Gilane, Hammerfell - 30th of Second Seed
After being divided up according to gender, and escorted to their living quarters within the
Three Crowns, Rhona quietly claimed her bed. She would share a room with Daro’Vasora, Judena and Raelynn. Asides from Daro’Vasora, she hadn’t conversed much with either of her fellow companions. And to be frank, Rhona didn’t have the energy to speak with anyone in the room for the time being. She opened up the chest at the foot of her bed, stashing her rucksack and other belongings inside, but made certain to keep her coinpurse on her. She set out with staff in hand, yearning to have some peace of mind, and to stretch her legs after being cooped up on the
Intrepid for the past six days. Now was the not the time to converse with her female companions, now was the time for her to lose herself within Gilane. She had never travelled past Rihad, and she did wish to see what the city had to offer, despite the presence of the Dwemer. That bore a strange air over the city, out of all events, she did expect that she would ever lay eyes on the Dwemer, let alone Dwemer
children. For once, she did not think of Aurelia. She did not wonder where she was, or if Aurelia would have enjoyed the city and its marvelous sights to see.
Not but twenty feet from the entrance of the
Three Crowns Hotel, the form of an Altmer towered over that of a diminutive Dwemer youth, caught between the throes of childhood and developing adolescence. “No, you impudent little runt, I am most decidedly not a Thalmor agent. I loathe such a foolish question, and you would do well to run off to whatever miserable excuse for a guardian you have!” With each word, Mortalmo’s low voice seemed to rise in volume and intensity, until by the last words flecks of spit cast their way down towards the subject of his anger.
The pale grey skin of the Dwemer youth turned decidedly paler, before his legs carried him with uncertainty backward.
“I said begone!”
The child turned and fled.
Her eyes caught sight of the Dwemer child fleeing from the intimidating presence of Durantel, she had decidedly avoided her mentor after the incident with Cezare, and on seeing him, her shoulders sagged. She couldn’t avoid him now. However, she did notice that he had cleaned up his appearance. He had his hair drawn back from his face into a ponytail, his cheeks entirely devoid of facial hair, and what was this? His clothes were different than the last time she had seen him, and there even hung a flute at his belt. She did her best to contain her facial expressions as she approached.
“Durantel,” she called softly, “it is good to see you… I am sorry for not having made time for training.”
Mortalmo’s head turned towards the source of the calling, his movements terse and thick with tension. However, upon studying the features of his mentee, his own irritable expression softened. She did not seem well, and the look in her eyes was one he was all too familiar with. It was the face of someone that had done or endured something terrible, and it was the face bore by many as Mortalmo led them chained to the axe.
She looked frightful, her skin had an awful pallor to it, and the rings around her eyes did little to belie what he could only assume was a number of sleepless nights. He approached her slowly, a gentleness to his gait as he raised a hand, resting it softly on her shoulder. He had grown the slightest bit fond of the wretch before him. Seeing her in such a state troubled him somewhat. “Girl,” He began, his voice a lulling coo. “What ill fate has befallen you?”
It was too much. The gentleness in his voice, the comfort of his hand on her shoulder, her nose stung as tears threatened. She twisted her face in a grimace as she tried to fight back the surge of emotions rising through her, “I… I’ve been under the weather. Would you like to go for a walk? I need some fresh air.”
Would he like to go for a walk? Hardly. What he wanted to do was find an inn or a bar somewhere deeper in the city and earn some coin with his new flute. What he wanted to do was slap this girl for showing her weakness in such a public manner. “Of course, dear Rhona.” His voice never lost its feathery tone. “I would enjoy such an endeavor.” He moved so that he stood beside her, his arm around her shoulders in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.
He began walking, not so fast as to allow her to set the pace. They departed from the hotel, stepping out into the noontime sun, the intensity of the light caused Rhona to squint. She didn’t bother to remove Durantel’s arm from her shoulder. It made her feel safe, and protected, at least for the time being. They passed through the streets without a word until she sighed, an aggravated and heavy sigh, as if admitting defeat.
