Trey in Mournhold, Chapter 6 Options

[treydog]

Although I was summoned to see Queen Barenziah, I did not immediately go to her chambers. Instead, I made some preparations. The request for my presence was not formal, after all, and did not specify a day or time. Therefore, after securing my old room at the Winged Guar, I availed myself of a bath and also carefully cleaned my clothing and gear. Those who have followed my story this far may be surprised that I took such care over a meeting with a member of the nobility, a class which I despised. And there may have been some hypocrisy in my actions, considering my generally low opinion of so-called royalty. But it is in that phrase that the reason for my attitude toward Barenziah may be found. In my experience, most nobles were anything but noble. They were greedy, stupid, arrogant, and self-absorbed- and those were their good points. But Barenziah had been a queen in truth, not just as a title. She had been instrumental in exposing and thwarting the plot of Jagar Tharn, who had impersonated Emperor Uriel Septim VII. More than that, she had always been concerned for the welfare of the common people and had done much to ease their suffering. There were additional rumors about her adventurous youth, but confirmation was hard to come by. No one, however, questioned the fact that she was highly skilled in the art of magic and more than able to navigate the dangerous world of court intrigue with grace and wit. She had lived for over 500 years, many of them during a time that all the royal families of Tamriel were at grave risk. All of that being true, I would grant her the respect that her years and her actions had earned.

I also engaged in an additional bit of preparation- a search for knowledge. My reasoning was simple: if I was to meet this great lady, I would need all the information I could find. Therefore, once I had seen to my appearance, I made my way to the bookseller in the Great Bazaar. Sanaso Sarothran happily sold me the full set of the Biography of Barenziah, which was the version of the queen’s story authorized by the Tribunal Temple. When I inquired after The Real Barenziah, she told me that no copies of that work were available in Mournhold and that it was more than her life was worth to even own those books, let alone sell them. The Temple was quite serious about suppressing that particular work, and it was one of the few things about which they and King Helseth were in agreement. While the authorized biography made for interesting reading, it had clearly been heavily edited and probably bore only a passing resemblance to reality. Perhaps if I had sought more diligently for the volumes of The Real Barenziah, things would have turned out differently. But then again, perhaps not. There are some events that must happen, and all the preparation and knowledge in the world cannot change them. As I was about to discover, Barenziah was much more than a character in a story, or a queen, or a noble. She was a force of nature. And now, it was time to meet her. I returned to the Palace and approached the door to the queen’s chambers. Upon my knock, a pleasant voice bade me enter.

When I said that Barenziah was a “force of nature,” I suppose that, for many, the phrase conjures the image of a great storm or an avalanche. But there is another force, a force that works quietly to impose major changes on the world. Think of the slow, constant effect of water on stone. Consider how the water shapes the stone over time. Such was the effect of the former queen of Mournhold. Like all elves, she was long-lived. And she was therefore able to wait patiently, to work her will slowly, achieving results after decades of subtle effort. But I only realized that long after our first meeting. At the time, I was too caught up in her sheer presence to recognize her depth. In appearance, she was typical of the Dunmeri race, with gray skin and red eyes. Her features were pleasant, and the few lines of her face appeared to be those of someone who smiled and laughed often. As befit her station, she was richly dressed and her white hair was elaborately dressed and curled. I thought it interesting that she made no attempt to disguise her great age, but rather displayed its signs prominently. Perhaps only we short-lived humans turn our vanity toward seeking the appearance of perpetual youth, while the eternal elves understand that age and wisdom are more deserving of veneration. And there was wisdom in her eyes, of that there can be no doubt. Again and again, in my memories of Barenziah, I come back to her eyes. She was reputed to be skillful in magic; perhaps she cast a spell upon me in that first moment of meeting. If so, it was of a sort that I have never encountered in all the long years since that day, for, if spell it was, it influences me still. Along with wisdom, her eyes seemed to hold a sense of fun, as if there was still an elven child lurking within and peering out at the clumsy Breton and dancing with laughter. But the laughter was not directed at me, at least not in any mean-spirited way. Instead, it was an invitation to share in the great adventure that was life. Maybe none of those impressions were real; maybe she did ensorcel me. And maybe she made me think of my own magical mother, a woman who I never knew, and yet carried with me always.

I must have spent enough time staring for it to seem rude, for Barenziah’s attendant, a no-nonsense Redguard, finally said,

“Is that how you were taught to greet the Queen? I vow that I could teach you some manners and it is a lesson you’d not forget.”

The queen waved a calming hand and said,

“Peace, Alusannah. He is merely a young man who is not used to court ways and court manners. As well to berate a fish for being uncomfortable upon the land or a bird for disliking the burrow of a badger. We are each of us fit for our own element and more at home therein. So, peace.”

The gracious speech, delivered in an amused tone, brought me back to myself and I bowed low, muttering,

“I beg your pardon, great lady. How may I be of service?”

