Altmer on a Leash Options

[Octavia]

I love writing this story and I hope this will amuse some of you. It's both comedy, romance, drama and mild horror in some places.


Chapter 1 – Jinxed

It was early morning in Sadrith Mora. The sun was just climbing over the hills to the east of Dirty Muriel's Cornerclub, warming the cap of a giant fungus for a while before it lazily moved onward. The gentle rays slid over the soft edge, slowly at first, but as more joined them a sharp beam of light formed.

In one of the cramped rooms a young high elf awoke with a sneeze that sent his long, honey coloured hair flying before his face. Squinting with blue eyes, streaked with red after a late night, he grimaced accusingly at the sun and stretched out his arm to tug at the curtain. He only managed to pull down the curtain pole, which in turn crashed down and turned over the pitcher on the rugged bedside table.

Being splashed with water was not an uncommon way for Breonnarin to wake up, but he had never caused it himself before and the lack of somebody to chase through the building somehow made it worse. He was just about to say things could not get worse when he realised that water was dripping into the drawer. He opened it with more force than necessary, out of worry for the things he kept there, and ended up holding the drawer by the handle in mid air as his belongings fell into the small pool of water that had formed on the floor.

“Oh, no!” He reached out to save the copy of Surfeit of Thieves he had got as a gift from the guild mates in Balmora. They had all put their signatures in it, recognisable marks anyway, and he valued those more than the story itself. Just as he felt the book with his fingertips he lost balance and fell off the bed with a crash.

The door opened and Fandus Puruseius, Muriel's bouncer, peeked inside carefully. When he saw that Breonnarin was alone in the room he sighed and put his hands on his hips disapprovingly. “What is all the rumble about? I though you were being attacked!”

Breonnarin moaned in excruciating pain. He had managed to fall on his back right on top of the drawer. “Help me up,” he wheezed.

The strong Imperial pulled up the young thief effortlessly. Breonnarin immediately bent down to pick up the book and wipe it off with the bedclothes. The pages were wet at the ends, meaning the book would lose shape forever if he did not press it after it dried, but the first page was all that mattered to him.

“What on...” The sheets turned red as the dye came off the cheap leather. Muriel would not be pleased and Fandus told him so.

“What are you doing?” Rissinia the Redguard grunted as he walked by, rubbing his eyes. “I intended to sleep in today, but that won't happen now.” The savant started to chuckle. “It does seem like you got an even worse start this day, so we're even. It's another matter with Both gro-Durug, though. Water should be leaking through the floor by now and his bed is right beneath yours. I'm surprised all this turmoil hasn't woke him already.”

“What is this supposed to mean?” came a harsh voice from below. “Elf! Are you wetting yourself? I swear I'll strangle you with your own pretty hair!”

“No, Both! It's water!” Breonnarin sighed. “Can somebody please fetch me some towels?”

“Why are you playing with water indoors?” Both growled and the stairs creaked as he went up to see the culprit face to face.

“Can you people stop screaming!” Muriel roared. Her ruddy face peeked over Rissinia's shoulder and anger turned into shock. “How on Nirn did you manage that?”


One hour and one hundred apologies later Breonnarin swallowed the last crumbs of his breakfast along with the last, bitter drops of tea out in the common room. Celegorn, a wood elf, was plucking eagerly at a lute.

“Please, stop that!” Breonnarin asked for the tenth time, but the little Bosmer continued to ignore him. “It sounds horrible!” Still nothing. “Your supposed music makes a scrib sound like a talented singer!”

“Oh! And I suppose the perfect little Altmer can do it better? Your little mayhem this morning didn't caress my sensitive ears either!”

Breonnarin hated when people made fun of his size, although coming from a Bosmer the insult lacked credibility. Only other high elves and tall Nord could make him feel short. He was just about to counter the insult when the door to Big Helende's room opened and she waved at him to join her.

“Have a seat, Scuttle.” How he hated that nickname! “You caused quite a mess this morning.”

“An accident.” He wriggled in his seat under her stare. “Well, several accidents deciding to happen all at once.”

“I believe you. Do you think you're done having accidents today?”

