bottle’s contents.
“It would probably best if you started with something lighter, like ale.” He said, bringing up the bottle of ale that Meg had left with him. “Like the one in this bottle.” He said with a smile before chuckling as he remembered something. “But where are my manners, I think I'm getting ahead of myself. After all, I don't think we've been properly introduced.” The Haj-Eix said, bowing his head slightly in Anifaire’s direction. “My name’s Jaraleet, pleased to meet you.”
“I am Anifaire,” the Altmer replied. She was a bit startled by the Argonian’s arrival, but she did her best not to show it. Judena was the first one she’d ever spoken to, and that had been a surprise. But this one seemed a bit different, in a somewhat intimidating way. Still, he was showing her kindness, so she would be polite as well. “Yes, I’m not accustomed to drinking. I’ve only ever had wine, and mead, just a moment ago.”
“Oh, good!” Mazrah said as she appeared from somewhere behind Jaraleet, a look of marvelous revelry on her face, holding two bottles of something or other in her hands. “I love being there for someone's first time,” she added with a sly grin. “I'm Mazrah. Your name I just caught, Anifaire, but who are you, bright scales?” Maz asked, looking at Jaraleet with curious eyes, wondering if he was anything like Judena.
“As I was telling Anifaire but a few moments ago, my name is Jaraleet.” The Argonian replied to the Orsimer, turning to look at Mazrah. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Mazrah.” He added, smiling at the Orc. “Did you too come in search of a drink?” The assassin asked curiously, looking at the pair of bottles that Mazrah held in each of her hands.
Amused, Mazrah rattled her bottles and shook her head. “No, Jaraleet, I’ve got the booze already covered. I came over because I haven’t met you two before and I’m drunk and high as a kite and I want to make friends. So, by my decree, us three are now friends!” she declared, beaming a tusky grin, and raised one of her bottles in a toast. “You’re very polite, Jaraleet. That’s nice. How about you, Anifaire? Are you polite or are you like me?”
“Well, I… I would never be rude,” Anifaire answered hesitantly. Wait, she wondered, was that an insult? She was taken aback because of the orc woman’s approach.
“So, Mazrah, how are you enjoying the party so far? I understand you are one of the more recent additions to our little group.” The Argonian said, having noticed Anifaire’s sudden confusion and, slight, discomfort. He doubted that the Orsimer war truly having any problem fitting in if the disposition that she had shown so far was any indication, but he figured that a shift in topic would probably be a welcome change for the Altmer woman.
The visible confusion on Anifaire’s face was cause for Mazrah to chortle shamelessly. “Of course you wouldn’t, you’re a proper lady. I’m not! You can tell the folks back home that you met a real barbarian, they’ll love that,” the Orsimer said with a wink and a nudge before turning to address Jaraleet’s question.
“Oh, the party’s great! Did you see me rolling around on the floor with Raelynn earlier? She’s real cute, that one. And yeah, I’m new. Only thing I’ve done so far is helping out with one of the missions. We freed Shakti and a bunch of other prisoners. Look, Shakti is right over there!” Mazrah pointed at the Redguard girl amidst the other people, still looking quite drunk from her earlier encounter with Daro’Vasora and Mazrah herself. “She’s cute too. Lotta cute girls around here, actually…”
Anifaire looked over where Mazrah pointed, noticing a Redguard woman she hadn’t met before. The group was growing so much so that Anifaire found she couldn’t keep up, but to her relief, she didn’t find the influx of strangers as alarming as she would’ve at the beginning of this mess.
“It is nice to meet you, Mazrah,” Anifaire said. She wondered why she felt, while a bit on edge, a bit more relaxed than she would’ve usually. Was that what alcohol does? Wait, cute girls? She couldn’t keep up.
“No, I didn’t notice that. Raelynn must have been quite intoxicated, it’s hard to imagine her doing that.” Jaraleet said in response to Mazrah’s question, laughing slightly. He was glad to hear that Raelynn was seemingly enjoying herself after their conversation, she deserved that after what she had went through. He nodded when the Orsimer huntress mentioned that she had freed a bunch of prisoners, one of which had also joined their ranks.
“Ah, I didn’t knew about her. It is good to see that she had joined us.” He said, looking at the Redguard girl that Mazrah had pointed towards. “I’m glad that mission was a success, there’s nothing more abhorrent than denying someone their freedom. To treat them as if they were cattle.” The Argonian said somberly, a hint of anger in his voice. Shaking his head slightly, the Argonian poured himself a glass of rum with his free hand and raised it on an impromptu toast. “To you Mazrah, and to the success of your mission.” He said, smiling at the Orsimer. He usually wasn’t one for such gestures, but slavery of any kind was something that the Haj-Eix loathed to his very core and he was glad that the Dwemer’s prisoners had been saved.
Anifaire turned to the table, glancing around for something that didn’t smell too bad. She picked up a taller bottle, by the smell of it, it was wine. The wine was of good quality, definitely enjoyable, and she took a few drinks of it.
Once more making her way into the conference room, Meg scanned the entirety, trying to pin down the Imperial man who had joined her and Jude earlier. Granted he wasn't hard to miss, so it wasn't long before the nord woman made her way to Gregor, a little relieved he was by himself so that no one else would accidentally overhear the conversation.
Of course this relief was largely overshadowed by trepidation. She knew she had to know, if only for herself, but who would take kindly to being accused of lying and being a murderer? Don' be stupid Meg- that isn' what yer gonna do. She hoped, anyway.
"Heya," she called as she neared him. "Uh, sorry 'bout just leavin' you an' Jude earlier."
Gregor watched as Meg approached, having spotted her eyes looking at him from the other side of the room, and wondered what she had to say to him other than an unnecessary apology. He had made himself comfortable on a chair, his left leg laid across the knee of his right, and rested his free arm across the railing of the chair next to him. “Don’t worry about it. Come, sit with me,” he said and gestured with his hand for her to occupy the free seat. Some insidious instinct in the back of his mind, probably after having picked up on the hesitation on Meg’s face, told him that he had to be alert. If Meg took the chair his arm was draped on, she would immediately be in his physical sphere of influence. It was a power move Gregor wasn’t even consciously aware of. “Speak your mind.”
"Uh... yeah, sure." Meg looked down at the chair he had gestured to and nodded, settling herself down without really thinking about it. He seemed perfectly friendly to her, and if anything her nervousness settled the slightest bit. "Well... I've been wantin' t'ask 'bout that mission y'all went on, y'know, the one on the last of Last Seed?" She slouched over slightly, looking at her fingers as they splayed over her knees. "I talked t'Jaraleet the other day... he tol' me he wasn' the one who offed the dwemer... why'd ya say t'was him then?" She finally looked away from her hands and up at the Imperial man.
Divines bless her, Gregor thought and smiled condescendingly. “I see there has been a misunderstanding.” When Jaraleet brought the topic up and indirectly accused him of lying, Gregor had been concerned and felt cornered -- perhaps bolstered by the wine, Gregor did not see Megana as a threat at all. She was a simpleton who had too much to drink and who failed to understand the subtleties of the game Gregor had played. This would be easy to defuse. The Imperial patted Meg’s shoulder reassuringly and continued. “Jaraleet interrogated the Dwemer. He used some… less than pleasant methods. Nothing that should have killed him, I agree, but unpleasant all the same. After the safehouse was besieged by the Dwemer’s allies, I was left behind to undo his shackles and get him moving. That is when he just… died. I tried to save him but whatever happened to his heart was beyond my skill. There is a principle in philosophy called Ocato’s Razor, named after the Elder Councilman. It says that the most reasonable and probable explanation is the one that is most likely to be true. Considering the circumstances, I said my best guess as to the cause of Nblec’s death was the interrogation he suffered at Jaraleet’s hands. Stress can kill a man, did you know that? And Nblec wasn’t a warrior, he was a soft magistrate who spent his time making friends with the locals.” Gregor paused to take a sip of wine and watched Meg’s reaction closely. “Do you understand?”
In her current still fuzzy state of mind, it was a lot to take in and process. Blinking, Meg looked away from Gregor, trying to wrap her mind around what he was saying. So he too didn't believe Jaraleet killed the dwemer, rather it was his techniques? But... ain' tha' the same thin'? She frowned, trying to piece her thoughts together as well as remember what her friend had told her two days earlier. "But... Jaraleet tol' me... he said tha' he was sure what he did wasn' the reason." She looked around the room, trying to see if she could catch sight of the argonian. "He was tellin' the truth... he was sure it was somethin' else. An' I believe him. I don' think it's right people thinkin' he killed the dwemer if it was somethin' else." Her eyes returned to Gregor, unsure of what he might be thinking.
