Sleeper in the Cave, a Morrowind fanfic Options

[treydog]

The quest to uncover Adryn's past continues. And it is understandable that she is more comfortable with the "ancient ancestors, who never actually abandoned me" part of that quest.

I had to laugh at Adryn's interrogation of the whole "Oh no- you can't use a Master-level home-brewed potion!" racket. Trust a person who--- formerly possessed moral latitude to spot a money-making scheme.

And- as others have pointed out elsewhere, if Vivec was really SO concerned about "his people"- why did he decide to leave the moon hanging there, as a permanent threat, instead of flinging it away?

And I have often used the "To Stop the Moon" shrine when my character needed to get somewhere in a hurry- probably a scandalous violation of Temple protocol, to which Trey says- "Yeah- and so what?"

You have a wonderful talent for heightening tension and then relieving with... Adryn being herself, which strikes the rest of us as humorous. The result is that both are enhanced in the reading.

[Kazaera]

Note to those who don't follow the writing chat thread: Adryn's place of last residence in Skyrim is now Windhelm, not Solitude, and past posts have been edited accordingly. My reasoning can be found there; basically, I picked Solitude before Skyrim actually came out, and once I played the game I discovered Windhelm was a much better fit for what I'd been imagining. The general irony of it all is just icing on the cake.

@haute ecole rider - you can't possibly expect Adryn to let this sort of thing pass unremarked! It offends her all the way down to her core both as an alchemist and an ex-professional criminal. As for Vivec... we'll see.

@SubRosa - I, being an inveterate linguistics geek, actually did some research into this and it looks like Llarara's theory is wrong. Kids can lose their native language from lack of use, that part is true, but according to the studies I found they lose it so completely they have zero advantage if they try to learn it again later in life. I find this pretty astonishing, honestly, to the point where I left this as it was - Llarara is after all working off a sample size of two, and I can't imagine that some former native speakers don't get a leg up!

And it's also worth noting that there's a confounding factor Llarara isn't aware of: Adryn is, after all, dreaming in fluent Chimeris most nights.

@ghastley - ...honestly, I feel as though I can only adequately respond to that after the end of this section.

@treydog - glad you approve! My characters usually ended up master-level alchemists fairly quickly in-game and that always annoyed me. I don't quite remember, but the image of Adryn arguing with the shrine may have been one of the earliest scenes I came up with when I started writing. And I, too, horrendously abused the Shrine to Stop the Moon.

Vivec and Baar Dau... I 100% hear you. Vivec is a weird character for me, because for some reason I keep on liking him despite the giant mountain of reasons why I shouldn't. Baar Dau especially is one of the ones that is very hard to explain with him remotely sympathetic. I do actually plan on taking it on eventually - I don't generally consider myself bound by post-Morrowind canon - but that would be in the far far future of this story (read "probably Adryn: Tribunal").

And of course thank you for the kind words about my writing! Adryn calls for a very particular blend of humour and drama, and I'm always glad to hear that it's working for people.

Last installment, Adryn argued her way into being allowed to perform the Shrine to Stop the Moon pilgrimage with a home-brewed levitation potion. Last we saw her, she was enjoying the long-lasting levitation effect it confers. Let's see how flying is treating our alchemist...

Warning: There are some unfortunate unintended parallels to current real-world events in this section.

Chapter 21.6
*****

Some time later found me hovering near the roof of the High Fane.

For all Ervesa's claims that the spell wore off slowly, I wasn't ready to risk distancing myself too far from the place I'd started. Initially, I'd considered investigating the giant floating rock – perhaps up close I'd be able to find evidence one way or the other regarding Vivec putting it there – but when I'd drifted closer I'd discovered that there had been changes since it had (supposedly) been frozen in the sky by a god. Apparently someone had decided the rock was in dire need of development, because there was a wooden platform running all round the thing and a dark shadow on one side had turned out to be an arched entryway. This in and of itself wouldn't have given me pause, but there was also a figure standing next to the entryway. An Ordinator, in fact, armed with a bow with an arrow already nocked.

I could take a hint before it shot me in the face, so I'd propelled myself back until I was above the shrine and settled in to wait for the spell to wear off. This was far less boring than one might think due to the unusual perspective. Although it wasn't my first time viewing the world from a height, it was my first time not coloured by the fear of imminent death – never to mention that the bustling city of Vivec brought far more interesting sights with it than the West Gash. I could happily keep myself occupied watching the crowds.

When I noticed their movement change, at first I thought I was imagining it.

It started at the docks and spread from there. Suddenly, the small figures who were simply strolling along leisurely were gone. Movement became hurried, frantic, people streaming away as though trying to distance themselves from a possible danger. Others stayed, grouped together...