“I killed him.” She whispered, loud enough for him to hear. There was a degree of mixed emotion behind those three words, anger, sadness, possibly regret.
He kept moving forward at the same steady speed, sparing only a moment to glance down at the enchantress. “Do you want to find somewhere private to discuss this, or does our current arrangement suit you as is?” His voice had a bare trace of tension in its cadence.
She shrugged haphazardly, “It matters not.” She really had not the slightest concern or care where they spoke. Rhona couldn’t feel anything.
Mortalmo made no move to respond vocally to her apathy, only a nod to show that he had understood. “This has happened before we departed from Anvil, I must assume. I must also assume that he is the one that sought you out, rather than the inverse. Am I correct?”
Her jaw spasmed, causing her to grit her teeth just a little too hard, “He took me. I had just left Meg after providing an enchanting service… I went to find some dinner, when… there was a bird call from the alleyway,” Rhona kept her voice equally low, “he… knocked me out.”
Such miserable, underhanded tactics. The spawn of Lorkhan never failed to disgust the Altmer. Well, not all of them were so vile. His eyes darted to Rhona for the briefest moment. “How did his demise come about? When, and where?”
“I had been in his
care, if you would call it that… from the evening of the 22nd, all day of the 23rd, until the morning of the 24th. He had… threatened to kill Calen. Out of spite. Nothing more. I was trying to protect him from Cezare,” She shuddered violently on speaking his name, moving to wrap her arms around herself as if she was taken with a chill, “He had men with him, I’ve not seen the likes of them before, and he sent them off to look for Calen. It was just the two of us that morning, in an alleyway. And…” She took a deep breath, a strangled sob escaped as Rhona try to fight it back, “he wouldn’t
stop talking, Durantel. He just… wouldn’t. stop. talking. And I, I swung at him with my staff. Just like you taught me. I dropped him with a blow to the knee. He fell. And I pounced. I couldn’t stop myself. I don’t know what came over me. I was so angry. I kept swinging. And swinging. And swinging, until I realized what I had done, there was so much blood, I made a mess of his face, and… when I turned, Daro’Vasora had found me. She took me to the ship, and we left him there.” It was as if a giant gust of air had gone out of her, it was different than when Brynja had coaxed it out of her. She hadn’t wished to speak of it then, and even now, she didn’t want to talk about it, but it came easier than before. She reached up with one hand to wipe away the tears that wet her cheeks.
He was silent for a few moments, mulling all that Rhona had told him over in his head. He tossed it about and about. He once indicted a nobleman and his entirely family for treason for a single night of drinks and conversation. Only recently, Mortalmo murdered a man in cold blood for what amounted to a wardrobe change. He felt nothing for these crimes. Not one ounce of guilt. But Faewynn... his darling Faewynn... that, he knew caused him guilt beyond reckoning. Now here Rhona stood, part of her seemingly guilty for what she had done. Would Fae regret it if she had murdered him? Poisoned him? Stabbed him in his sleep? Pushed him from the balcony?
He did not think so.
Rhona’s behavior Mortalmo understood. Her emotions he was uncomfortable to discover he empathized with. The reasons for the way she felt, however, baffled him utterly. Mortalmo deserved none to feel guilty of his passing. How in Oblivion did Cezare? And Rhona, of all people, the poor girl that had endured his abuse and torment?
She expressed some semblance of regret? It was something that the Mer simply could not grasp.
“You know, dearest Rhona,” He started to say carefully. “That when you are in my presence... you are safe. You know I would not let harm or misfortune carry itself to you, if I am able to prevent it. But.” His voice took on a somewhat harder edge. “What you have done... You have proven that I am not needed. You have proven that you can take care of yourself.” He stopped in his tracks, his hands finding purchase on either of her shoulders, pulling her to face him. Mortalmo gazed into her eyes, his face creasing with sorrow. Then, he drew her into an embrace, one arm about her shoulders, the other holding the back of her head gently. “You are safe now,” He murmured. “You have saved Calen, and you have saved yourself as well. Anyone that horrible man might have harmed in the future... They, too, will now never know what horrors he might have delivered.” His body trembled the slightest bit.