“I’m sure that’s what he believes,” Gregor said and let the words hang in the air for a few seconds, nursing his wine, before he continued. “Accidents happen. Jaraleet is a professional. I’m well aware of his service with the armies of Argonia and his position as a torturer and a killer.” Half gamble, half educated guess, Gregor allowed himself a small smile at the manipulation. It was obvious that Meg considered Jaraleet to be her friend and he figured the peasant girl wouldn’t like hearing such things about him. “Still, that does not make him absolutely right all of the time. He never meant for the Dwemer to die and his techniques should not have led to Nblec’s death, but here we are. Jaraleet tortured him and then he died. These are the facts. Like I said, my best guess was that one thing led to another. I never outright claimed that it was his fault. It just strikes me as the most probable explanation. Stress kills people, like I said. Some men are born with weak hearts. The Dwemer spent six hundred of their years in a pocket realm of Oblivon; we have no idea what that does to someone’s body. And so on and so forth,” the Imperial elucidated, his tone languid and relaxed, as if they were talking about strange weather phenomenon, deliberately showering Meg with knowledge she would have no way of knowing, trying to drown her doubts in a torrent of information.
“Either way, you have to consider that it is in Jaraleet’s own best interests never to admit that Nblec’s death was his fault, regardless of the circumstances or the truth. Do you really think he would readily accept responsibility for such a thing? If I killed him, I wouldn’t sit here and confess that to you either,” Gregor said in a low voice, his eyes black and depthless. It was easy to lie when you technically spoke the truth. “That said… Jaraleet and I already talked about this. He understands that my first reaction was to blame the interrogation, and he forgave me. I told him that I know that, whatever did happen to Nblec, it wasn’t intentional and I don’t hold him responsible. Other people might, but I don’t control their opinions. What more is there to be said about this?”
Meg's hands were now gripping her knees tightly, her shoulders hunched and head drooping to such an extent that her hair swayed forward, partially hiding her face from view. She didn't want to hear what he was saying, not after it had taken two days for her to finally accept what she had learned about the torture and push it the back of her mind. Once again she was being shown the truth that she knew nothing of the cruel ways of the world, she knew nothing about her friends. Her eyes stung- she quickly brought her hands up and pressed the back of her thumbs against her eyelids, refusing to let any tears escape.
It was her own fault after all. Jaraleet had told her he was handling it- why hadn't she listened to him? All this encounter had brought forth was realization of how naive she truly was. It brought a terrible taste to her mouth, overriding her drunkenness so that she felt that she could finally see everything clearly.
"I... guess yer right... really ain' anythin' more t'say." Meg let her hands fall loosely to her side as she rose from the chair. "I'mma take my leave now."
“One last thing, before you go,” Gregor said and held up his hand. “Don't be too hard on Jaraleet. He is a good man who means well. His methods are a product of his past. The war between the Argonians and the Dunmer is famously cruel, Megana. The unfortunate reality is that we find ourselves fighting a similar war now against the Dwemer, a race who did not hesitate to butcher defenseless citizens in the Imperial City. If Jaraleet kept things from you, he did that because he wants to preserve your innocence. It is a beautiful thing that should be nourished because once lost, it can never be regained,” Gregor explained, his voice somber. “You have a sweet heart and I admire that.”
What was she supposed to say to that? Meg didn't know, so she remained silent. She felt hurt and yet she felt guilty at feeling that hurt. What Gregor was telling her was true, and for the time being her previous intentions of confronting him were just fading memories in her mind. Did she really have a sweet heart? She didn't think so, not with how much judging she was doing.
"He... told me t'leave the matter be," she finally replied, voice rather dull and lacking any of the vibrance from when the party had started. "I shudda listened t'him." Her hands clenched into fists. "G- goodbye for now."
No longer having the heart to party any longer, Meg made a beeline for the conference room's door.
“It appears that almost everyone has gotten themselves well and drunk.” Nanine noted wryly, sitting down next to Jaraleet. She had a small plate of food, and a cup of water. She wasn’t fully prepared to let go of her senses just yet. And besides, if she drank she would sing and if she sang everyone’s eardrums would begin to bleed. “I don’t believe we’ve ever gotten the chance to properly say hello. Nanine Tilhart, former Legionnaire. A pleasure to be involved in an extremely dangerous and likely highly foolish endeavour like this with you.” She took a small bite of food, before continuing.
“Have you heard anything about what the Poncy Man has planned next? I presume it isn’t to cut his losses and dump all of us into the sea, since we’re having a feast right now. But neither have I heard of any other missions he might have planned.” It had been bothering her since the near failure of their own mission, and the failures of the other missions.
“That would seem to be the case, yes. Fairly standard thing that happens at parties, as far as I understood it. Never been in too many.” The Argonian replied, chuckling slightly at his own comment. “But that’s a rather obvious thing for me to state, isn’t it?” He added, taking a swig from the bottle of ale that Meg had left in his care. “And, no, we’ve never had the chance to have a proper introduction. Jaraleet, former soldier of the An-Xileel’s armies.” The Argonian said, the lie rolling off effortlessly from his mouth as if what he was saying was the truth and not a mere fabrication with which to protect his identity.
At the mention of the Poncy Man a frown worked its way into Jaraleet’s face, causing the Argonian to make a clicking sound with his tongue. “No, I haven’t heard anything from him.” He replied after a second, placing the bottle of ale down in the nearby table. “Why so worried about him?” The Haj-Eix asked, wanting to somewhat steer the conversation away from the topic of their host. “I thought this party was, much like Daro’Vasora said, to celebrate, no? To forget both the past and the future and focus on the present, a sentiment that I wholly agree with.”
Nanine shrugged. “Once a soldier always a soldier, I suppose. Spent a few years in Skyrim worrying about what would happen next, and the next mission, sorta became ingrained. Its part of the reason why I argued Mazrah into wearing a disguise rather than walking around as a giant easily identifiable beacon That was exhausting, believe you me.”
Jaraleet did have a point though. Perhaps she should give her concerns for the future a rest, if only for a moment. Perhaps not a rest. Just less focus than she normally did. Slightly less. She gave a small grin, looking over at him. “Besides, I’m doing you a favour. If I get too relaxed, I’ll end up singing. And if I end up singing I promise your eardrums and at least three other people’s eardrums would burst, and then Raelynn and Brynja would have to sober up to fix it. Really, I’m protecting you.” She looked over the room, chuckling quietly to herself. At least everyone else was fully enjoying themselves. “I have ten septims that say Raelynn is the first to pass out entirely.”
Jaraleet laughed slightly at Nanine’s comment about her singing. “Really, that’s your excuse?” He said to her, a look of amusement on his face. “I think we’ve all dealt with things far worse than terrible singing, oh sure a few might complain but I don’t think it’d be the catastrophe on par with the Oblivion Crisis that you are making it out to be.” He said, chuckling slightly and taking a swig from the bottle of ale. “Speaking seriously, you do know it’s fine to relax right now, no?” He said, more quietly and with a more serious tone to his voice. “If something was going to happen, it’d have already happened. If the Dwemer had attacked us, well we would probably be on the run at this very moment. And if the Poncy Man had deigned to get rid of us via this party, I’d wager we’d all be twitching on the ground poisoned.” The Argonian said, looking at the partygoers and smiling slightly.
“A soldier who is constantly on the lookout, always expecting an attack, will burn out sooner rather than latter. They will become useless, like a sword that wasn’t properly maintained and which broke mid combat.” He spoke, shaking his head slightly and letting out a sigh. “It’s fine to take a moment to relax, go and grab a drink or something.” Jaraleet said, taking one final swig of the ale that Meg had handed to him and placing the, now empty, bottle on the nearby table.
“You seriously underestimate the catastrophe that is my singing voice. I was banned from singing during my time during the legion after one night of one to many ales.” Nanine laughed quietly before leaning back. “Perhaps you’re right Jaraleet if bad things were going to happen, they already would have and worrying about them might just end up with me breaking when I’m needed. Then again, I haven’t broken yet. I’ll trust you to drag me to a tavern and forcibly pour ale down my throat if you think I’m getting too burnt out. Don’t worry about me too much until then. I’ll be fine, promise. Been a while since I’ve had an actual mission and group to worry about anyways.” She waved a hand, downing another piece of food. “Legion’s honor. I’ll be fine.”
Jaraleet shook his head, laughing slightly at Nanine. “Again with the excuses, do I need to call Sora over here and have her bring over a bottle of Stros M’kai rum?” He asked her, a look of amusement on his face. “I meant what I said, you'll end up breaking down sooner rather than latter if you don't take a moment to relax. Doesn't has to mean you have to get drunk enough that you’ll wind up doing something monumentally stupid...just something that'll take your mind off of what's going on. No Poncy Man, no Dwemer, nothing. Just this moment of peace and, well, not quiet but revelry, I suppose.” The Argonian said, shrugging slightly.
“Please, Sora is too busy to heckle me into relaxing by her standards, but your threat is taken well within warning. I’ll try and ‘relax’ a bit Jaraleet. Maybe not going so far as to take Moon Sugar, but I’ll think less about the job. If only for tonight.” She stood, her plate finished, and smiled at him. “Thanks for the advice, Jaraleet, I think I’ll go and mingle a bit to see if I can’t make it work. See you around.”