In my second year in Windhelm, there'd been a drought during the summer, a poor harvest followed by a harsh winter. By Morning Star, the city's stores of grain had run low. Food prices rose and rose, to the point where the guild's burglaries began to target the larder rather than the lockbox. The poor of the city who couldn't follow suit grew steadily thinner and angrier. Eventually things hit the breaking point, and a riot broke out. I'd narrowly escaped being caught up in it, and to my dying day I didn't think I would forget the feel of the crowd's mood changing around me.

I was terrifyingly certain I was seeing the beginnings of the exact same thing right now from above.

A twist of will sent me drifting back down. To my relief, I realised that Ervesa was still there – or should it perhaps be there again? Judging by the half-eaten stuffed flatbread she was holding, she must have left to visit a street vendor earlier. In any case, she was here now, deep in conversation with the swamp-water-selling priestess. Although not so deep that she didn't look up and smile at me as I neared ground level.

"Did you enjoy your time flying, then?"

"I-" I shook my head. "It's not important. Ervesa, I think there's something wrong in the city-"

I didn't get a chance to explain, nor the profoundly skeptical-looking priestess a chance to interrupt, because at that point a man in novice's robes came racing up the stairs.

"News!" I spent a split second trying to parse the word before I realised he was speaking Dunmeris. "News from Ebonheart!" He gasped for air. I could see dark stains where sweat soaked his robes – he must have run the whole way from the docks, driven on by the urgency of his message.

"What is it?" an authoritative voice spoke from behind me. I glanced back to see Lloran again, arms propped on her hips.

"The Imperials- the Imperials have ordered a hlethovryla of Vvardenfell!"

My fledgling Dunmeris failed me at that point, because I didn't know what the clearly most important word in that sentence meant. I could however gather from context – in the form of the initial shocked silence around me, soon broken by angry, fearful voices – that it was likely something bad.

I turned to Ervesa, who was very pale and very still. "What's going on?"

"They've put the island under quarantine," she whispered.

For a moment, I didn't understand what she meant.

I'd encountered quarantines before, of course. Every now and then, a new or changed illness that didn't respond to the standard spells and potions would sweep through the country. Those sick would be isolated while the researcher-healers worked to adapt existing treatments into one the disease would respond to. I'd even heard stories of entire towns cut off due to plague, guards keeping the inhabitants from leaving until the illness that had struck it could be managed.

Never before had I considered that someone might think of doing the same to the entire island of Vvardenfell.

Judging by the rising voices around me, I wasn't the only one going through this process of disbelief. However, my companions seemed to be leaving it fairly quickly. I couldn't make out what they were saying – speaking clearly and slowly for the non-natives among them was evidently not high on anyone's priority list at the moment – but tone of voice and expressions made it clear they were heading straight into rage instead, the clamour of shock and horror slowly turning to an angry roar.

It was a roar that was echoed in the distance, like the growl of a great beast.

My heart skipped a beat. The messenger had driven it clean out of my mind, but now I remembered what I'd seen from the air.

The levitation spell hadn't quite worn off yet. Hoping against hope that I was wrong, I willed myself to rise in the air again. This time, I didn't spend time letting my gaze wander. I focused my vision on the city to the north...

...the city, and the dark mass spilling out from the Arena canton. Even though I'd expected it, it still took me a moment to identify it as a massive crowd of people.

It took precious seconds to reach ground level again, and Ervesa blinked at me as my feet touched the ground, the spell finally fading away. She, I noted with relief, was not among the ones now shouting.

"Adryn? What-"

"There's a riot, spreading from the Arena canton." My words stumbled over each other in their haste to leave my mouth. "It looked like some of them were heading here- Ervesa, you have to-"

To what?

Over the time I'd known her, Ervesa had developed the habit of swanning into my life, rescuing me from some mishap or another, then vanishing again. It was therefore perhaps understandable that somehow, without consciously realising it, I'd built her up to be a figure larger than life inside my head – one capable of saving me from kagouti, ash statues, murder accusations and more, without ever seeming to exert herself in the process.

A grave mistake, because for all her skills, for all her uncanny knack of popping up at exactly the right point in time, at the core of it Ervesa was just a girl not much older than me with no godly abilities to her name. There was nothing she could do to halt a riot that had gained momentum. Judging by her wide, wide eyes and pale face, she knew it as well as I.

I spent a few precious seconds in bitter recrimination: how, after all this time, after the Warp and all that followed, had I still not learned that there was no such thing as heroes in this world?

"We have to hide," I corrected myself. There was no stopping this riot, no keeping it from coming our way, and I was worried that it wouldn't be healthy for us to be out in the open when it did. Especially me, as an outlander. Obviously, I hadn't had anything to do with the decision of quarantine – was in fact in a worse position than many natives, since I was now stuck on an island where I had no real ties – but logic counts for little in these sorts of situations.

Ervesa opened her mouth, but I never got to hear her answer.

Silence descended.