“I hope so.” He had had his morning tea now after all.

“Good.” The tall, bulky woman sat down facing him across the table. “I have a job for you. You know Fara?” Breonnarin nodded. “She has an annual cooking contest with Dinara Othrelas,” he froze, “who works in the Llethri manor in Ald-Ruhn. Fara needs Dinara's copy of Redoran Cooking Secrets. I thought this job would be perfect for you.”

Breonnarin's head spun.

“You look pale.” Helende crossed her arms, her polished netch leather cuirass creaking.

“Can't someone else do it?”

Helende looked thwarted. “Someone else? Of course someone else can do it, but why can't you?”

“Please, it's complicated. Horribly so.”

“Are you questioning my intelligence?”

“I grew up in that manor!” As the son of a guard, but he still had fond memories from there. Especially the kitchen.

“The more reason for you to go, since you obviously know the way. Perhaps Dinara would even lend you the book if you know her.”

Breonnarin rose up. “I'm sorry.”

“I would have expected more from an operative.” Helende eyed him disdainfully. “Celegorn will go, but I'm not responsible for the outcome.” Breonnarin struggled to swallow as a hard lump seemed to form in his throat. “As for you. You are not expelled, but get out of my sight. I may or may not take you back later. Much later.” She shook her head. “Now I know you deserve that name of yours, Scuttle.”

Am I that bad a coward? He shook his head in disbelief as he stuffed down his belongings in a bag. This could not have happened at a worse time. The night before he had been so sure he would do a job soon, so he had not thought twice about wasting the last coins in his purse on a drink or two and, in a state of bad judgement, gambling.

Stealing in Sadrith Mora, where Helende knew everything that happened, while being temporarily suspended would probably be disastrous for his career. There was no rule against stealing while out of the guild, but Helende seemed to make up her own rules sometimes.

Desperate times called for desperate methods.

“You wish to join House Telvanni?” Mallam Ryon, Gothren's Mouth at the Council, stared down at the tattered thief, holding away his fine robes in disgust.

Breonnarin nodded with a faked smile pasted on his lips. “Yes. I used to study in Mages Guild. I'm sure I can...”

“Oh, let me guess: They threw you out.” Ryon said tonelessly while his face contorted with irritation. “You outlanders are all the same, thinking that joining House Telvanni is an easy way around Mages Guild, but you're just whiny brats who can't even pick a flower if you're told to. Only the strong survive in this House. Literally!”

“I studied alchemy to the rank of...”

“Read the requirements, fool! Go, now and stop bothering me!”

To tell the truth, Breonnarin was more than afraid being watched by those hostile red eyes, the concentrated magicka between the Mouths nearly made sparks fly randomly through the air, but he left with a calm, measured walk. In the anteroom he picked up a brochure he had not noticed on the way inside. House Telvanni took in people with arcane skills in all areas except alchemy and restoration. Just his bad luck to study the wrong subject.

He only shot a single glance down the corridor leading to the Tribunal Shrine. “No. Not that,” he muttered under his breath. Not much chance of encountering ash pits that far below ground, though you could never be certain. Those made his stomach turn. With a sigh he went outside again.

Pierlette Rostorard, the apothecary, crossed her arms and gave Breonnarin a sour look.

“No. I don't need any assistance, thank you. Aren't you one of those shady figures who hang out around Dirty Muriel's? Get out of my shop!”

Breonnarin sighed and did as he was told before the woman told the guard to search him on the way out. He had no intention to go through that again. The humiliation!

This reception was warm in comparison to that of Anis Seloth. Apparently she had been visited by the thieves earlier and now made sure to be careful with what customers she let inside. It was near afternoon and the only places left to go were Fighters Guild, which was out of question since he would probably hurt himself more than others in a fight, and the Imperial Cult. Breonnarin was sure he could talk himself into the latter.

“By the Nine Divines!” he rehearsed as he trotted over the bridge to Wolverine Hall, avoiding to look twice at Dirty Muriel's. “Protect the poor, that's what I've always done!” Because he had always been the poor one. He would hopefully be running a couple of errands until it was safe to set foot in the tavern again. An imperial guard looked over his shoulder at the strange performance, but the Altmer ignored him.