After Ani had wandered off, Alim decided to lounge where he had planted his ass. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, sighing.
Feeling the comedown kick in, Raelynn spotted Alim sat in the corner, free of Anifaire’s company - and as she sashayed her way through the tables she decided now would be a fantastic time to say hello. She waved at him from a distance, actually taking some of the food now - a sweet platter of bite sized pastries and sliced fruits.
“Alim!” She called with a beaming smile, before placing herself in the seat beside him and letting the fruit platter sit on the table.
Alim had a nice buzz going. He wasn’t without his wits. He never lost his wits. But he wasn’t crisp either. “Hey there, pretty thing. How’re you?” he asked her, taking one last sip of his third mead, placing it on the table, drawing his eyes from her to the fruit platter. “Ooooo.” His low, smooth voice curling into a satisfied ‘yes’ as he plucked an apple off of the platter.
“Well, I feel like I’m floating on a cloud-” she chortled agreeably as she leaned forwards against the table - as if stretching. “Hungry though… Got an empty stomach problem right now, thought I’d share some fruit with you since you were kind enough to when last we met.” Even when drunk, she kept a formal way of speech - it just sounded a little more slurred and blurry around the edges as her eyes skimmed the room, glazed over from the substances she’d been feasting on. “So, you and Ani tonight…”
“I think she had fun.” Alim replied. “She likes mead quite a bit. Though she’s the kind of girl to stay proper about it. Like you in a way.” He chuckled at the thought and closed his eyes as he lounged. “We had a good time. Now the party is winding down. If I had just arrived I’d try to sleep with someone around now but, I think I’ll just relax.” He bit into the apple, his bejeweled rings glinted in the firelight.
“Me? Proper? This evening?” Raelynn chuckled and clutched her chest, nudging Alim in the side. “I’m… I’m a little bit sure that I almost had a romantic liaison with our new Orc friend…” Her eyes narrowed, already the memory was foggy but the imprints of Mazrah’s fingers were still on her skin tingling away as the moon sugar wore off. “So I’m not all that proper, apparently,” A strawberry caught her eye and she lifted it to her lips for a bite, “but thank you for being so honest about that one Alim, and for thinking I’m proper.” She gave him a cheeky smile. Something about alcohol made people feel so free to just be themselves.
Alim gave her a smile that showed his teeth, a twinkle in his dark eyes. “Anytime, beautiful.” he replied casually. “You can usually count me to be honest with people I enjoy. I only lie half of the time.” He said, finishing his apple lazily, and with a subtle movement of his muscled arm, he tossed the core into the bin past two other tables. It made it in, albeit barely. “And usually it’s to people who I want something from and have no real care for.” He paused for a moment, and then rubbed his face with his strong hand. “You know the funny thing about being proper is how unwound you get when you let yourself be unproper. I think for Ani it’s all she knows. You though...you’re a lady of the court.” He spoke as if he had met and dealt with many court members before, an earnest surety in his voice.
“Ahhh, Alim I know not what you mean. I know even less of Anifaire and perhaps I may catch her for a quiet conversation before the night is through… Do you like her more or less after tonight?” she asked, skirting around what else he had said of her. Lady of the Court she thought to herself, her drunken mind not entirely able to dissect what that meant. She was going to let it go, but the champagne wouldn’t allow it - “what do you mean I’m a Lady of the Court?” She stretched her elbows out over the table and placed her head into her hands. It was starting to feel heavy now, and so were her eyes. She hoped that the food would give her a second wind, and so she turned back to the fruit and picked up more of the strawberries.
“Oh, sorry.” He said, realizing he had been thinking aloud. “I meant that you know when to be proper and when not to be. And you know how to use it to help you in situations. It was a compliment.” Alim called for some water, two cups, to be sent over. “I learned how to be that way but I never got used to it. You make it look easy and I admire that.” Once the water was sent over, he took his cup and nodded. “As for Ani, I think I do. It’s a bit early but, I do feel very protective of her, and she’s as cute as a button.”
She mulled over his words momentarily as she helped herself to more fruit from the plate. “You know, if you get a chance to meet my father while we’re here, you’ll get a masterclass in being that kind of proper…” she smiled as she thought of him, it had been good to see him. Even if he was incredibly tense. She turned back to face Alim with a friendly smile as he spoke about the Altmer, but the expression turned to confusion when he described her as ‘cute’. Not a word I’d use she thought, her thoughts turning to words that tumbled from her mouth - albeit more tactfully (slightly) “You… you know she’s a lot taller than you, right?”
Alim looked at Raelynn. “...Are you saying I’m not cute since I’m bigger than you?”
“That’s not it!” she laughed, pulling herself from a slouch to an upright sitting position. “You’re cute in your own way, I suppose if you can see it then that’s what matters, it’s cute that you think she’s cute… so that makes you cute and I guess her too?” A bemused look creased over her face as she thought about it, “I don’t know… I think…. Cute.”
Alim sipped his water as he watched her tackle this philosophical subject, brows raised. He quenched his thirst when she was finished and simply said. “Thank you.” he said. “I don’t know. She’s taller than me and very pretty, but I think of her like she’s a cute...4 foot tall girl who’s learning about the world, it’s adorable.”
He picked up one of the strawberries too. “Anyway, sorry about vaulting between you and Gregorian earlier. Has he lightened up?”
“Don’t apologise,” she began in a light tone “it’s a party, and yes I think he has. Although I must admit I haven’t seen too much of him. If anything, I am the one who needed to lighten up - or cheer up - or one of those things, probably both.” She picked up one of the glasses of water and took a sip - it was icy cold and refreshing and exactly what her body needed at that moment. “My goodness, I’ve never had such nice water…” she mused to herself before placing the glass back down.
“No I was…” he stopped. Clearly she had no idea about the chat he’d had with Gregor before. Best to keep it that way. “Yeah the water’s great.” He took a big sip. “I think I’ll go to the beach sometime soon. Maybe bring Ani. Gilane’s coast is beautiful.”
“What are you talking about? You keep trying to tell me something Alim, you did it the other day too.” Her voice was suddenly sharp like a razor and she changed her posture - straightening herself up, between Alim hinting at something, and Gregor giving him an apology earlier - she could sense that something was amiss. Alcohol was making her feel bold. “You don’t like him, do you?” she asked, a defeated tone underpinned the statement.
“Oh I think he’s a big asshole.” Alim retorted casually. Then he realized he probably should elaborate. Great, my mouth opened. He sighed and set his drink down.
“Look, back when we first came to Gilane, I sort of stumbled upon him and we had a chat. Granted I didn’t know him very well, or your relationship with him back then so I wasn’t the best sport either. But…” he took a deep breathe. “I just mentioned your name and he got very...defensive.” Alim didn’t want to make her lover to be the bad guy. Even if he had qualms about him, it was her choice. Still, she asked. “I guess I was being curious and slightly protective. It was probably my old tendencies to act the part of a Knight showing its ugly head. Anyway, when I grew curious he became defensive and called me a bastard, telling me I wouldn’t know anything about loving a woman like you and I stole his wine and wasn’t very helpful defusing the situation. Yada yada yada…” He shrugged. “Long story short, I left before things got too heated and I slept on a roof that night.”
She didn't know what to say. But the more that Alim shared, the more her face dropped and she shrunk away from the rogue, her arms wrapping around her torso as if to deflect it. She knew the story was true, she knew both Gregor and Alim well enough that such a heated conversation could happen between the two of them. “Woman like… me?” The words just hovered there, and all signs of mirth left her as she thought on them. “What does that even mean?” The way the words stuck around made her feel dirty - exposed.
“I… I am sorry he said that to you.”
She unwrapped her arms and gazed down at her hands, and the scars and bruising there. “I know that you… think that of him, but… He took my pain away, Alim, he forgets himself, yes, but he is a good man.” Her voice cracked as she spoke the words, realising how grateful she was for Gregor - and Alim too. “I only hope that you can see that one day, my friend, you're important to me too. A different way, yes, but what you think of me - it matters.” She tried a smile, and brushed some of Alim’s hair back behind his ear. “You don't do you? Think less of me?”
Alim felt her fingers brushing his hair, and he looked her way, silent for a moment. “I don’t think less of you.” he said, honestly. He couldn’t say anything else about what she had said, because he couldn’t tell her what she would want to hear. For now this would do. But he did want to add. “I don’t hate Gregor, by the way. I’m used to people who think that way. There’s rough sorts, there’s people who let their demons take over every now and then. It happens.”
“We all have our demons, some are worse than others… I don't know Alim.” She placed her head into hands and sighed, unsure of whether this was more alcohol related silliness, a post moon sugar lethargy, or the weight of thinking about two of her dearest companions having tense words over her. She picked up a small square of chocolate from the plate and ate it slowly. “I don't need everyone to be friends, but I don't want to feel caught between my friend and, my boyfriend.” She knew that Gregor would be irked to see them together, even if Raelynn did look like she was moments from passing out.