Mortalmo blinked his tears away. “I am proud of you.” He killed a man for new clothes. He ruined a family for drinks and sex. Gods. “So very proud.”
A floodgate opened. Just his presence, with his arms around her, made her feel as if she really were safe. Nothing could harm her here. Her tears came pouring out, a tightness in her throat mangled any sob that left, she reached up with her hands at once, she didn’t want to stain his tunic, her tears would show against the pale black fabric. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t cry. I…” Even though she tried to apologize her way out of her emotions, she couldn’t physically stop herself. Rhona collapsed against him, where she wrapped her arms around him in return, and cried, until she cried no more, all the while still apologizing.
Mortalmo held here there for a few moments longer, the strange pair clinging to one another in the middle of the street as passersby circled around them. He pulled away just slightly, the hand once resting on the back of her head now hovering before her face. He pressed the sleeve of his tunic gingerly against her visage, wiping away the tears that stained it. “It is... not wrong to cry. I think.” His own cheeks were wet, “I am finding every day that I know far less than I had once thought.”
Mortalmo planted a small kiss on her forehead. It was a delicate thing, not hastily done but by no means savored either. It would not be proper. He tried to smile then, though his eyes looked pained. He did not know what to say.
The peck on her brow surprised her, it was a display of affection that caught her off guard. She found herself looking up into his eyes, when a smile spread across her face. It wasn’t a joyous smile, but one of gratitude. She stood on the tips of her toes, and brushed away his tears just as he had done for her, a bit of a stretch. Rhona used the pads of her fingers, effectively wiping them away. He flinched, but did not pull away. She dropped back down, and wrapped her arms around Durantel once more, squeezing him tight in a bear-like hug.
Rhona laughed, “Oh what fools we look.” She pulled away then, the same half-smile on her lips as she gazed up at him, “I… thank you for listening. I’m sorry. My heart gets the best of me sometimes.”
The Altmer laughed too, a strangled sort of thing. “I am far more a fool than you think, my friend.” He caught himself then. Friend? Auri-El strike him down now. “Ah…” For the first time in what might have been decades, Mortalmo felt embarrassed. And it showed. “I do not... It is not my intent to... I have not called one a friend in nearly a decade. I apologize for my overzealousness.”
The smile fell away on his admittance, no friend for nigh upon ten years? Her heart pitied him, loneliness had a face of its own, a vicious creature that lurked in the confines of one’s mind, a shadowy being that consumed every last remaining beam of happiness. Her brows furrowed as her mouth turned down at the corners into an empathetic frown, “That’s nonsense, Durantel. You…” she reached out to take his hand, rather large compared to hers, and gave it a gentle pat, “You are a good person. If you don’t have a friend… then I will be your friend. Loneliness is a cruel mistress, and no one deserves to suffer a fate like that.”
You are a good person. The words stung his heart sharply, piercing him through. His shoulders sagged. “I... I do not know if I am a good person. Surely, surely I am a righteous one. Surely…” He had the look and sound of a man grasping at straws. He swallowed. “I am not sure you would think me to be such a good person if you knew even a quarter of my story.”
She shook her head, “Durantel, I could
never judge you. It is not in my faith. No matter what you’ve done, I would never judge you. Whatever brings your heart shame, it’s not what I see. And you don’t ever have to tell me, if you don’t wish to. That matters not. What matters is that, you have treated me with kindness, and respect. You gave me the courage to face my worst nightmare.”
His beckoned for Rhona to follow, and Mortalmo began to walk down the street once more. “Rhona, the things I will tell you... I do not desire to threaten you into silence, though my instincts scream at me to do so. Do not betray my trust.”