It began behind me then spread out like ripples over a pool, all sound dying away. Around me I could see open mouths, to my left sunlight glinting off rippling water, ahead the bridge that would bring the mob. Yet I could hear nothing at all, not speech nor the splash of waves nor the roar of the riot, not even the beat of my own heart.

One of the priests glanced behind us – then froze. I saw his eyes widen large enough to overtake his face in the split second before he spun round and dropped to his knees. Around us, others began to follow suit, some kneeling, some fully prostrate against the ground

I couldn't help but think that turning my back on the approaching mob was a terrible idea, but curiosity was one of my primary weaknesses and I'd always suspected it would be the end of me one day. I turned around.

I'd made note of the palace that lay beyond the High Fane before, especially as Ervesa had told me two more of the shrines I'd need to visit were found there. Throughout the day a steady stream of people had made their way to it, and in the last half-hour or so I'd been able to observe them closely from my excellent vantage point. Many approached the triangular stone at the top, or entered a small door halfway up beside one of the spigots. Others simply came to lay offerings on the stairs. Flowers, mostly, mixed with some small gleams that I guessed to be coins or jewels – enough the steps were strewn with them. Throughout, the golden door at the top had remained firmly shut, with no one entering and no one leaving.

Until now.

In another situation, I might have said the figure that hovered before the open door looked odd, even bizarre. Bald and clean-shaven, clad in only a loincloth and a jeweled chest-guard, it was distinctly obvious that the – man? - was divided in half, his left side Dunmer but his right gold as an Altmer. His eyes, sweeping over the kneeling crowds, were split in colour as well-

His eyes.

Looking into those eyes felt like standing upright in a howling midwinter gale, a tiny flicker of life trying desperately to hold against the uncaring might of nature. They were ancient, alien, crackling with impossible power. They did not, could not, belong to a mortal.

And yet...

And yet I'd seen those eyes before.

Both golden, they'd been back then, and lacking the unearthly glow that filled them now... but in its place had been mortal emotions. Worry, anger, fear, mirth, joy, love – all reflected in those eyes in bygone days, all burned away by divinity.

"Vivec," I breathed, and saw-

A thin young boy, scowling at me suspiciously. The same boy grown to a young man, drilling with a spear. Him laughing with a red-headed woman and a bearded man, curled up with a journal scribbling away at it industriously, fire flying from his outstretched hands to engulf an armoured Nord-

Him looking down on me, remote and emotionless as my vision grew steadily dimmer, my pulse raced in my ears, I clutched at my throat I couldn't breathe I couldn't breathe-

Here and now, Vivec's eyes met mine.

In the same instant, the pain struck.

The headaches I'd been having were mere pinpricks compared to this. It felt as though someone was taking a hammer to my skull, then pouring acid into the building cracks. I fell to my knees, clutching at my head, but the agony did not relent.

Darkness ate the edges of my vision. I knew this sensation well, from my birthsign. Welcomed it, this time, because unconsciousness would make the pain stop.

Just as before, the last thing I saw was Vivec's face.

*****
End of chapter

Notes: I swear the Vvardenfell quarantine is not in any way a commentary on the current situation. I'm *reasonably* sure it's some form of canon and from the very start I've been intending to have it happen part of the way through the story, the timing is just flat-out terrible and I'm really sorry about that.

For those who don't want their escapism spoiled, be aware that the next few chapters are definitely going to be heavily featuring the implications of the quarantine, but the parallels to Corona shouldn't be that strong as the Blight is a different illness and the Vvardenfell quarantine is a very particular political situation as well.

[SubRosa]

Adryn's first up close look at Baar Dau was the same as mine, with a levitation spell. Only in my case I was deliberately breaking in. I am sure Adryn will get there eventually, one way or another.

Uh oh, looks like trouble in Vivec City. I liked Adryn's thoughts back to the food riot in Windhelm. It was both a nice nod to her history, and a good example of how a crowd's can possess a visible mood.

The Imperials ordered a what in the city? Is Darth Vader coming to review the progress on the Death Star? I hear he is at least more forgiving than the Emperor.

Logic definitely counts for little in a riot. Maybe if someone dropped an asteroid on the crowd, that would stop the riot?

I was wondering if Vivec would make an appearance once the riot headed toward the High Fane. The way Adryn recognized him, not for who he is now, but for who he was, was excellent.

[treydog]

...how, after all this time, after the Warp and all that followed, had I still not learned that there was no such thing as heroes in this world?

Depends on one's definitions, I suppose. All-powerful folk who can resolve any situation? No. But friends who will stand by you, save you, counsel you- Ervesa, Jamie... Adryn herself? Oh, there are definitely many heroes to be found. (And that is NOT a comment to the writer- just a note that Adryn has yet to learn what heroism means.)