She snapped out of it, the sugar hit from the chocolate reawakening her and dragging her back from the gloom. “So I'm not!” she declared, with a tiny giggle. “I want to see to it that you find a love of your own with Anifaire after all!”
Alim looked at her wide eyed. He had no idea how she got from him and Gregor to him and Anifaire. Then again, he did smell some moon sugar wafting from her and he placed a hand on her shoulder. Love!? “Sloooow down there.” he laughed. “It’ll work out, and you’ll have a front row seat. But let’s give it a little time.” He looked at her, wondering if she was a bit too ‘drugged’ (for lack of a better term) to stay awake much longer. “You ok? You think a nap might be good?”
“No, there's no time to wait you goof,” she replied with another titter of laughter. Raelynn pulled the hand that was resting on her shoulder around her, skooting her chair closer to his. The breton placed her head against his shoulder. “I don't need a nap, I just want to watch everyone be happy. Maybe tomorrow we’ll all be dead or somethin’...” she sighed contentedly before chuckling mischievously - “Hey! Would a lady of the court do this?” before he would have a chance to react, she swung her legs up onto the table with such gusto that the plate went flying to the floor with a clatter. “Oops!” She sat up from the hug and looked at the mess on the floor.
As she picked up the tray and returned it to the table, it seemed that Alim was himself dazed, and so she took the opportunity while he was elsewhere to weave her way back through the crowd once again. ··
Gregor came to up Daro’Vasora with a big grin on his face and grabbed the Khajiit’s attention by tapping her on the shoulder. “Did you see what Raelynn and Mazrah did with your moon sugar?” he asked, all previous tension between them forgotten in the amusement of the moment. “I didn’t think Raelynn was capable of such untethered revelry.”
Daro'Vasora's reaction to the touch was much more muted and lethargic than usual; she was well and thoroughly intoxicated. Having found herself a nice and large floor cushion off to the side where she could nurse herself with food and water to dilute the… she wasn't even sure what she was drinking at this point. She looked up with a half smile before registering it was Gregor. She blinked, surprised.
“Oh, hey.” she said, her happy visage returning a few moments later. “All according to plan. I wanted to see who would get it and let Sheggorath reign for a bit.” she giggled in a surprisingly feminine and girlish way as her tail swept the floor behind her, an appendage she no longer felt. “Raelynn exceeded expectations… I'm surprised you were okay with that. Mazrah would have been happy.” she observed, her normally fluid mind articulating in stuttering blocks. She was too drunk to properly care.
Gregor, having also drunk quite a lot at this point to help forget his conversation with Megana, pulled up a chair while he laughed to himself. “I feel comfortable enough in my relationship with Raelynn to have her frolic around with a giant Orcish woman for a bit, yes, though I did intervene eventually. But, to be honest,” he said and leaned forward with a sly grin, “it was quite an enjoyable sight. Mazrah was very happy, as far as I could tell, and with good reason.”
Daro'Vasora frowned. “She's very pretty, you know. Raelynn. I'd always grown up wishing I looked like her. After I left my cozy little city and found out what life was like everywhere else.” she pulled her tail in front of her, grooming it. “This always kept me behind, sneered at. Few people trusted me.” she looked up at Gregor's face. “There's a darkness to you, I don't know what, and that's fine. Just… promise me you won't hurt her. She needs you.”
Gregor met Daro’Vasora’s gaze silently as his grin melted away, his knee bouncing up and down and fingers fiddling with his ring, for a long time before he spoke. “I’m not going to hurt Raelynn. I’m going to hurt the people that do. That darkness you see in me… it’s what’s going to keep her safe. I’m a killer, Daro’Vasora. My hands and my blade are stained with the blood of dozens of monsters. I am that which the nightcrawlers fear. The Khajiit that captured and tortured her? I will find him and I will kill him too,” he said quietly. “I would never hurt Raelynn. I love her.”
“I don’t know what any of that means, just that it worries me.” Daro’Vasora said with a shake of her head. “What makes any of that different from any of the people you’ve gone after? I’ve sensed this hunger to you that consumes you, and I think it has the reigns. These things you say… do you even know when to stop?”
Gregor frowned. Was she daft? “They prey on the innocent, I put them to the sword. One is a crime, the other is justice. You do realize that jarls and counts pay money for such a service, right? When I talk about monsters, I mean vampires, outlaws, Daedric cultists, necromancers… vermin that need to be exterminated. Tolerance of intolerance isn't tolerance, it's weakness. Every society needs its own monsters to hunt the ones lurking in the night,” he said, gesturing animatedly while he talked. “Surely you understand that?”
The Khajiit rolled her eyes. “And maybe even some doughy deep elf administrator.” she shot back tersely. “You paint yourself like you're a mercenary, some paragon for virtue and S'rendarr’s mercy, but there's more to it than that, isn't there? I'm met my share of sellswords, even worked with a few… even a Dawnguard lady once. None were like you, Gregor. The drink peels back layers so whatever lurks beneath your pleasant veneer shows itself. I have no clue what it is, and I don't want to know. Just don't let it out.”
“No, not Nblec,” Gregor parried and held up his hand admonishingly. “I resent that statement. He was hardly a monster. We never meant for him to die, and I’m still not sure what actually killed him.” Wilfully ignoring her comment about alcohol, Gregor took a large swig of wine and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m sure you haven’t forgotten our conversation in Anvil. That’s what ‘lurks beneath’ the surface, as you so flatteringly put it. I’m afraid of what’s waiting for me,” he said and sighed. “That’s all.”
“So… what is it?” she asked with a resigned sigh. “Look, we all have things we want to keep others from finding out, I get that.” Daro'Vasora's mind fluttered to Latro's confession for a moment. “All I care about is each and every one of us making it home when this is all over. I never thought I'd be saying that, but these guys matter to me.”
The Khajiit looked up at Gregor with a slow blink. “And Raelynn in particular trusts you, loves you. She told me that much tonight. I just want to make sure that the part she sees isn't the part I see. What does it mean for the rest of us if you lose your shit?”
Gregor was lost for words for a moment. Raelynn had told Daro’Vasora that she loved him? No, not exactly, he realised. Just that much. He opened his mouth to respond to and closed it again, unsure of what to say, and instead let the rest of what the Khajiit said sink in. “The part that you see,” he repeated. “I don’t think you understand Raelynn all that well. She’s seen much more of that part than you ever will. And you know what?” he said, lowering his voice and leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “She loves it. The power, the rage, the violence; it’s what she wants. It’s what makes her feel alive, and safe. We have our tender moments too and I swear to all the gods above and below that my feelings for her are very much sincere, but the things that frighten you just drive her mad.” He paused and smiled. “You have nothing to worry about. Raelynn and I are perfect for each other, in every way.”
Daro'Vasora sighed, slipping a bone between her teeth and grounding away at it. “A fire is always comforting when you are at camp. It means you are warm and safe, it keeps predators at bay. But when a freak wind comes through and blows the flames onto something dry, you cannot contain it. It spreads and consumes everything. This… thing, it's a wildfire waiting to break out. The fact you readily admit to it being there and something you lured her in with strikes me as particularly careless, like you're flaunting it. You didn't survive all these years by being careless, did you? None of us did, especially now.”
“You make an awful lot of assumptions for someone so young,” Gregor said; he sounded amused. “Fire is mindless, uncaring. A poor analogy for someone like me. Perhaps you haven’t lived long enough or seen enough of the world to know that aggression and violence are useful tools that can be honed and controlled by a man who needs them. You’re right, I survived all these years, and I wasn’t careless. I was prepared, always evaluating and learning, and I faced foe after foe and I survived. But I was alone, Vasora. Even if I was working with other people, I did not belong with them. When they died, I survived. Now I am no longer alone. It changes things. And besides, what harm is there in being honest with an honored friend at a pleasant party?” Gregor asked, tilting his head. His smile had not yet left his face. “Why would you call that careless? Are you plotting against me? Have I something to fear from you?” He waited just a second, almost as if he was expecting a reply, and then cut off anything Vasora might have said by dismissing his own questions as rhetorical. “Of course not. We are allies. I can trust you.” There was a twinkle in his eyes and the implication was unmistakable.
It sent a shiver down her spine. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she glanced away. “I've seen enough of the world to know what it's like, Gregor. Where do you think my sunny and welcoming disposition comes from?” she asked sarcastically, but not bitingly. “I'm just deep in the drink and not weighing my words like I should. I really want to trust you, that whatever you have going on is a force of good for everyone here that won't ever be unleashed on any of us. I've never seen you anguished or furious, and that's what worries me. What happens then? It's one thing when you're in control of yourself, it's another when hard emotions take over.”