Overwhelmed by her presence though I was, I would kneel before no one, not even the Emperor himself. In that, at least, I was still my own man. Still smiling, Barenziah gestured me to a chair, where I perched uncomfortably. After studying me closely for a time, she again spoke.

“Greetings, Trey. I’ve wanted to speak with you. I understand that you’ve performed some tasks for Tienius and you’ve done well. I believe that there are other matters you should investigate.”

I should have known by then that even a careful question could be dangerous, but my curiosity over what the queen might want with me overcame my natural caution, so I asked,

”What ‘other matters’ do you think need investigation?”

“Mournhold is a town of two minds. On the one hand, there is the monarchy, led by Helseth, and on the other there is the Temple, and the goddess Almalexia. It is hard to know whom you may trust. While there has been no open hostility between the two, there are always undercurrents that bear watching. I would like you to make yourself known to the Temple. See what you can learn. Speak to Fedris Hler. He is a powerful man in the Temple, a confidant of Almalexia. See if you can get to know him a bit.”

Because the queen had been polite, I responded in kind, rather than stating my feelings about Fedris Hler more bluntly.

“My lady, I have met Fedris Hler and I do not believe he likes me very much.”

That news did not seem to concern Barenziah particularly, as she responded,

“There is more to Hler than one would think. He hides a brilliant mind behind that gruff exterior. It is fairly widely known that he is the leader of the Hands of Almalexia. He will not respond to a charming pair of blue eyes,” she paused to smile at me again, “but he is impressed by plain-speaking. It would be a great service to me if you could discover what concerns occupy Fedris Hler and the goddess.”

I had hoped to avoid further contact with the Temple, but that plan seemed destined to fail. It was clear that the path to Helseth was guarded by his mother. Her words in his ear would determine whether he ever spoke to me or not. Those thoughts reminded me of something else she had mentioned, and I inquired:

“Earlier, you spoke of the difficulty of knowing who to trust. I would value your views on that matter.”

Her expression grew more serious as she pondered my question. At last, she spoke slowly,

“A difficult question, especially in the company of gods and kings. I am always here to answer your questions. My time in the political arena is done, and I will not miss it. I do, however, like to know what is happening to my son, and to his monarchy. I stay interested. You should also take the time to speak with Plitinius Mero, a dear friend of mine. He is knowledgeable on a great many subjects, and is always interesting to speak with. Apart we two, it is up to you to decide who your friends are.”

I recognized that last as a dismissal, couched in polite terms though it was. Barenziah had given me much to think on. Of great interest to me was the fact that she had plainly stated that she was someone who I could trust. Most of the time, such a vow is a warning that you should check your pockets. But, in this case, I had the feeling that she was speaking the simple truth.

[treydog]

It seemed that I had reached the end of my options- Helseth refused to come out of hiding; Almalexia was likely insane and certainly unnerving; and none of the people I trusted seemed to have any advice for me. Perhaps the best thing would be to get a good meal, followed by sleep in a comfortable bed- those were both things I had often dreamt of when they seemed as unattainable as the stars. As I reached the Winged Guar, a familiar phrase came to my ears and I turned to see a white-robed Dunmer priest. He was exhorting passersby to “prepare for the End of Times,” which was the phrase that had caught my attention. The goddess had made some mention of an End of Times Cult during our conversation- now I had found one of its priests. Usually it is a bad idea to engage street preachers in conversation- you generally end up feeling as if your head will explode from trying to follow their rambling denunciations of everything from tooth powder to dramatic actors. But I felt that anyone who had drawn the negative attention of the Tribunal Temple was worth listening to- he might actually know something of use. The priest said his name was Eno Romari and that he had once been a part of the Temple. Through his study of ancient texts and an awareness of current events, he had determined that the days of the Tribunal gods were waning, and that all the people of Morrowind needed to prepare for the change that was coming. Curious, I asked him to describe his beliefs. With a smile, he replied,

“Our beliefs are very simple, dear friend. The blessed Tribunal, though once filled with glory, are no longer the gods they once were. As with the tides and Tamriel's moons, all cosmic powers will wax and wane. But, when gods die, it creates ripples throughout the lands. The passing of the Three will be a prelude to the end of this era, and the beginning of the next. The followers of the End of Times are making ourselves ready for this to happen.”

When I nodded attentively, he warmed to his subject, seemingly happy to have at last found a receptive audience.

“We realize that the end of the era will bring many changes. We believe that the gates of Oblivion will open, and the multitude of daedra will roam this world freely. Some might tell you that this is a good thing, that we are descended from the daedra and it will be a return to the natural order of things. I know differently, though. The coming age will be a time of great horror. The Daedra Princes are not our ancestors. Nor are they our allies. They will wash over the land, destroying all that man and mer have built over these thousands of years. The only protection from this scourge will be our true ancestors that have gone before us and watch over us even now. Many of our followers choose to participate in the Cleansing, to prepare the way for the rest of us. It is a sacrifice to be sure, but it is for the greater good.”