Though he towered over her, she managed to keep up with him. His tone had changed drastically as he spoke, one that held a degree of severity, she wasn’t certain what he would reveal, and she did find herself wondering what it could be, but Durantel was entrusting her with something especially profound, “You have my word that I will take your secret to my grave.”
Deep inhale. Deep exhale. Then Mortalmo began to speak. “I first came to Skyrim a few years before the Stormcloak Rebellion began. I was to investigate rumors of insubordination, and root out heresy. The province was rife with it. I had two charges under my care, Toriseth and Vertemnis. They were quite the pair... one so inquisitive, the other so very fiery. Both equally naive.” There was tension in his voice, though a touch of warmth when speaking of his old charges. He continued, “We were ambushed by Stormcloaks while escorting a prisoner. I stood my ground and fought, so that my... friends could escape.” The words felt bitter like a lime upon his tongue. “They captured me... tortured me, interrogated me. For a year? Two? I gave them nothing.” Mortalmo spat then, glowering as he continued through the streets of Gilane, his pace quickening somewhat.
“Fucking Stormcloaks.”
An ugly snarl came to twist across his countenance. “I escaped eventually. Imperials assaulted the fort, and I fled in the chaos. So great was my shame that I never returned to the Dominion. I am not Durantel the mercenary. I am Mortalmo, former inquisitor of the Thalmor regime.” It had been years since he last spoke his name aloud, and even then, it had only been in hushed whispers. Just so he did not forget who he really was. The name felt strange in his mouth.
It was
his name though. He liked it. “Please understand, dearest Rhona, that the threat of death does now rest upon your head. Do not give me cause to do something I am loathsome to even consider.”
She didn’t know how to process all of that information. Durantel was really Mortalmo? And Mortalmo was a Thalmor inquisitor? Rhona remained silent as she digested the news he bestowed on her. Simply knowing what he told her, put her very life at risk. Yet at the very same moment… despite all of the atrocities that came along with a title of being a Thalmor inquisitor, Rhona really couldn’t judge him. He had done nothing to harm her. Even as she revealed to him about her act of her murdering Cezare, he had not judged her in the slightest. Rhona looked up at him, watching the distinct expression on his face, and her heart twisted in sympathy. They were two souls, far beyond redemption, at least in her eyes.
“Durantel…” Her words came softly, like speaking to a confidant, or rather a lover in the early morning hours, but such was her nature as a woman, “I meant what I said. Even now, with the weight of your words upon my shoulders, I could never judge you.” She reached out, and wrapped her hand in his, tugging on it for him to slow his pace.
For a moment, he began to pull away, starting to extricate his hand from hers. For some reason, he thought better of it. Never had he spoken of such truth to one before. Never had he expected anything but revulsion for such a confession. He slowed down, acquiescing to her wish. His hand remained with hers. “I feel the fool for having said such things. True as the words may be, I do not believe this decision has been a wise one. I will... thank you, however. You are kind.”
“Hush,” Rhona said, keeping her voice low, “you’re not a fool. When you hold something like that in forever, it eats away at your soul. It darkens your spirit, your heart, and your mind. There is… an aching, whether you wish to deny it or not, there is an aching where you need to release that. I am well aware of the implications. And I will safeguard it with my life, whether that means facing death or imprisonment.” And every ounce of her being meant it.
He barked a laugh then. “I suspect you should only face death or imprisonment
if you admit to knowingly fraternizing with a Thalmor agent. You are a curious young woman, Rhona. I think you wise, for not being so afraid of me as others might be. You are Breton, yes? And I must hope, you do not pay credence to Talos? The Dominion would welcome one such as you with open arms.”
“Only part Breton, through my mother. My father is a Nord. I’ve not seen him since my mother spirited us away to the Imperial City as a young girl.” But the Dominion? No, she could never, her life was freedom, “I appreciate the invitation, Durantel. However, I feel that I would have no business with the Dominion. My life is,” Rhona swept her arm outwards, “meant to be free of any governing rule. Mara shows me how to love, Arkay will take me in death, but for this life? I go wherever Kynareth guides me. Of course…” She paused, she almost admitted her worship of the other three Gods, but she grinned, shaking her hand as she drew hand away from his, “There is only one way to be free. And that’s to travel.”