She shook her head, a slight smile crossed her lips. “Even if I wanted to be dangerous, I'm not really built that way. I've hurt my share of people with my mace, sure, but that was always to buy time to get away. I'm a treasure hunter, not a fighter. I'm used to being alone, like you, and expecting absolutely everyone to betray me. This is the first time I think I've had to really consider others’ needs before my own.” she hesitated, wringing her hands. “That's what really scares me. Everyone here, they look up to me to guide them. I just stumbled into this and I have no idea if I'm doing it right or I doomed us all.”
Satisfied that he had disarmed Daro’Vasora’s suspicions for the moment, Gregor exhaled slowly and let the anger he had felt at her prying and prodding melt away. She was right, they were all drinking and not making entirely sound decisions. He could forgive that. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing well,” Gregor said kindly. “I asked one thing of you and you brought me to the headquarters of an active resistance against the Dwemer. It’s all I could have asked for.” He laughed and took another sip. “I don’t envy you your position, though. I can’t imagine what it feels like to be responsible for so many people. It’s something I have actively avoided throughout my life. I didn’t inherit my father’s business, I never actually joined the Vigil, and I dodged the draft during the civil war in Skyrim. It’s admirable that you’re even trying in the first place.”
He rubbed his chin, combing through his beard, and appeared to deliberate for a few seconds. “But I have been around the block a few times. I have fought many fights and won every time, one way or another. I don’t mean to imply that I think you need it, but if you seek advice, I’ll help you think things through.”
“It just occurred to me we really don’t know much about each other.” Daro’Vasora replied, thankful for that cloud having drifted over. This was the side of Gregor she thought she could actually befriend. “I had no idea you were really a part of all of that in your personal life, or maybe you did say something in Anvil. Memory’s not all that sharp right now.” she smiled apologetically before shaking her head.
“It’s a strange feeling, I understand Rhea better now than I did before because I can see exactly how the stress and fear tore her apart like it did. I didn’t exactly try to fall into this role, I just happened to have the right connection and everyone kind of looked to me to lead when Roux and I had our little plan. Now I’m just trying to inspire people and bring out the best in them, I’m just terrible at it, as you probably guessed.” she chuckled, pulling the bone from her teeth, looking over its knurled texture. “And honestly, if you’re offering training lessons for how I can be a better fighter, I’d be grateful for the opportunity. I had a sparring session with Latro that ended wonderfully, but it occurred to me how woefully unprepared I am to even hold my own against a one armed, one legged Redguard who’s half blind and deaf in a duel.”
“I don’t think I did,” Gregor said, thinking back to their conversation in Anvil. “I am quite secretive about my personal affairs with most people. Well, the short version is that I’m the son of a prosperous merchant from Bravil. I was apprenticed to become a jewelsmith. My father died from a terrible illness when I was twenty-eight summers old. It’s possibly hereditary,” he said, deliberately downplaying the truth, “so I left home to find a cure before the same fate could befall me. That’s what I was talking about, back in Anvil. I discovered my true calling as a witch-hunter and that is how I’ve made a living the past decade.”
He smiled and pressed his fingertips together. “As for a training session, that’s not entirely what I meant by ‘advice’, but I don’t see why not. I can’t help you with your mace, though. My father insisted it was an uncivilized weapon. Swords only, I’m afraid.”
That made her laugh. “Oh, but didn’t you know civilization was built on the back of clubbed weapons and then spears? Besides, all you need to do is smack someone hard enough and all the fancy plating in the world doesn’t matter. I always liked the idea of a 50 Septim mace destroying the value of a 5,000 Septim suit of armour, it’s humiliating.” She grinned, absentmindedly reaching to where her weapon would have been at her hip before realizing she didn’t wear it to a party for some reason.
She thought over Gregor’s story, surprised by the candor of it all. She blinked, thinking of what to say. “Is that why you’re here, with us all? To try and find a cure and hopefully the Dwemer in all of their fancy technology came up with medicine we can’t even dream of?” she asked, not insincerely. “I am sorry about your father, and your family. I truly am. But forgive me for saying so, but I can’t imagine you have delicate and dexterous enough fingers to craft jewellery.” she said with a grin.
Gregor nodded in response to her summary. “That’s right,” he said softly. “The ecclesiarchy, the College of Winterhold, alchemists, researchers, old books, my father and I tried everything and came up with nothing. If anyone in Tamriel developed the means to cure us, it would be the Dwemer. So for that, I am grateful that they have returned, but it is a selfish gratitude. I know that the world would be better off if they were gone again, so I am trying to combine my personal quest with their defeat. Perhaps if we ever capture Rourken I can force the truth out of her, or something. Anyway,” he said quickly, eager to move on to the next topic, “you insult me, madam.” He took off his ruby-studded silver ring, like he had done earlier, and gave it to Daro’Vasora to inspect. “I’ll have you know that is my handiwork.”
She took the ring with care and began to appraise it like it was one of her finds in some Nordic barrow; much to her surprise, the work was detailed and exquisite with absolutely no tooling marks or scratches, and it was uniform in shape and material consistency. It gave her a newfound respect for the man; he certainly was capable of creating something beautiful.
“Well, colour me impressed. It’s beautiful.” she admitted, handing the ring back with care. “Maybe when this is all over, I’ll ask you to do something nice for me. I do have an eye for the finer things in life.” she smiled, shifting in her seat to a more receptive position, her body language looser. “I promise I’ll try and help you the best I can, to find something, anything that can lead to what you’re looking for. I guess years of learning how to read an undead language is going to pay off, huh? You know, as weird as it sounds, I actually know what you mean, the gratitude for them being back. I’ve studied them for a lot of my life, along with other dead civilizations, and it always fascinated me how advanced they were while we might as well have been struggling to master mud huts. I thought it was tragic they all vanished, no one should have to face annihilation like that. This is a second chance for them, and they’re doing it all wrong.” Daro’Vasora frowned, rubbing the back of her neck, feeling how numb her extremities were. “I don’t think they’re bad people, just that they’re scared and angry. What did you think of the Governor?” she asked.
It was a strange feeling to rope Daro’Vasora into a quest he had no intention of actually pursuing. It was idle hope to think he could get the Dwemer to divulge their medical secrets, if they even had a cure for such a thing. The dishonesty of it made him hide behind his wine for a bit while she talked, and he was glad that she asked him about something else.
“Governor Rourken,” Gregor said, tasting the name and title in his mouth. “Very intelligent, very capable. Her presence and her authority are undeniable. I think she is dangerous and not to be underestimated, but perhaps her desire to integrate with the existing Redguard population is a weakness that we can exploit. You could interpret that as sympathetic but I think that’s naive. The Dwemer are an existential threat. In short, I should very much like to kill her and hope that someone like her never returns to Tamriel again. For our sake.”
“I…” Daro’Vasora said, her face scrunched in consideration. “I don’t think she’s wrong? At least, her aim. This was her home; Gilane is the city where Volundrung fell and her clan settled, it’s why the province is called Hammerfell. The Dwemer never met the Redguard before they vanished; The Yokudans didn’t come over until after they vanished. I wonder what they thought, finding entire cities just empty. I would have thought the entire land was cursed.” the Khajiit smiled sadly. “I thought she was a very impressive woman, someone I would have liked to meet under better circumstances. I just don’t think killing her will be a smart idea… she said what happened in Imperial City was the work of another clan, another warlord. What if in her absence someone like that takes control of Hammerfell? I just… I don’t know the answers here. I just think this whole thing is tragic and horrible all around.”
“She is arrogant,” Gregor said with finality. “The Dwemer were gone for thousands of years. I don’t care that it was merely centuries for them. That is still a very long time. They are refugees, Daro’Vasora, not the rightful rulers of these lands, but they are too prideful and obsessed with dominance to see that. If they had come in peace, their knowledge and skills would have made them welcome guests across the breadth of Tamriel. The dark elves fled Morrowind with nothing and the High King of Skyrim still gave them Solstheim and made sure they were allowed to live in Windhelm. Are their lives perfect? No, far from it, but they are strangers in a land where life is hard enough as it is. Such are the cards they have been dealt.”
He shrugged. “Do you see the difference between them and the Dwemer? They walk and talk like it is somehow perfectly natural that they are master and commander in Hammerfell again. I spoke to one of them on the day we arrived and she welcomed me to ‘Volenfell’, as if I was the biggest stranger of the two in these lands. It’s simply unacceptable. I don’t think she’s right and even if she is, it’s not some ideological dispute. They threaten our way of life. And by ‘our’, I mean everyone on Tamriel. The Dwemer don’t belong here anymore.”