Ascending the steps, he beheld the view for a while. His thoughts drifted like the thin clouds that chased over the sky. That practise dummy on the courtyard made him think of home. If he had only done as he was told he could have at least defended himself enough to take more risky jobs. The only weapon he owned was a little dagger that was more indented to scare people off than actual defence. Come to think of it, it had probably rusted and stuck to the sheath. Just as well: Then nobody could take it and use it against him.

With an air of serenity he straightened his back and opened the door.

Minutes later Breonnarin left, fuming with rage. ”We cannot recruit new members, but show up in Ebonheart with a humble pledge of 50 gold and you may join.” His last resort had shattered to dust. Humble pledge? That's a fortune!

He went to the harbour, nearly thinking of smuggling himself on board a ship. Where did not matter as long as it would be away from this place. It would of course be unfortunate if he managed to get himself on a slave ship.

With a defeated sigh he sank to the ground, trying out if the water in the puddle before him was sea water or rain. After a taste he stated that it was both and not too salty to drink. It was probably full of nasty bugs and germs, but rather that than dying of thirst.

When the worst thirst was gone he started to pick with his bag, trying to decide whether it was worth it or not to rip out that page in Surfeit of Thieves and sell the book. It had been a valuable book before he managed to ruin it this morning but it was still worth at least 100 gold. Still, it had been a gift. He held it in his hands, trying to decide what to do.

The strange sound of Dunmeri voices, humming like bumblebees inside Cephalopod helms, awoke Breonnarin from his thoughts. “I'm done with this stinking cluster! There ought to be better places.” Right you are. Breonnarin shifted his position so he would be safely hidden behind a rock. Guards were always bad news, whether you had done anything or not.

“There are no better Telvanni settlements. If it stinks too bad from the harbour and the slave market you can always request a transfer to the east side.” The second voice obviously belonged to an older Dark Elf.

“You cannot be serious!”

That seemed to annoy the older guard. “Tel Branora has Therana. You don't want to be her employee. She ordered my cousin to bring her a shipload of eggs and she just played with them. Only mercenaries guard her tower nowadays, commanded by a high elf captain. Then there's Tel Aruhn. It's just the same as Sadrith Mora, but with worthless connections and there's no way to escape the smell. Tel Vos is quiet and chaotic at the same time. There are always troublesome Ashlanders to be dealt with and Aryon has a taste for foreigners, I'm afraid. His captain is from Cyrodiil.”

“How about Tel Uvirith, the newest settlement?”

“Master Zohran's tower is guarded by those Dwemer metal beasts. He is also a high elf.” The last bit sounded like a curse. In fact it was. “Tel Mora is naturally out of question.”

“Why?”

The older guard started to laugh.”You really don't know? I'll tell you why. Mistress Dratha hates men to such an extent, not a man lives in town.”

“Then I guess it's either this or a new career. Not one man?”

“I mean what I say.” That ended the conversation.

It was silent for a while as the sun set. The sky was red over a glistening sea, the last sunbeams illumining a lonely bull netch. Breonnarin imagined that the guards were admiring it. He was not. It made him think of jelly and that made his stomach ache with hunger.

“Strange creatures, those netches,” the older guard remarked.

“How do they fly? They are so big and they don't even seem to try.”

“I'd imagine that they are quite hollow, gliding on the wind currents somehow with support of magic.”

“Perhaps they're levitating?”

“Could be. Perhaps they have to stop by at Vivec once in a while and reload at the Shrine to Stop the Moon.” Both laughed hard and returned to their posts.

Breonnarin put back the book into his bag and closed his eyes, trying to absorb the last warmth from the sun where he sat, leaning against the polished rock. The sun set and the light faded away and cold, hard winds blew in from the sea.

Now was the time to move on before the sea rose and drowned him. It took a while before he walked without stiffness, but he still swayed a bit from the lack of food. Drinking water had only made his stomach anticipate food and it complained a lot for being cheated out of it.