Short sidetrack- and I apologize for it in advance... When I was... 10ish... I asked my father if there were heroes when he was my age. (I was thinking of Batman, Superman, Iron Man, et al). He, however, took the question thoughtfully, as he tended to do. "I suppose, I would have to say my father," he told me. And in that moment, my own perspective was... shifted. Because his father, my grandfather, had died when Dad was only 4, injured in a chemical fire at the Eastman plant in 1922.

The quarantine is absolutely canon- due to The Blight- wrought by Dagoth Ur, and causing the corprus monsters and the various "Curses" (which are not really explained in any detail in game), other than in The Seven Curses.


From the Wiki-- "As the infections grew, the Empire laid down an embargo on wares from Vvardenfell, leading to some starvation and further isolation of the Dunmer on the island."

And Adryn/Nervar's reaction to seeing Vivec in "present" time as well as through past memories was incredibly compelling.

[Kazaera]

@SubRosa - I have faith that Adryn will get to the point of breaking in herself too! And yeah, Baar Dau falling would definitely give that crowd something else to worry about. Vivec apparently decided, however, that it was best dealt with with a more personal touch.

@treydog - I 100% agree with you, and honestly Adryn's wrestling with the concept of "hero" is probably going to be a large part of her character arc. And thanks for the info about quarantine - I did some more research and apparently it's from Tribunal dialogue, so explains why I couldn't remember it because I never actually got that far into Tribunal. (At some point my character went "I hate all of these quest-givers, why would I lift a finger to help them.") I hadn't realised about the famine, and of course now new sub-plots are growing at the back of my mind as we speak /o\

No worries about the side-track - that's a lovely, if sad, story about your grandfather. In fact, have a side-track in return:

There's no one among my grandparents I can nominate for "hero" position. This is one of those consequences of being German: you grow up with this awareness that the people you know and love in that generation were almost certainly complicit in something terrible, that people can be kind and loving and to all appearances good and then still look away from - or take part in - atrocities. It's left me with a real appreciation for the strength it takes to stand up and go "No, this is wrong," even when it is dangerous and there is no one to support you. You may see traces of that as this story progresses.

Er, apologies for the heavy stuff! Onwards to the next section...

Last chapter, Adryn discovered that she'd run into her own ancestral tomb in the Grazelands. She herself was rather ambivalent about that fact, but on discussing this with friends, she was talked into starting the Tribunal Temple pilgrimages with an aim at becoming a lay member and gaining access to the Temple's kinfinding services. That said, matters took an unexpected turn when her attempt at doing the Vivec pilgrimages was interrupted by the announcement that Vvardenfell had been put under quarantine due to the danger of the Blight. This was followed by a riot, which brought Vivec out into the open. Adryn collapses at the sight of him.

Now, we could check up on how she's doing after that! But a quarantine is a huge, island-spanning thing, and it'll be hard for Adryn to get a full picture. Let's look at how some people other than her are dealing with the consequences...

Interlude II.1
*****

The corridors beneath the Grand Council Chambers looked unchanged from the last time Caius had seen them, the grey stoneworks in the Imperial style hidden by rich tapestries so much like the ones in Castle Bravil they never failed to make him feel homesick. An unobservant man might take this as proof that nothing else had changed in the month since he'd visited.

Of course, no unobservant man would ever make it into the covert arm of the Blades, much less rise to Caius' position. Even here in the seat of Imperial power, tension hung thick in the air, like the air before a thunderstorm as the world waited for the first strike of lightning.

He could only hope it would not strike here, today.

The tension was such that Caius had to fight relief when he made it to his destination with nothing untoward occurring. The door was near the end of the corridor and adorned with a small bronze plate: Asciene Rane.

He knocked once, then a second time, to no answer. Caius was just wondering whether he'd have to resort to his lockpicks – a definite risk, given the servants that occasionally scurried by – when the door opened and he found himself dragged bodily into the small chamber.

"Have you lost your mind," Asciene hissed the instant the door was shut behind them.

Apparently he could worry about lightning in the literal sense in addition to the metaphorical one, because the Breton mage – usually so calm and collected – was furious to the point where she was throwing small sparks. Caius carefully freed himself from her grasp and rubbed his stinging wrist.

"What on Nirn possessed you to come here now?"

Caius gave her his best quelling look. Honed to a fine edge in his years as optio in the Eighth Legion, it had cut many a raw recruit down to size. Even in his waning years, even with the skooma's unyielding grip on him, it was still enough to quell the brats he was now forced to deal with. Despite her rage, Asciene blanched and grew silent when faced with its full force.

"The reason I'm here," he said evenly, "is because I need to go to Mournhold."

A ragged laugh escaped the woman.

"You and half of Vvardenfell! I- I swore, afterwards, that the connection to the mainland had been broken. I was worried they'd tear me apart if not. Do you realise what sort of a mob you'll call down on me if even a hint that I can still offer that escape should get out?"