“I don’t dispute that, it’s why I’m here bumbling in an insurgency instead of heading home to my family, but… well, that’s the word. Refugees. All of those people outside of Skingrad, did they not deserve to live, as well? Rourken told us the plain her people were banished to is dying, and this is their one shot at trying to survive. While individuals are capable of great evil and cruelty, I don’t believe it’s right to condemn an entire race to death because of their leaders.” She thought about the children playing in the streets, their harried mother, the boy who called her pretty. It was all so damn relatable. “They couldn’t have just shown up and been welcomed back, it’s like you said, it’s no longer their lands. I doubt anyone would have welcomed them back or accomodated these strangers showing up in their borders, it would have been another Saarthal all over again. It’s not an easy situation and I don’t really think there’s a right answer, but I refuse to believe the only solution is genocide. We have to be better than they are.” Daro’Vasora said with an air of determination, looking over at the rest of the party guests.
“Everyone here has a family, a story of their own. Those are what we’re trying to protect, Gregor. They give our lives context and meaning, and these deep elves, as misguided and destructive as they are, they too have their own stories and families. I can’t stop thinking about Nblec; he sounded like he was a good man who genuinely wanted to fit in with the locals. I think about the boy and his mother, just people, Gregor. Not monsters that come down from the sky and slaughter my uncle in his own store, not creatures that forced me to abandon everything I worked for in my life. I cannot forgive those who wronged me, and I will see this through because of it, but I don’t see why one day, we can’t coexist. This war really isn’t any different from all the others, it just hurts more because it’s happening to us now.” the Khajiit said, grabbing for her wine glass once more.
“Don’t do that,” Gregor said. There was a hardness to him now, and his voice rang with the implacable nature of steel. “Don’t humanize them. We don’t have to be better than them, we just have to survive. You said it yourself; we fight for the lives and stories of the people we know. You cannot simultaneously consider the tragedies that will befall your enemies. Nblec told us he had a daughter. Perhaps she is an orphan now. It changes nothing. He wasn’t supposed to die but I shan’t lose any sleep over it either. The die has already been cast, Vasora, and it was cast by them. Blood begets blood and it won’t end until we fully subjugate them. They will continue to resist our efforts to recover our sovereignty until they no longer have the means to do so. Maybe then we can think about coexistence. But for the time being, while they are still our tyrants to be overthrown, do not empathize with them.” He looked at her intently, as if he was trying to drive this point home with more than just words. “Or you will find yourself faltering at a critical moment and they will strike you down without a thought.”
Daro’Vasora stood, her face impassive as she gazed out into the gathered people, mingling among themselves and washing away the hardships of the past several weeks through revelry. “‘Don’t humanize them. We don’t have to be better than them. Do not emphasize with them.’” she repeated Gregor’s words as if they they were mantra. “I wonder if that was the same speech that the commanders gave their soldiers before they sacked Imperial City? What you say is exactly the kind of thing that allows those kinds of atrocities to happen, and violence begets violence. I’ve read enough history and studied enough ruins that contain entire people’s final moments that I know how those ideas can spread like a miasma. One crime leads to one in turn, which escalates until such a point that no one can inherit the ruins that are left behind.” She looked back at him, her gaze steady as she met his eyes. “If you wish to defeat your enemy, understand them. Find what drives them, and then dismantle that. If you go in blind with nothing but hatred in your heart, well… you were a Ranger, briefly. Try not to make the same choices they did.” Daro’Vasora said, tidying up her dress.
“Ask Latro what he thinks,” Gregor said and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Perhaps he will do a better job at convincing you of the necessity of cruel methods than I can. He was the first to agree with Jaraleet when he suggested that we interrogate Nblec, you know. The look Latro had in his eyes then -- I’ve seen it before, but only in people who know war.”
“I’ll be sure to ask him all about it when we next rendezvous, I assure you. You know, I’ve seen the future; it’s written all over the walls of those who died centuries before, and I’ve sold their priceless possessions for a thrill. History is a giant cycle, if no one learns from it. The only thing that changes are the faces of those who refuse to get off. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Gregor, I’ve got to go freshen up. Enjoy the party.” she said, stepping away with even strides as she headed to clear her mind.
After his chat with Nanine, Jaraleet had decided to head towards the area were the assorted food and pastries that had been gathered for the party lay in their trays. He had been drinking sporadically since the start of the party and while he still wasn’t inebriated, the Haj-Eix thought it best to prevent such a thing to come to pass. And so he found himself in front of the food trays with a plate on one hand, picking up a few pastries to eat.
With a cup in her hands Judena saw Jaraleet eyeing the sweets, she called out in Jel. “I wouldn’t have taken you to have a sweet tooth, Jaraleet.”
An empty plate to her left, a pitcher of wine to herself. On her third goblet, beginning to feel the edges of her vision smooth out, taking it slow - tempted as she was to try and keep up with the younger members. While Jude joked at length of her age, there were only a few things where she stubbornly stuck to a pace she set only for herself.
“Come spend time with this certain honoured elder. Come, come.” She beckoned.
Smiling, Jaraleet went and sat next to Jude. “I’m not one to normally indulge in sweets.” He replied, easily switching back to their native Jel. “But, well, I decided to indulge tonight. I’ve been drinking a fair bit and I thought it could use something that would give me some energy.” The younger Argonian said, chuckling softly. “Feel free to take some if you wish, it’s not like there aren’t trays and platters full of them next to us.” He said, chuckling lightly before taking one of the pastries and taking a bite from it. “How have you been Jude? Enjoying the party?” He asked once he was done, remembering that it had been quite a long time since he had talked with his fellow Saxhleel.
“Yes! While my dinner companions ventured elsewhere, the food and wine has been delicious. A real treat!” She took a generous sip, “All healed up from earlier this week, lessons with Anifaire, enjoying the sea where I can. Nothing of real significance. Taking Daro’Vasora’s warning of sticking in pairs to heart. I wonder why such a warning was administered even with the success we saw helping the Peculiar Man.”
She pondered with a shrug, “There is probably a reason upon further examination but there has thankfully been many other things to distract myself with.” Tapping a nail against the cover of her logbook. “I take comfort in your presence here Jaraleet.”
“If anything were to happen to me there is someone here to read my words without a problem.” She noted sincerely, in spite of darker meaning - it was true. She would be happy knowing if she were to pass on while they were all together as a group someone would be able to understand her logs. “Thank you.”
Jaraleet had been listening to Jude’s words with a smile, happy to hear that the older Saxhleel was having a good time. However, when she said that she took comfort in his presence he was taken aback, his surprise only growing with each word that Judena said. “You….you do me an honour that I don't deserve.” He replied, bowing his head slightly, his voice choked up ever so slightly. “I promise you Jude, that as long as I'm here nothing will happen to you.” The Haj-Eix said softly, voice solemn, before falling silent as hesitation entered his mind. “But….should something happen, I will make sure to protect your history, your logs. This I swear.” He said, giving Jude a small smile.
Reaching to cup his face she held him there for a moment, “Thank you. I’ll hold you to that promise.” Squinting contentedly. “I believe in a great many things but I firmly believe you should always speak truthfully and immediately of your feelings for others. Good, bad, complex. Speak them with honesty.”
“For you Jaraleet I feel comfort, solidarity. I see in you embodying home, our home in every sense of the word.” She said her tone adopting a more serious note. Speaking of Argonia earlier had set her thoughts to how she grappled with homesickness for Soulrest but she felt that same longing for her other home she built with Leonora. In Jaraleet she saw everything about Argonia being carried on the shoulders of one soul. “The good, bad and complex feelings we all share for our homes.” She echoed.
Jaraleet was surprised when Jude reached to cup his face, but did nothing to pull away or stop the motion and let the elder Argonian do as she wished. He was touched by the words that followed, by the fact that she felt comfort and solidarity from his presence. And yet, those same words unsettled and confused him greatly. He smiled sadly when she echoed her earlier words, unsure of what to say next.
“You...you do me a kindness that I'm unworthy of.” He finally said, his voice choking up again as he spoke, before falling silent again, unsure of how to continue speaking. Of what he should say.
She patted his cheek in somewhat admonishment, brushing away the mere concept. “Your worth was established when you were brought from the depths of the Hist. It is simple as that.”
Jude sat back with a smile, she drank her wine. Words she sometimes struggled to believe herself, but in Jaraleet she saw familiar conflict she wished to help him quiet.
Jaraleet fell silent once more as he considered Jude’s words, a troubled look settling on his face. “Thank you Jude.” He said finally, looking at the older Saxhleel in the eyes. “You’ve given me a lot to think about. I think I will excuse myself from the party, enjoy the rest of the night.” He said, smiling at Jude, before standing up.
He needed some air, some quiet, to think for himself. He had also seen Meg leave the party in what seemed to be quite a distressed state, something that worried him as well and that, now that he was leaving the conference room as well, he fully intended to check out.
Gregor had found Raelynn again in the buzz and excitement of the party and this time he grabbed her hands. “Gotcha,” he said and pulled her in, a warm smile on his face. “You’ve been floating all over, haven’t you? Like a radiant butterfly. Come, sit with me.” His voice was soft and low, meant only for her ears, and he gestured towards two free chairs towards the back of the room.