As the darkness thickened ordinary people retreated to their safe homes and the day began for others. Breonnarin knew enough of the art himself to fend off pickpockets and he hoped that he looked poor enough to avoid robbery. Looking out for Camonna Tong was his top priority. He knew better than thinking they were only present in House Hlaalu towns. Big Helende had expressed concern over it, so the threat was very much real.

Scattered about in the streets were tattered women who, despite the cold, wore cut off skirts and blouses nearly open to their waists, and some men too. Some of them even tried to pose as females. Breonnarin thought that he could be more convincing than a round Colovian man who wore a ridiculous leather corset on top of a torn lace dress, his unshaven face thick with make-up.

Breonnarin nearly considered joining them for the prospect of easy money, but a glance at the drunk Nord and Dunmer sailors who seemed to be their main customers made him drop the idea with a shudder. Good that his hair was put up today or there might have been misunderstandings.

It started to rain and eventually hail in the freezing autumn night. The delicate Altmer could take no more. He pounded on several doors, hoping for charity, but only one opened for him. By then he had almost reached Wolverine Hall again.

Behind that door was a sparsely furnished room and a Dunmer male with short, red hair that looked a bit tousled after sleeping. He just looked at Breonnarin for a moment with pity in his red eyes. Just as well. Pride was a part of dignity, which he did not possess. "Come in,” he invited with a low voice. “I guess that is what you're here for?”

A bit hesitantly, Breonnarin climbed the last steps and entered the house as if walking on clouds. This was the first good thing that had happened that day.

"Help yourself to some bread," the Dunmer said while starting to heat some water.

“You were the only one who cared,” Breonnarin said. This was the last house too. The last chance.

The Dunmer took out a clay mug from a cupboard. “People don't like to get in trouble and you look like it.”

“What about you?” Breonnarin asked between chewing two large pieces of bread. It tasted better than anything had of late.

“I don't have much to lose, see,” he smiled. His house had two stories, though not half of the furniture others would put in half of the space. Worn tapestries with religious patterns were the only luxury. He stirred down some chokeweed and green lichen with a spoon, adding some comberry for the flavour, and offered the draught to the drenched Altmer. "This will keep you from catching a cold. It would also have tasted terrific with the bread, if you had not finished it already."

Breonnarin blushed, looking down at the soft crumbles on the table, but the Dunmer laughed softly. "It is alright. You were obviously hungry."

"Who are you?"

"You don't visit the Temple often, do you? Well, with its current state I don't blame you. I'm Navis." Breonnarin waited for a family name, but it never came. Strange.

"Thank you, Navis. I will remember this.” Breonnarin looked at the sparse furniture. “I must confess that I'm not very religious."

"Religious or not, you seem like a better person than most Telvanni. The Tribunal is - not quite as influential here. Things are better after the Blight, of course. More reason to believe in the goodness of the gods again and Lord Vivec has called for reformation." He looked worried about something, though.

Breonnarin shook his head. "I am not a Telvanni retainer." Not much chance of it ever happening either.

"I should have suspected, but apart from your appearance, your accent is quite native. You obviously grew up on Vvardenfell. Or the north west. It's hard to determine sometimes."

"Ald'ruhn." It was a big settlement. No need to lie about it.

"Honour grows where only trama shrubs survive," the monk mused. “The Temple is strong in the Redoran district, though perhaps not in the way I would prefer. You cannot truly believe in something you never question.”

Images appeared inside Breonnarin's head. Hideous skulls were glaring at him, half covered with grey ash. He fetched a potion for his father in the temple in Ald'ruhn once and never more.

“It's not healthy to let an organisation take full control over a religion. The ordinators were actually trying to arrest The Nerevarine.” Navis frowned and cleared his throat. Criticism had its punishments in the Temple.

Breonnarin understood later on that the woman who had looked for him in Balmora and asked the directions to his father had been The Nerevarine. Odd that an Imperial woman would be the reincarnation of an old Chimer general who was destined to drive away all the foreigners from Morrowind. Those prophecies were perhaps after-constructions. There was a good reason The Temple would have her arrested. The Nerevarine was to bring back the old beliefs of ancestor worship and had revealed the true power behind the three immortal gods of Morrowind. Rather than ascending through goodness they had used the same power as the devil himself, Dagoth Ur, and drawn their power from the heart of Lorkhan.