Something about the tone with which he said “the Cleansing” caught my attention, so I inquired about that ritual. Growing serious, Romari explained,

“It is a glorious ritual, friend Breton. Our followers cleanse themselves of all of their troubles, all of their burdens here on this earth. They send themselves ahead to the ancestors, spreading our word, making ready for when we shall all join them in our fight against the daedric hordes.”

That sounded suspiciously like a very wordy way of saying that these people were committing ritual suicide. That was as much as I really needed to know about these “End of Times” folk, so I bade the priest good day and continued into the tavern. Still, Eno Romari’s words had given me much to think about. I was not sure if I believed his doomsday predictions- either generally or specifically. He could just be an unbalanced individual whose exposure to the rigors of the Temple had pushed him completely over the edge. Still, his contention that the Tribunal gods were weakening fit with my own speculations. I had no knowledge of Sotha Sil or Vivec, but I could well believe that Almalexia was falling into madness and possibly mortality. On the other hand, I doubted that the Temple was going to fail in the next few hours, and I could hear a meal, a bath, and a bed calling out to me. Right now, those were the three gods I was willing to worship.

For a wonder, my sleep was untroubled and dreamless. However, that blessing was more than offset by the nightmare that greeted me upon awakening. I was roused by the sound of running feet and shouted questions. The attempts on my life over the last few months had honed my senses and reflexes to the point that I was out of the bed, sword in hand, before I even came fully awake. I began to make out some words, repeated over and over, apparently in response to questions- “attack…fight… Plaza.” Without waiting to consider my actions, I donned my armor and ran outside. From the southeast, the direction of the Plaza Brindisi Dorom, I could hear the sounds of fighting. My first thought was that Helseth and Almalexia had finally come to open battle and I wondered what had precipitated it. Entering the Plaza, I discovered that the Royal Guards and Ordinators were indeed fighting, but as allies against a common foe. From the shadows of the gate I was able to watch the swirl of combat and make out some details. First, the…creatures…battling the guards were completely unfamiliar to me. They seemed to be some unnatural combination of flesh and machinery. I had encountered Dwemer constructs in the ruins of Arknghthand, and these were similar and yet different. There were at least two types: a large, quadrupedal sort that rather resembled a cross between a small dragon and a large scorpion, and a more slender, bipedal creature that looked like a mechanical version of an agile guar or alit. Whatever they were and wherever they had come from, I could not simply stand by while men and elves fought against them. Always before, I had fought alone. Now the sight of others fighting against nightmare creatures brought on a sort of battle madness and I wondered if Hloggar had been correct when he said that the blood of Skyrim flowed in my veins.

Whatever the reason, I still fought as I always had, quietly and with an eye toward staying alive. Given the chaotic nature of the fight, I also reasoned that it would need to be sword work- firing arrows into such a swirling mass might be unwise. There was too great a chance that I would hit a guard or an Ordinator. It was not that I would mind hitting one of them so much as I did not wish to deal with the questions that would be sure to follow. Moving around the fringes of the battle, I did my part. Wherever I saw man or elf beset by two or more of the creatures, I darted in from the side or rear. Whatever the creatures were, a cut to the back of the leg brought them down and a thrust to the neck stopped their movement. If I make it sound easy, I do a disservice to all who fought there. Whoever or whatever it was that had merged living tissue and machinery had done a frightfully good job- the creatures were as strong as the largest Dwemer constructs, but much more clever. They were also remarkably fast, as I discovered when one of the bipeds whipped its head around and nearly took my arm off. I was saved only by quick shield work and an Ordinator, who disappeared back into the melee before I could call my thanks. And then, as quickly as it had begun, the fight was over. A profound silence fell upon the Plaza, broken only by calls for aid and the hisses and squeals as the last of the creatures were dispatched. It was somewhat amusing to watch the Royal Guards and the Ordinators rather stiffly acknowledging one another before retreating to their usual posts. Even though they had fought side-by-side, saving one another’s lives, there was too much between the Temple and the king for them to become friends so easily.

After taking a healing potion, I surveyed the scene. The statue that had graced the center of the Plaza was smashed and the bodies of the creatures leaked peculiar fluids onto the stones. Curious, I approached and collected samples for later study. As a student of alchemy, I was always interested in the possible properties of new substances. The liquids were quite heavy and felt oily, with an odd sheen. As I worked, one of the Royal Guards approached and gruffly thanked me for my help. Then he asked me to let Tienius Delitian know what had passed. A few minutes later, an Ordinator made the same request, excepting that he wanted me to go straight to Fedris Hler with a report. Now that the crisis was over, things were back to normal, with the king and goddess at each other’s throats. Just another perfect day in Mournhold.