She didn't speak, and instead enjoyed the feeling of his hands against her. Following him to the chairs, thankful to at last be brought back to his side after an evening of laughter and joy, and new experiences. He seemed full of it too, the light and airy feeling that followed letting yourself unwind. She sat back in a chair tucking one leg under herself, the other hanging freely.
He opened his mouth to speak but closed it again when he realized they had nothing to drink. “Hold that thought,” Gregor said and closed the distance to the bar with long strides, had a quick conversation with the bartender and returned with a bottle of Cyrodilic wine and two glasses. “There we go,” he said as he sank back into his chair and poured them both a drink. He took a large swig immediately before he placed his glass back down on the table and looked at Raelynn intently for a few seconds before he resumed
“I was born in Bravil, but I weathered the worst of the Great War in Bruma. My mother took me there to stay with her family after my father went away to fight. I don’t remember much from that time, but I do know that my mother did her best to make it as happy and carefree for me as possible. Despite her best efforts, my earliest memories have a cloud of uncertainty and fear hanging over them. It frayed her nerves a little and I don’t think she ever fully recovered.”
Gregor paused and took another sip; he seemed to be staring over Raelynn’s shoulder at something in the middle distance. “My father made it back home in one piece and we all moved back to Bravil. The city was ruined by the siege and subsequent occupation by the Dominion, but my father was a smart man and he made a fortune as a merchant during the rebuilding and revival of the city. We were wealthy -- well, reasonably so, I don’t think my father’s business could ever compare to your family’s, but I wanted for nothing. Then my brother, Marcus, was born, and a few years later my little sister, Julia,” he said, speaking with a deliberation and intonation that betrayed that this wasn’t a spontaneous story; Gregor had been planning to tell Raelynn about this for some time now.
“We were happy. My father came home from his work with a smile on his face every day and my mother coddled us. She was patient and loving and perceptive in those days. Sometimes she’d know something was bothering me before I knew it myself. There were… moments that she would snap, and retreat back to her reading room with migraines, but I don’t blame her. Like I said, the war did a number on her. She feared every day that she would receive news of my father’s death and that she would have to raise me alone.” Gregor cleared his throat and met Raelynn’s gaze. He was smiling, but there was a sadness in his eyes that looked it came from somewhere deep within him.
Raelynn just listened while holding the glass in her hand, and Gregor sat close to her. It was quiet back here - a sanctuary in which he obviously felt safe to share his story with her. She tentatively took a sip of wine, wary of whether to continue drinking, but she did anyway. Knowing that he wanted her to. There was an intensity behind his eyes as he recollected his memories, and the picture that he painted for her was the colour of melancholy. She took slow breaths before placing her hand on his leg, breaking eye contact only for a moment so that she could find the best place to comfort him. She was instantly reminded of their first night together - squared away at the back of the inn by the fire with a bottle of wine, their bodies growing closer. Only now they were as close as two people could get. That evening in Anvil he had shared a secret with her, but now he was baring his soul.
Her fingers caressed him and she gave him an encouraging smile, both interested in his story and knowing that this was his life, and that he wanted to share it with her. “I can’t imagine it, Gregor. She sounds like an incredibly strong woman…”
He laughed. “She was.” Gregor ran his finger along the edge of his wine glass and took a moment to recollect his thoughts. It was getting harder to think straight. “My brother always wanted to be like me. You know what children are like. He grew up to be different, though. I never had any desire to follow in my father’s footsteps and become a merchant, so when I entered an apprenticeship to become a jewelsmith instead, Marcus took his chance and replaced me as the heir of my father’s little mercantile empire. I don’t think he ever understood why I wouldn’t want to become the new patriarch, but he continued to respect my wishes, and I know he was envious of my… personable character,” he said and smirked. “My sister was a sweetheart, through and through. Always playing with dolls, stuff like that. She wanted to be a mother more than anything. She…” Gregor paused and swallowed hard. He laughed again, but it was strained this time, and he looked away. “She probably is, by now. I imagine Marcus married too. I’m an uncle and I don’t even know it. I left them all behind ten years ago without telling them anything, Raelynn.”
Even though she hung on his words, part of her was meditative in thought on how much Gregor had to tell. She had always known he was older than she was, that he had seen more than her - but the gravitas of his story now picked at her, and made her feel in some way, insecure. He had siblings, maybe nieces and nephews. Here she was, alone. Just her father and mother and experience as an apprentice mage. The only significant chapters of her life so far. The way he described his family made her realise how little she had done with her own life, how few marks she had left anywhere. She turned her head away selfishly as her brow furrowed, but she continued to touch him, to draw it out of him. She took a deep breath and returned her gaze to him, against the hearthfire he looked so captivating. Her immaturity in life made it hard for her to find a point to relate to him, she couldn't find the words to say to him, only nods and hums of acknowledgement; “ten years is a long time to be away… I'm sorry…” was about all she could muster to say to him.
Gregor nodded slowly. “We used to throw parties too. You know, for family and friends. I can still see my mother,” he said, and his voice was thin and shaky, and it was as if he was following her with his eyes as he cast his gaze slowly through the conference room, “walking, no, floating through the house, her dress billowing behind her, making sure that everything was just perfect. She would be done preparing the house hours in advance and still she would move the floral arrangements this way and that, sometimes just an inch, polishing the silverware, telling us all not to touch anything, and then she’d give me a kiss on my forehead and send me outside to play until the guests arrived.” He bit his lip and blinked a few times, fighting back tears. “She had long brown hair and green eyes, the color of moss, and her smile lit up the whole room.”
“She sounds a lot like my mother…” she said with a sigh, thinking of her, what she would doing. It had been a few years since she had seen her - but not ten. Her mother hadn't been of a nervous disposition either. She understood Gregor's pain then - even if it was only a minute fraction of it she felt it. “I think you would like my mother,” were the words she said as she let her fingers intertwine with Gregor's, to remind him she was here, to anchor him back from the sadness he was wading in. “She is feisty, like a tigress,” she whispered with a smile, leaning over to Gregor to plant a sympathetic kiss on his cheek. Raelynn lingered there as she caught her own breath back, feeling his emotions spill over into her. She pictured the scene of Gregor's childhood home, his mother whirling around to make things beautiful. “She sounds wonderful, I'm…” unable to think of anything else to say, she simply resorted to pulling him close and allowing her fingers comb through his hair comfortingly.
Her touch, her words and her breath on his skin brought him back to the here and now and Gregor chuckled at the way Raelynn described her mother. “With a husband like that, I expected no different from your mother,” he said and gave her a kiss right back. “And you’re right, my mother was a saint. My father’s death, it… well, it broke her,” he whispered and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. He was vulnerable now, more than he had been in many, many years, and it scared him to break down all of the walls he had built around his previous life. But Raelynn deserved to know. She needed to know. Like a monsoon, an immense pain moved over him and he felt drenched in the sorrows of his regrets. Gregor looked down at his shaking fingers, casting his face in shadow, clutching Raelynn’s left hand tightly while she ran the fingers of her other hand through his hair, and saw through blurry eyes that a tear dropped down from his eyelashes and onto her skin.
He breathed in a deep, shuddering breath, like a soldier gasping for air through a sucking wound in his lungs. “I had a wife,” he managed through trembling lips, and the agony was unmistakable. His skin burned where it had been inked in her likeness.
If his agony was unmistakable, then hers was silent and locked away tightly in the moment. She didn't flinch. Maybe this was because she had known all along, she had made note of the woman on his arm their first night together. Suddenly the insecurity she felt rose to the surface, sitting in the form of tears in her eyes which she allowed to fall noiselessly. She dare not even breathe in this moment. Everything lately had been so much for her. But the one thing that had been keeping her above water, were the growing feelings for Gregor. Falling in love with him, surrendering herself to him, losing herself to him, rebuilding and transforming to someone better because of him...
That he would be her first love was magical, but knowing in complete certainty that she was not his bruised her heart and all it once she felt a cold hand clutching at it violently, stopping it from beating right there.
“I…” she eventually began, him squeezing her hand kept her steady. She focussed on the twinge of pain that it caused her wounded nerves, instead of the pain ripping her chest apart. It was a selfish feeling, truly. He was older, he'd had a life and she knew it. She knew this from the moment they met. So why did it sting so? “I know you do…” she said mistakenly - she turned to face him with a smile and a masked expression upon her face as if it was okay, and that she understood - even if everything inside was the opposite. “I know she must have been wonderful too…”
“No, no, Raelynn,” Gregor said after looking up and he shook his head, trying to guess what she was thinking. His cheeks were wet with tears. “I did. After I read the journals my father left behind and I learned of the Sibassius family curse, as it were, I did not tell her anything either. She was a lot like you,” he stammered and laughed. “So, yes, wonderful. But she would not have understood what I was setting out to do, nor would she have accepted it. You’re different. Leaving her without so much as a note was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it was… necessary,” he said with finality and nodded to himself. “In my darkest nights, I wondered if I was wrong, but… well, what’s done is done. She would have stopped waiting for me years and years ago.”