That was why Navis was worried. The heart was destroyed and the gods would eventually die. Almsivi would wither and his father had been a part in the making as the ranking Blades agent. Caius Cosades, the old layabout in Balmora, had passed on the mission to the more well educated Ghijedalyn. Perhaps the future history books would claim he was Nerevar reborn.

Breonnarin cared very little for that. He had been used as a puppet all the time his father had infiltrated the ranks of House Redoran and later revealed the corruption in Caldera, receiving mighty rewards from the emperor. The latter had been too much. Breonnarin had worked as a scribe for Odral Helvi and it was through him his father had worked by looking through his desk while he was asleep and later setting fellow spies to follow him from the house every morning. The humiliation!

Navis yawned and took out a robe and blankets from a chest. “You can change into this and let your clothes dry on that chair.” The monk went upstairs, and seemed to fall into his bed. Not many people could be that civil in the middle of the night. Breonnarin wondered if he would be grumpy in the morning instead or perhaps forget that he let a wet little Altmer in the night before. Be that as it may, now he needed to rest.

[Octavia]

Chapter 5 – Plots and Secrets

Givit noticed the urgent glances Dovsi shot at him from across the fire as they were just finishing supper. Rimer was half asleep, Antonius was (pre)occupied in his office and Malexa had gone out for a walk, so when the Dunmeri woman rose and went out to the corridor he waited only a couple of minutes before following her. She led him to the storage. Crates were stacked on top of one another, but far more than half of them were empty.

They were on the brink of ruin. Once Duckling returned, Givit would have a word with Elos Nerano about joining his crew instead. It paid a bit less, but at least he would be paid regularly, pedantically so, and Elos had no problems pressing in a legal project or two if the schedule seemed hollow.

Dovsi continued further, pushing through a shrub of vegetation and climbing down a rickety ladder. These inner depths of the cave were rarely visited by anyone. “There's something here that may be of interest.” She kept her voice down to avoid the sound echoing back to the main cave. “It was here before we came.”

Behind a couple of rocks there was a crate, darkened with age. Givit opened the lid, counting the sleek bottles to more than a hundred. “Skooma.” The drug was found everywhere, though strictly illegal. It payed well, though. As many bottles as that would sum up to at least 50 000 gold. Twice the price they would get for the Animunculi in Mournhold.

Dovsi nodded. “You know that Antonius hates dealing with drugs, but this is our chance to get out of this crisis.”

Givit nodded, understanding but not fully approving. “How do we proceed without him knowing about it? Not even Rimer or Malexa must be involved.” Malexa would tell on them and Rimer would get drunk and slip.

Dovsi crossed her arms over her chest. “I don't want to sell this directly to customers. That would be too risky. Perhaps there are other smugglers around who think they dare take the chance.”

“That would leave us in a somewhat lessened position for bargaining.”

“We could still get at least 25 000 for it. That's great for something you just find.”

“You're right.” Givit scratched his head. “I'll start looking for buyers tomorrow.” He put on the lid and they retreated silently.


When Breonnarin regained consciousness he was surrounded by darkness, except from a faint, flickering light. Trying to track the source of it, he saw a shelf full of kitchenware and a spiral staircase leading to the upper floor of a housepod.

Was it all a dream? Am I still in Navis's house? A smile spread across his lips until he realised that his head hurt and his right calf was wrapped with a bandage. There were also some important differences between the houses. Navis did not have flower patterned cushions on his chairs.

Footsteps came closer. Someone was descending the stairs, a female, and her voice was humming soothingly. The woman stopped at the kitchen table and lit a bug lamp. “It's you!” Breonnarin croaked and fought to remember her name. He knew it, but his mind was not obeying him at the moment. “Liette?” Lifting his head made him nauseous and he had to put it back on the pillow and shut his eyes. He felt as if he was spinning.

She nodded. “You introduced yourself as Gyande, but I suppose that's not your real name?”

Why? Breonnarin felt beneath the blanket that she had unbuttoned his blouse. “Oh.” He opened his eyes and Liette nodded amusedly. “No, it's not.” What does she want with me? Are there guards lurking in the corners? “I'm Breonnarin.”