Another trick Caius had picked up in the Legion: resisting the urge to fill silence. He simply waited expectantly, eyes fixed on the mage, as it lengthened and stretched into awkwardness. She held strong for a while, but eventually it got the better of her. She shifted from foot to foot, rubbed her arms, then finally spoke.

"I- shouldn't you have prepared for this, anyway? After all, it's you people who are to blame for this mess."

An attempt at changing the subject. Caius decided he could be generous for a little while.

"We raised the possibility of a quarantine, yes. But we weren't the ones who panicked and botched the implementation." True, Caius hadn't been in touch with the leadership in a while, but he still felt he could speak with confidence. This mess had Vantinius' grasping fingers written all over it.

And that was enough generosity for now.

"Which brings me back to my original point," he continued. "If we're to salvage anything from this mess, I must get to Mournhold." He paused, just long enough to be ominous. "Unless you're rethinking your service to the Emperor?"

"I hope you fall into a ditch on the way back and break your neck," Asciene snapped. But even as she spoke, light gathered around her hands at her sides and Caius knew he'd won. "At least try to come up with a decent cover story for me, will you? The walls have eyes around here, and," she eyed him with distaste, "as a secret lover you leave a little to be desired."

Twenty years ago, that assessment would have cut his pride to the quick. Of no illusions about his own appeal – what the advancing years hadn't stripped away, the skooma had done for – the Caius of the present day simply snorted dismissively.

"I'm your poor addled uncle, of course. Huge shame to your family, me being hooked on skooma and all, so you've never mentioned me before. But we're still in occasional contact, and when I panicked because of the quarantine I ran to you for help. Hardly difficult. But less believable the longer I stay, so I'm not sure what the hold up here is-"

The last thing Caius heard before the world dissolved into blue light was Asciene's wordless snarl.

On the other side, Effe-Tei was far calmer about Caius' illicit arrival, reacting with only a long glance. Caius wondered if they'd ever considered recruiting the Argonian as an operative. Anyone capable of keeping their cool to such a degree would be an asset.

Although perhaps it was simply that the quarantine was felt differently on the mainland. True, Caius still felt tension in the air as he made his way through the streets, but it was a far cry from the air that had hung over Vvardenfell ever since the news had come down. Here, the storm was building on the horizon instead of poised to break directly overhead, with the merchants he passed relaxed enough to both gossip and cast a disapproving glance at him. It took Caius a moment to realise it was due to his trembling hands.

The chaos that had engulfed the island had affected the underworld as badly as anyone else – Caius' usual supplier had only made it back to Balmora a day ago, with no wares. By now, the withdrawal had reached the point where the characteristic shakes were strong enough to be visible to those he passed. The looks he garnered were contemptuous... dismissive, in fact. Not a single one of them looked at him twice.

Skooma addiction was truly the best cover Caius had ever had. He'd recommend it to the juniors if it weren't for the obvious downsides.

As if on cue, the need for a pipe rolled over him like a wave. The trembling grew even stronger, sweat gathered on his neck, his head began to pound. Caius gritted his teeth as he fought against the cravings; experience had taught him it was a battle he would always lose in the end, but he could at least prolong the defeat.

The fight against withdrawal occupied him all the way along a long, circuitous route to the outskirts of the Great Bazaar, behind a smithy, then – after glancing around to make sure no one was in sight – through a trapdoor. At that point, he was very effectively distracted from the cravings by the smell. Thankfully, he didn't have to enter the sewers proper – not many yards in, he stopped and felt along the wall until he found the latch for the hidden door.

The room behind it was small but blessedly clean, tiny glowing runes on the wall keeping out even the stink from outside. An enchanted magelight set into the ceiling cast a steady glow, illuminating crates piled around the room. Someone had laid a board across some of the larger crates and pulled up two of the smaller ones to make a makeshift table and chairs. The woman thus seated looked up when he entered. "Oh, good. You made it."

Habit made Caius take in the newcomer with a spy's eye.

Redguard, looking perhaps mid-forties, wiry dark hair cropped close to her head showing the first strands of grey, broad nose that looked to have been broken at several points during her life, wide-set dark eyes, plump mouth currently pressed in a thin line, scar running from her chin over her left cheek to her notched ear. Solidly built and muscular, she was wearing battered leather armour with no maker's mark. The blade at her side was another story – the sheath was plain, but the winding decorations on the hilt showed it was no ordinary weapon. The shape, of course, was proof in its own right as well. There weren't many people who owned an Akaviri katana.

Caius himself was not one, and found himself eyeing the weapon hungrily. Although he knew he wasn't suited for the other arm of the Blades – although he knew that chances were they wouldn't take him anyway, given the skooma – some childish part of him still dreamed of the halls at Cloud Ruler Temple. Of protecting the Emperor through honest combat instead of trickery and spycraft, of standing side by side with his brothers and sisters in arms... of being granted his own blade as a symbol of their approval.