The smile that had come to slide across Mortalmo’s features faltered somewhat. “I only mean to say... the Dominion is not going to stop with Skingrad and Anvil. They are sure to seize Cyrodiil in its entirety, and Skyrim will fall then too. I mean to find some way to redeem myself in the eyes of my countrymen. When I do, I can see to it that you are treated with fairness and respect. There is... no reason why you should not be allowed to continue traveling.
If I am able to reclaim my previous station, I too will no doubt be on the road at frequent intervals, though our purposes will scarcely be the same. All I mean to say is that some of your behaviors can be... dubious.” He thought back to her little slip weeks ago, when she mentioned her worship of Azura. “Knowing that you have my backing, however, could go a long way to prevent you from being accosted overly much.”
“Why would I be accosted? That seems like a silly idea.” She almost laughed, when she looked up at him worriedly.
Why would he say such a thing?
He shifted uncomfortably. “Rhona... You are... attractive. Elven enough to be desired, but not always elven enough to be treated with respect. That aside, some of your mannerisms are sure to attract attention. Some of that attention may be unwanted. Before my fall, I was in a position of significant power. I had similarly powerful friends across several branches of the Thalmor military.” He looked down at her significantly. “Those beneath our thumbs would know that deferring to Rhona the Enchantress is in their best interests.”
She could feel a wave of heat wash over her cheeks at the mention of him telling her she was attractive.
No, you ignorant woman., she chided herself.
“Rest assured, Durantel. Your offer is extremely tempting, but it would not be for me. With your lessons, I know how to take care of myself. Such power and recognition does not suit me. See? I told you, you are a good person.” She grinned at him. Rhona had no distinct opinion against the Dominion, although she did sympathize with the people of Skyrim for what the Dominion had done, she could never tell Mortalmo that now. “I don’t mean to change the subject… but did you happen to see where Calen had gone off to? I do need to speak with him, I avoided him on the journey from Skingrad to Anvil, and even on the voyage here. I need to clear the air between us.”
An aggravated sigh escaped from between Mortalmo’s lips. Stupid wretch. Stupid, stupid girl. “Ah, Calen,” His tone had gone flat. “That slimy thing. I strongly caution associating with him. I saw the two of them arriving at Skingrad together, you know. Calen and Cezare…” He allowed that statement to hang in the air for a moment before continuing. “They did not seem to be at odds then. How do you think it is, exactly, that Cezare found you in that camp? How do you think it is that Cezare managed to track you all the way to Anvil?
Why do you think it is that although that monster clearly had no issue finding you within the city, he decided to bring you along on a little scavenger hunt to find Calen?”
He gazed at Rhona severely, “Why did he not bring Calen to the same place you were being held? That dog has a way with words, you know that. Some might call his tongue silver but I see it for the sham-gilded thing it is. I do not trust him.” That wasn’t quite true, though. Mortalmo simply did not like him.
“Perhaps you
should go find Calen.”
She stood there, having long since stopped. That couldn’t be true. Not at all. Calen… he would never do that. Except… unless Cezare had paid him. She swallowed nervously, trying to fight back the lump in her throat, the blood draining from her face from the idea alone.
“I pray that I am mistaken,” Mortalmo said softly. “But I do not think it so.”
“I… I need to go, Durantel.” She took a step backwards. Just where in Oblivion was Calen? Rhona needed answers, and she needed to find him. She couldn’t even say goodbye before her body turned, the path back to the
Three Crowns acting like a beacon.
Mortalmo watched Rhona’s fleeing form as it drew further and further away from him. He sighed, turned, and began walking in the opposite direction. Something tugged at the corner of his mouth.
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