He looked up at the ceiling and sniffled, questioning if he was doing the right thing, looking for mercy from gods he did not believe in. “Her name was Briar.”
What Alim had said now made sense to her a woman like me is different to her… True or not, it was the winding path that insecurity and self-consciousness were dragging her down. Still, she remained graceful in her posture, in the way that she touched him, in the way she smiled. She did not for one second stop touching him. She couldn't, it was too late for that. She would not show Gregor what she was thinking, not now. She would show him only dignity. She could barely hear him against the thundering sound of her own heart in her chest. But she heard the name, and instantly offered him a smile when he shared it; “like a wild rose,” she remarked, feeling the thorns of that rose cut her deep.
That prompted a smile in return. “My mother said the exact same thing,” Gregor said and squeezed Raelynn’s hand. “I didn’t mean to spoil your mood. I tell you these things now, my dear, because I think you should know them. You deserve to know about my past and about the decisions that I’ve made, to know who I am. No, sorry, who I was. You already know who I am today.”
“You haven't spoiled my mood.” Raelynn said with warmth, pulling him to her again, placing a kiss on his forehead this time. “I know that…” She thought of her words carefully, scratching lightly at the nape of his neck as she did so, “I am not as experienced in life as you, but I'm trying to understand you because… Because you're right, it is important to know all of who you are.” With one more long breath she tried to let Briar go from her own thoughts, to return herself to Gregor fully. She couldn't stand to think of him seeing her weak or hurt anymore, Gilane had been so hard in so many ways, this was just another thing that she would have to let go of. She gripped Gregor tighter and smiled at him, arching a brow playfully in his direction, “I was almost married myself you know…” she quipped, just wanting him to smile.
That caught Gregor by surprise. His smile turned into a grin as he processed this revelation. “I should have known I wasn’t the first to pursue you,” he said and playfully elbowed Raelynn in her side. The monsoon had passed; the walls had been knocked down and he had survived. He wiped his own cheeks dry first and then did the same for Raelynn. “Tell me that story.”
She closed her eyes and pictured her would-be groom and smirked, “it's a short story I'm afraid. My parents tried to arrange for me to wed a butcher boy named Lazenne.” Her hands found their way from his neck to the centre point of his back between his shoulder blades where she began to draw circles and lines as she spoke. “He was, rather bland and so I refused. The end.” She began to laugh at how ridiculous it must sound - he had shared such a beautifully rich story and this was all she had to regale him with. “In hindsight, I don't believe they were serious and I do believe this was their last ditch effort to have me on my way out of the family home.”
“So cruel,” Gregor chuckled and his eyelids fluttered as he enjoyed the sensation of Raelynn’s fingers on his back. “How long was that before you did leave?” His eyes shot open and he suddenly looked concerned, like a man who had been caught doing something improper. “I just realized I don’t really know how you ended up in Cyrodiil in the first place.”
“Hmmm" she began to think about it, making note of Gregor's enjoyment of her touch, and so she scratched a little harder in the spot and let her hands travel lower. “It was about eight years ago, actually. I took myself to the College of Winterhold and studied there for some time. Eventually I grew bored of the stuffy walls and well… I lived in Skyrim until just mere months ago when the winds of change and ambition blew me into Cyrodiil.” She freed her hand from his and waved it around, as if to mimic her floating on a breeze from Skyrim to The Imperial City. “So much has happened since then, I almost feel like it's been years since I left…”
“Tell me about it,” Gregor mumbled and slowly wrapped his arms around Raelynn’s waist, rubbing her spine with his thumbs. He moved in closer and his lips found hers and he kissed her with all the love and tenderness he could muster, trying to convey through touch alone that Briar was just a memory and Raelynn was all he wanted. “You still taste like moon sugar,” he whispered and laughed.
She pressed her forehead to his, and brushed her fingers over his lips gently. With her eyes closed she blacked out all other thoughts and let herself feel every touch he placed on her skin. She found herself speechless - something that was happening more and more where Gregor was concerned. She had no moon sugar to give him, but she knew of other ways to help him see the stars.
The festivities had gone on for a long while as Latro watched from his seat, easy and contented smile playing about on his lips. It warmed him so much to see everybody amongst each other, old faces and new talking up a hubbub among the room that was cacophonous in the best way. Laughs, smiles, loving caresses, it reminded him of good days spent with Francis and the travels he’d had to meet his many interesting friends.
One thing remained to be said though, there was an elephant in the room. It was the very reason that until now, he had kept himself from mingling with the others. At every point he caught sight of Calen, it brought back the memories of the safehouse raid. The terrifying fight, the hasty and bloody retreat. How he’d had to dig Calen’s blood from under his fingernails and how it tainted the water red when he bathed the first time after the mission. The feeling of it still wet on his skin and damp in his clothing, the way his shirt stuck to him before it dried and flaked off with the itching.
To think hard words over a disagreement could have very well been Calen’s last memories of him. His only impression of Latro to be someone so quick to condemn someone out of spite for their views that weren’t so different from his own in all honesty. He finally rose from his seat, approaching the man in question until he stood before him, clearing his throat sheepishly before speaking equally as such, “Calen. I’d like to talk, if you’ll have it.”
Calen was sitting at a table and was caught off guard in the midst of his daydreaming, and looked up with surprise to see Latro looming over him. He stammered, “Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, of course. Please sit.”
The night had been somewhat uneasy for him. Usually he was the life of the party, the one jumping on top of the table and belting out a drinking song or two having the time of his life. Now, he was just filled with aches and pains he thought were supposed to have been cured. He felt exhausted despite the fact his last few days were spent resting. Even the champagne, even as delightful as it was, didn’t taste nearly as good as the water did. He spent all night watching the others instead, occasionally finding a moment to feel like his old self again, such as singing a few verses with Alim or sharing stories with Shakti -- but shortly after, he’d find himself grappling with his own mortality again. Watching everyone enjoy life, he realized that he was a hair’s breadth of away from not being able to see or experience any of it again.
With all this on his mind, he felt like he needed an outlet. He felt like he needed a way to express how haunted he felt, but instead, he looked at Latro and asked, “How are you enjoying the party?”
Latro chuckled half-heartedly in the midst of Calen’s gaze, all at once both jubilant, wistful, and grim. It reminded him too much of Raelynn, too much of himself at one or another point in his life. To see the carefree man now haunted by too many things to care about, it was as if his last hope in his own chance of being the easygoing, run-of-the-mill traveling bard had died with Calen’s eyes. Such was life amidst this Dwemer business, he supposed. He raised his glass of champagne and drank the last of it, “I’m enjoying it well enough.” He said simply, words going unsaid playing across his face, perhaps betraying themselves to the other man. Instead, he listened to the other part of himself, the one that wanted to pretend that this was just a party for the sake of friends coming together, and not what it really was. Or at least felt like to Latro, “What of you? I saw you with Alim, I’d have liked to join but, um,” He threw the thought of not wanting to ruin Calen’s time by butting himself into it over his shoulder, “I was busy talking amongst some others.”
He could feel the weight in his chest with every word that wasn’t the most heartfelt apology he could muster until it felt as if his ribs would implode into themselves. Anxiety set his leg to bouncing and his lip to getting chewed until he finally just threw it out onto the air, “I’m sorry, you know.” He began, finally getting the courage to look Calen in the eye, “I should’ve visited you.”
“Why should you have?” Calen casually remarked. There was a hint of humor in his voice, though his eyes were aimed away from Latro’s. “The room reeked like antiseptics.”
After a brief moment of awkward silence, Calen continued, finally taking Latro’s sentiment seriously, “Don’t worry about. I… I understand why if you don’t like me. You and the others have lost a lot, and I… I don’t know, I would probably feel differently if we traded places.”
Latro smiled crooked at that, nodding his head, “Maybe you would.” He said, shrugging, “I know what I said to you, I remember how I felt saying it and after everything. I felt like I owed it to you to come visit you in your room.”
Latro looked at the ground, idly flexing his fists before he spoke again, “Truth be told, I don’t hate you. I don’t even dislike you. I know everything that’s happened so far has been a shock to you, I know it wasn’t a leisurely time for me. I’m sorry for the way we started out.”
Latro offered his hand to Calen, “As long as you’re with us, you’re a friend of mine.” Latro had his easy smile, but his eyes told of different feelings, “If you’ll have me, of course. I don’t know many people that would do what you did for me during the raid. Thank you.”
The Nord looked up and gave him a half-hearted smile as he clasped his hand around his. He replied, “Even after almost… well, dying -- it’s still weird to think about and hear myself saying it -- I can’t really say that I, well… feel any differently. Maybe you’d call it a weak heart, but… I still believe there could’ve been a better way. I believe that there still is a better way.”
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