Of course, if anyone deserved such an honour it was the woman before him.

"Well, Agent?" she prompted him now, with an air saying that although she was not impatient yet it would be best not to rely on that fact. "Take a seat and tell me. How is the situation?"

There was enough of the Legion left in Caius Cosades that he wouldn't have sat without the explicit invitation, but his aching bones meant he wasn't going to protest the offer. He sank onto the other crate with a groan. "Not sure if my last report got in, Champion, but-"

The woman cut him off with a raised hand. "No identifiers, please."

Long years of training let Caius suppress a snort, but the restriction seemed remarkably pointless to him all the same. Time was that what felt like a quarter of Tamriel would have been able to identify the Eternal Champion on sight, thanks to her crossing the length and breadth of the continent in search of the Staff of Chaos. Even immunis Cosades, as he'd been then, had met her briefly – and the young warrior who'd come to Corinth had aged far better than he had. No, to Caius she was still instantly recognisable.

But it was true that the young ones these days didn't know their history... and besides, Caius wasn't going to argue with his commanding officer.

"Spymaster, then," he corrected himself. "And as for Vvardenfell..." He clicked his tongue. "Ever seen a mine after someone's hit a gas pocket – when they have to send in the surveyors with mage-lights because torches are too dangerous? Vvardenfell's like that. Looks the same if you're not paying attention, but anyone with any sense is terrified out of their wits because they know with the right spark, the whole place could go up."

He'd struggled to keep his voice free of censure, but judging by the Champion's fierce frown he wasn't entirely sure he'd succeeded. Luckily, the expression didn't seem to be directed at him.

"Trust me, the way this whole thing was handled was not my idea. Sometimes I could strangle Vanus and his short-sighted reliance on his Hlaalu cronies..." The Champion's breath hissed out between gritted teeth. After a moment, she shook her head, as though dislodging a pesky fly. "Well, the dice have been thrown, now we have to make the best of where they've fallen. Speaking of – I'll need to debrief you properly later, but the main reason I asked you here today wasn't actually to speak about Vvardenfell." A pause. "How are our... special projects?"

Caius sighed. "We've lost more, I'm afraid. I haven't heard anything about Hefhed in weeks – I think he was killed in the wilds. Oht proved... recalcitrant, and I was forced to dispose of her. Jeb got mixed up in Larrius Varo's fool plot to take down the Camonna Tong, and now his ashes are in the Temple pit." And oh, Caius could murder Varo for his interference. If the Legionnaire wanted to send people on suicide missions, he could damn well use his own subordinates.

"At the moment," he laid out, "the only assets I'd call even remotely viable are Cess, Iya, Neht and Payem – and that's stretching the definition for a few of them."

Afraid the flicker in his superior's eyes was a look of censure, he spread his arms to indicate his helplessness. "Look – I can't work miracles," he said, achingly aware the woman he was speaking to had, in effect, done just that almost thirty years ago. "The assets are untrained, untrustworthy, sometimes half feral. Ordinarily I'd never dream of letting any of them anywhere near a delicate operation like this. I do what I can, but-"

"-No, I understand. Honestly, four potential assets are more than I was expecting, given how we had to select them." The Champion grimaced. "I assume nothing has changed regarding Cess since your last update. What of the other three?"

"Well..." Caius let the words come slowly as he gathered his thoughts. "Too early to say yet for Payem – she barely got in before the quarantine. But she didn't refuse my orders, and didn't go running off to tell someone about a Blades agent, so that's better than some right there. Iya, now – I think she has real potential. Strong-minded, true, with a streak of idealism I'd usually try to break a recruit of, but it might not be a bad thing in this context. Competent for a change, thank the Nine," he had not forgotten the mess that had been Geth, "and capable of being reasonable. Currently she's my recommendation, and unless Payem outdoes herself I don't see that changing."

"Good to know," the Champion said. "And... Neht?"

Thinking on that particular asset, Caius couldn't help letting out a loud groan. "Oh, don't even get me started."

His superior frowned. "What? Is she rebellious as well?"

Caius had to take a moment to think that over. "No," he eventually settled on. "She complains, but I don't believe there's much backbone behind it. Which actually makes her even more worrying. I can get a reluctant asset in line, believe me... but I have never seen anyone as capable of turning even the smallest task into an absolute spectacle, and at this point I'm forced to believe she's doing it by accident."

Fingers tapped on the makeshift table as the Champion's frown deepened. "I'm not sure I'm following."

Her expression did not lighten any as Caius explained just how one Neht – better known outside the room as Adryn – had completely and utterly failed to keep her head down and avoid attention since her arrival on the island.

"Word from Ald'ruhn has it that one of the Temple big-wigs is sniffing around her now," he finished. "I don't know how she even finds these people."

