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]

In a way, I was anxious to see the supposed Dwemer ruin beneath the city. Perhaps there would be some clues as to who the mysterious, mechanically-inclined elves had been. There might also be great dangers-it seemed that many of Mournhold’s current problems were a result of the decision to rebuild on top of the ruins of the destroyed city. Recalling my recent fight with Barilzar, I could not help but consider that while burying your problems may seem like a good solution, sometimes they refuse to stay dead. Those thoughts occupied me as I made the long descent to the area beneath the Plaza. The ladder reached a small chamber that was filled with rushing water and the broken remains of the statue above. A tunnel opened to the north, and I heard the clash of metal, as well as the crackle of magical lightning from that direction. As I crept down the passage, it was clear that it had been hastily clawed out of the surrounding rock and soil, looking rather as if something had been burrowing to the surface. As I rounded a bend, I glimpsed finished walls decorated in the Dwemer style beyond the tunnel mouth and realized that I was high up on one side of a huge room in the ancient Dwemer ruin. The architecture and decoration of the place intrigued me, but I had no time to study it, for there was a fight taking place before my eyes. Crouching against the wall, I watched in fascination as more of the “fabricants” clashed with Dwemer constructs. The fight was over in minutes, with the Dwemer guardians holding the field. It was not an easy victory, though, as attested by the piles of metal and puddles of leaking fluids scattered around the chamber. Although my assigned task was complete, I watched for a while longer, for the Dwemer constructs were unfamiliar to me. I cannot describe exactly how they were different than what I had seen before, except to say that they seemed more…advanced. They were certainly more deadly, and I had seen one variety apparently making use of some form of magic. As nothing else seemed about to happen, I gladly returned to the fresh air and sunlight of the Plaza.

While the sky was clear, my thoughts were less so. I now had a choice- should I report to Delitian or to Fedris Hler? In a way, it seemed hardly to matter- each of them appeared to know what the other did almost instantly. Any naïve notions I might have had that I was the only spy working for one or the other of the powers in this city had been dispelled long ago. It was rather like the old riddle about fighting a dragon- would you rather approach the head or the tail? Of course, the answer was, “Flip a coin. Because it doesn’t matter; you’ll be just as dead either way.” In the spirit of fair play, I decided to talk to the Temple first this time. More to the point, I had a feeling that they, or at least their goddess, knew more about this business than they were saying. When I spoke to Hler, he accidentally confirmed what I suspected- at least he did if you had a nasty, suspicious mind.

“You say these new creatures were fighting with the Dwemer creatures? This is very disturbing. Only someone with great power could control these fabricant creatures. Almalexia will be interested to hear this news. I'm sure she'll have some insight into it.”

Yes, indeed. Someone with great power. Perhaps, for example, someone who now possessed Barilzar’s Mazed Band? My suspicion was now so strong that I feared it must be obvious to anyone who looked, especially to Almalexia. In my audience with the goddess, I had gotten the feeling that she could see right through my skin and into my soul. However, Hler had given me just enough room to interpret his words. He had not explicitly told me to report to the goddess- he had merely implied it. That was enough of a gap for me to wriggle through, and I did, heading immediately for the Palace. I did not really believe that Delitian could or would protect me- but I doubted that Almalexia was yet willing to risk the open confrontation it would precipitate if she sent her minions to take me from the Palace by force. And besides, I still had to make my second report.

When I entered the Throne Room, there was a heightened tension in the air; all the guards seemed to be standing straight rather than assuming their usual bored slouch. And then I realized that a person I had never seen before stood at the center of the dais, talking to Tienius Delitian. He was tall, with the gray skin and red eyes of the Dunmer. And he was wearing a purple robe with a scarlet panel embroidered in gold with the royal lions of Wayrest and stylized dragons of the Empire. Last of all, atop his head was a crown. My breath quickened- Helseth had come into the open.

Here at last was the man I had compromised my very soul to meet. His appearance was actually a bit disappointing- I had always thought that evil would have far more… presence. What I saw was a youngish man of Dunmer descent, handsome in a rather emaciated way. His eyes spoke of a dark intelligence and seemed to burn with some inner light. That was perhaps the only indication of the ambition and arrogance which had set him on his murderous path to the throne. And now he was within my reach. Because I was in the Throne Room, I had been forced to wear my robe and set my shield aside. But I still wore my Dark Brotherhood armor and my sword was belted to my waist beneath the robe. The garment hindered my sword arm, so my draw was not as smooth as I would have liked. Still, the time it cost me was equaled by the startled paralysis of the Imperial guards. I could think of no battle cry or words that could do justice to the way I felt about Helseth, so I made no sound as I launched myself toward him, sword-point foremost.

The fierce rush of joy I felt as I saw the fear in his eyes was snuffed when a massive form like a mountain of red steel intercepted my lunge. It was Karrod, the huge Redguard who never spoke. With an almost casual flick of his shield, he deflected my blade, causing it to strike sparks from the marble floor. He did not move to attack me, but simply held his shield again at the ready. Others had begun moving, though, overcoming their surprise. As I gathered myself to try again, a wall of armored figures interposed itself between me and the king. Worse still, I could sense more guards moving in behind me. With a despairing wail, I launched myself at the red-armored barricade, hoping to somehow cut my way through to the king, to at least make him bleed a little in payment for my suffering. Before I could reach him, I felt a blow strike my right side. My armor turned the edge of the blade, but the force still drove the breath out of me. Then the strikes became too many to count- I felt blades piercing my back and my sides. My lungs began to fill and I went to my knees, coughing. The sword fell from my hand, too heavy to lift. Careful steps circled in from my left and I raised my eyes enough to see Tienius Delitian staring down at me. His face was grim and he held his sword at shoulder height. In a deep voice, he intoned,

“You are brave, but still a fool and a traitor. For treason, there is only one penalty. For your bravery, I will make it quick.”

The last thing I saw as the captain’s sword began its arc toward my neck was the hated face of Helseth. His lips moved and I wondered what abominable lie they were shaping now. Oddly enough, he seemed to be saying, “Mother.”

Here Ends Chapter 6