“Strange name. How is your head?” Liette offered him a cup of water, helping him to sit up straight. The still room spun almost enough to make him seasick.

“I was named after my grandfather, so you'll have to talk to his parents about how strange it is.” He drank greedily, noticing a strange taste to it.

“Be careful with that!” She took away the cup. “Too much at once will make you throw up. That's a new rug you're lying on.”

He lay down again. “What happened to my head?”

She looked slightly ashamed, but soon her eyes turned to black steel. “It was an accident. I threw a rock at the mudcrab that attacked you and your head came in the way.”

“What good would a rock do against a mudcrab?” He grinned miserably.

Liette frowned at him and rose. “Do you mind if I call you Narin? Your name is so... long.”

Breonnarin frowned. “My father calls me that.” I wonder where he is

“Then it's settled.” Liette put his cup on the table.

“But...” A thought that had been drifting around his head like evasive mist turned into a clear icicle spreading its chill down his spine. “Daynali Dren's basket is probably still lying on the beach or has floated halfway to Sheogorad by now. I'll have to try to explain why I neglect my assigned chores. Now I'll never get to the upper tower!”

“Do you mean this one?” Liette produced a basket seemingly from nowhere.

“Good girl!” Breonnarin smiled. “What time is it?”

Liette returned the smile, but she got rid of it as soon as she could. “Two hours before sunset.”

“Do you have kreshweed, marshmerrow and saltrice?”

“How much?”

“Equal parts of marshmerrow and saltrice, since she intends to make health potions. At least five of each. I believe she wanted four leaves of kreshweed.”

Liette dug out that from a sack and put it in the basket. “I'll offer this and your apologies to Daynali.”

“Um... there's another urgent matter.”

Liette tilted her head.

“They will start searching my room if I don't show up and pay the rent for another night. There are some things in my bags that would raise suspicion.”

“You're not going back there. I'm fetching your packing.”

Breonnarin gave her an incredulous look. “Why are you doing this for me?”

“Because now you owe me 100 gold, food and two favours and I'm very curious how far this will lead.”

“Wait! 100 gold?” he called after her, but Liette had already gone outside and slammed the door shut, locking from the outside. If only he had been able to walk he would have found something to pick the lock with. He had been taught by his mentor Hecerinde that not having a lockpick was not a reason to give up, but now he felt trapped.

He did not notice that he was falling asleep.


Rimer leant back against a sack and closed his eyes. He had eaten too much and the drowsiness settled over him like a thick, hot cloud.

I should have followed Nerano up north. Nothing to do here. He popped an eye open as Dovsi rose up and walked out, fingering her black locks nervously. Her chitin boots clattered against the hard rock floor. She was probably going for a walk too. Why didn't I follow Malexa when I had the chance? Then it would have been casual, but if I seek her out now it would be weird.

Givit rose too, just a moment later. Rimer kept his eyes closed and waited for the footsteps to fade away before rising groggily. Something odd was going on, but it did not concern him. Now that he was alone he could finally try on a couple of new clothes. They were stolen, but not by him and the owner was very far away, so they would be safe to wear. He was planning a trip to the fair in Sadrith Mora.

Just as he was done buttoning the fine trousers, Malexa appeared at the doorway. Rimer had not heard her coming. He was so used to everybody wearing boots and the soft walking shoes she now wore made no sound against the floor. Not with her gracious walk.

“What's up with the fancy pants?” she asked, suppressing a giggle as she glided to her hammock.

Rimer blushed. “The fair. I think I'll be going tomorrow. There's nothing to do over here anyway.” He put on a shirt and fumbled with the buttons. He was never clumsy if she was not watching.

“Do you still have money?” Malexa exclaimed. “How did you manage that?”

“What do you mean?” He gave up with the buttons and left the shirt open. “Don't you?”

She shook her head sadly. “My armour is not very cheap to maintain. I bet you can just put a couple of stitches in yours or skin a wild guar if you have to patch something. I can't do a thing with bonemold on my own. The steel parts are a bit easier, not requiring a real weapon smith to mend, but they're not as good.”