"That does sound like a liability, I admit. Perhaps it'd be best to... cut her loose?"

Caius paused. It had been tiny, almost unnoticeable... but there had been a moment of hesitation there. And in the past, his orders had always been in favour of silencing failed assets permanently, with Caius being the one to argue in favour of letting the more harmless ones be. This was a distinct departure from the norm.

It was almost as though the Champion were interested in Neht beyond simply a potential asset.

If he'd been younger, he'd have pursued that thought, but Caius liked to think all the bad of the last decade had brought some wisdom with it. In this case, the wisdom to know when something was none of his business.

Besides, he had a job to do.

"I'm considering it, but I'd prefer to try out some other options first. I'm guessing the quarantine means an end to the prospectives?"

The question was mostly rhetorical, but the Champion nodded anyway. "It'd be too hard to smuggle them in."

"Then I can't afford to waste any of the ones I have left." Caius shrugged. "I'm doubtful, don't get me wrong, but I'd like to try her one more time. Besides, there must be a way to make an ability to attract huge amounts of trouble useful. Maybe she can be a distraction for Iya."

"I suppose you're right," the Champion said, but her voice was thoughtful and although she was looking in his direction, Caius didn't think those unfocused eyes were actually seeing him.

The moment passed quickly, the Champion's demeanour becoming businesslike once more. "Tell me more about Iya, then, if you think she's the most promising. What's her current status on the island, and how did her 'minor mission' go?"

"Well..."

As Caius settled in to give his report, he did his best to stamp on the sparks of his curiosity. Nothing good, he reminded himself, could come of sticking his nose into the Eternal Champion's business.

*****

Notes: Code names taken from the Daedric alphabet. Curious to see how many readers will put together, or already have put together, some pieces here...

[SubRosa]

I wonder if Caius put on a shirt for his visit to the castle?

Oh cool, he's going to meet the player character from Arena! That was a neat touch. The Eternal Champion title makes me think of Elric though...

I was guessing that the asset who turns the simplest things into a spectacle must be Adryn!

Brilliant decision to use code names based on the Daedric Alphabet. I had no idea.

[haute ecole rider]

As soon as Caius started describing Neht, I thought Adryn! Of course.

Before that, though, I quite enjoyed your description of the Eternal Champion. For obvious reasons . . .

[treydog]

So much woven into this one post! Loved the meeting with the Eternal Champion, as well as getting a deeper look into Caius.

And the references to Vantinus and Varro- both of whom DO manage to complicate things beyond belief. (Trey really was tempted to shove Vantinus off the wall at Ebonheart).

but I have never seen anyone as capable of turning even the smallest task into an absolute spectacle, and at this point I'm forced to believe she's doing it by accident.

I could just hear the exasperated disbelief in his voice. And the EC is aware of something that she is not willing to share.... hmmmm.

Most excellent!

[ghastley]

I like this reason that the protagonist is not doing every one of the available quests, not that she ever does them the way the developers intended.

And everyone else already noted everything else.

[Kazaera]

@SubRosa - Now we know why Asciene was so annoyed and the people in Mournhold were staring at him! Clearly Caius was still wandering around shirtless. And I've always found "Eternal Champion" a bit weird - c'mon, they're not even immortal like the Nerevarine - but hey, it's canon.

@haute ecole rider - At first I wasn't even going to spell out that Neht was Adryn, I figured it would be redundant the main reason I decided to do it was that I wasn't sure the code name thing would come across. And I'm glad you like my EC! I may have a weakness for female Redguard hero types, it's possible Julian is to blame...

@treydog - I'm glad you enjoyed! And glad you appreciate my jabs at two very annoying NPCs... Larrius Varro's "a little story" always got to me, like, what do you want me to do again?! Adryn was never ever taking that quest, so another unlucky soul got it... and as video game logic does not apply, the logical consequence of one person deciding to attack five followed. And I didn't do the Imperial Legion questline much, but it was enough to develop a serious dislike for Varus Vantinius. (Let's face it, once was enough.)

@ghastley - yeah, something I do try to keep in mind writing is that Adryn isn't special. (Well, except for in the sense of being Nerevar reborn, but outside some very high Temple ranks nobody knows about that part.) She is not the only person in the world capable of doing quests, and NPCs are not waiting around for her! They're handing their quests off to anyone likely passing through, others *are* the likely people passing through... and, of course, the Blades are not putting all their eggs in one basket.

And of course, as you've noticed Adryn has a very particular approach to quests. It's fun to bend some to try and find a non-combat solutions, but others are just too difficult to do that for or don't fit into my plot - so some poor anonymous guy gets Larrius Varro's "a little story".