“True.” Rimer had even reinforced his second cuirass with dreugh skin, only needing a stout needle. Sinews made good thread. “What shape is it in now? Bad?”

“Very bad.”

Rimer sat down in his hammock, which was opposite from hers in the round cave. “If you would like to go, I believe we could camp outside the city walls and make a little pocket money from arm wrestling with drunks in Fara's Hole in the Wall. The odds would be great for you, since you're a woman and no man would ever think that you could beat him.”

“What do you think?” she asked teasingly.

“I don't think: I know that you've got all sorts of dirty tricks and brilliant technique. It doesn't matter that I'm stronger than you.”

“We'll see about that! Off with the shirt so you don't burst it.” Malexa cleared the only table in the room with a sweep of her arm and put two stools on opposite sides of it.

“What now?”

Malexa sat down with a wide grin and put her right arm on the table. “No tricks, just pure strength, and a bit of technique of course.”

Rimer cocked an eyebrow. Then he gave her a playful smile, took off his shirt and threw it on the bed. “If you insist.” He sat down, facing her, and clasped her hand. Just that was almost enough to turn his joints into jelly. Focus!

“Three,” he could feel her hand squeeze his, “two,” their eyes locked. Her mouth opened, but no sound escaped her lips. They stared at each other in bewilderment.

Just that moment Antonius emerged from the cavern that was his office and private room and Malexa's soft hand let go of his, her head turning away to face the Imperial.

Antonius was carrying a crinkled paper. “Where's Dovsi?”

“I think she went out,” Rimer said.

“With Givit?” Antonius crossed his arms. “He's not here either.”

“Givit went away after Dovsi left. I don't know.”

Antonius grumbled and scratched his temple. “Perhaps...” He gave Rimer a second look. “What are you wearing, man?”

Rimer stood up straight. “I intend to go to Sadrith Mora.”

“Are you mad? I can't let anyone leave.” The Imperial started to pace around in a circle.

Rimer was unable to hide his disappointment. “Why? There's no goods here and we've got nothing to do!”

“If that wizard has called for guards we need to stay together!”

“Why would a Telvanni call for guards?” Malexa crossed her arms and glared at Antonius. “We've delivered wares for both Gothren and Fyr for years and you've got consent from House Hlaalu.”

Antonius blinked. “Who told you that?”

“You do, don't you?” Malexa rose from the chair. Antonius stopped still and put a hand to his forehead with a grimace. “You don't?”

“I couldn't afford the fee this year and I'm not sure Uncle Crassius will back me up. Our last meeting was a disaster.” Antonius looked at them with pleading eyes. “Don't tell...”

“What?” Dovsi and Givit appeared at the doorway. “You haven't paid?” Dovsi took her husband firmly by the arm and dragged him inside their private room, shutting the door firmly behind them. Givit sat down on a stool with a content smirk on his lips and started to peel an apple.

Rimer sat down heavily on his hammock. What a mess he had wound up in. The current mission was not enough to fill the gaping holes in their economy. Not after that wizard haggled down the number of Animunculi to half of what was expected. He looked at his coin purse. It would be foolishness to waste it all on useless trinkets.

Mead! I need mead! He staggered away to the storage room and moved a couple of empty crates, uncovering a chest high dent in the cavern wall. There he helped himself to a bottle and made sure that the newer ones were fermenting as they should.

Just as he put his lips to the bottle he saw his own shadow on the wall. It reminded him of someone, and the memories hurt. With a furious snarl he slung the bottle into the wall. Panting, he poured out the contents in each of the remaining bottles on the ground. When he was done he sat down on a crate, sobbing.

“What is going on?”

He looked up guiltily, meeting the stunning pair of dark eyes reluctantly. “Don't step on the shards, I'll clean up.”

“That bottle isn't the only thing that seems to be broken here.” Rimer made big eyes and looked around to see if he had damaged anything in his rage. Malexa shook her head. “I meant you, fool.”

He sighed with relief. “Then it was nothing important.” He rose abruptly and walked past the puzzled Redguard to fetch a broom.