Last installment, we looked in on Caius Cosades meeting up with the head of the Blades on Vvardenfell... also known as the Eternal Champion. Adryn would probably be surprised to hear this, since Caius introduced himself to her as the head of the Blades! And who knows what she'd make of the Eternal Champion But we've learned what we wanted to know from those two. What are other groups in Vvardenfell up to now that the quarantine has hit?

Interlude II.2
*****

Vos hadn't changed much since the last time Beyte had seen it. The behaviour of its people, on the other hand, seemed to have altered dramatically. True, t was an insular community, but she'd visited it reasonably often and had made inroads. The last time she'd been here – three months ago? four? - she'd been greeted with smiles by the docks. This time, nobody seemed to want to meet her eyes.

Beyte suspected she knew what was to blame.

"Could you please try to be a little less intimidating, Father?" She didn't bother trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice. "I wanted to talk to the townsfolk – I can't get any news if you scare them off."

Behind her, her father huffed. "Intimidating? I don't know what you're talking about."

You are wearing full Daedric armour, Father, what are you expecting? More to the point, who on Nirn would attack you?

But Father continued before she could assemble her response. "You forget I've been here fairly frequently of late. The people haven't hidden from me before – this is new." Out of the corner of her eye, Beyte could see his brows draw together in a frown. Then his forehead smoothed. "Ah, well. It's young Aryon's business. He's a good enough manager, all things considered. Has to make up for that terrible taste in architecture somehow."

Beyte, who had quite liked Tel Vos the one time she'd been there, prudently kept silent. She'd learned from Alfe and Father's example that there were times honesty had to take second place to familial harmony – her elder sister, of course, serving as an example of what not to do.

At the Vos Temple, they found the first person who greeted them properly.

"Master Fyr! And young Beyte, too. I trust you're well, my girl?"

Beyte couldn't stop the broad smile that spread across her face when she saw the white-haired figure in the entranceway, arms open in welcome. She accepted the offered embrace, kissing the healer on one whiskered cheek.

"Very well, Kena Bael, thank you. And yourself?"

Beyte had been sickly during her childhood (well, the equivalent thereof), something that had caused Father no end of worry at the time. The process used to create her and her sisters had been beyond experimental, the long-term effects more guesswork than well-founded science, and every cough and fever had made Father fear it was the start of a complete breakdown. The result had been frequent trips to Vos to see the greatest healer of Vvardenfell. The way he'd taken her entirely seriously even considering her physical and mental age at the time, along with (Beyte was forced to admit) his habit of sneaking boiled sugar-drops into her small palm, had cemented his position as one of her favorite people.

"Oh, I'm keeping well enough." Bael patted her cheek before he pulled back. "Although this quarantine has caused no end of work for me."

Beyte and Father traded glances. He looked as puzzled as she felt.

"Quarantine?" she ventured after a moment.

Bael looked between the both of them, eyebrows raised. "I suppose I shouldn't really be surprised." He pressed his lips together. "The Empire, in all their great wisdom, has decided that the threat of the Blight justifies quarantining the island of Vvardenfell. Nobody is to leave. Necessary supplies will be brought in by Hlaalu ships subject to the usual procedures."

A pause, dragging on, as Beyte attempted to digest that notion. It proved rather difficult.

"But... how can they possibly enforce that?"

"Oh, I'd imagine patrols around the coasts, long-range life detection spells-"

This didn't make matters any clearer. "But surely you could just teleport? Or go via Oblivion – I mean, anyone reasonably skilled at magic-"

Father cleared his throat. "I am beginning to think that I've given you a rather skewed view of typical mage capabilities, my dear." There was suppressed laughter in his voice. Beyte shot him a glare. He was the one who'd forbidden it when she'd asked to travel, it was hardly her fault if she was sheltered!

"Although you do bring up a good point, Beyte. They surely can't imagine the higher-ranking Telvanni will find a few ships much of an obstacle."

"Master Fyr, I'm afraid you'll have to ask someone else what our Imperial governors are thinking. All I can say is that I hope said Telvanni will respect the quarantine no matter how it is enforced." Bael gave the two of them a serious look.

"You think it's the correct decision, then?"

"It would certainly have been nice if I was consulted on the matter, but... yes. I do."

Yakin Bael had been a fixture in her life for as long as Beyte could remember. Now, for the first time, it struck her that he looked old. Old, and tired, and defeated. The thought made something unpleasant curl in her gut.

"The tests you suggested last time worked," the priest continued in a low tone. "And they showed Dagoth residue in the blood of the infected."

Understanding felt like ice water spreading through Beyte's veins. Beside her, Father stilled.

"You're sure."

"I ran the tests three times. Yes."

"And it couldn't have been contamination by the ambient-"

"Do I look like an amateur? Of course I isolated the samples beforehand."

Father blinked, clearly thrown off his stride. He was, Beyte suspected, not used to being interrupted. Apart from Alfe, she didn't know anyone who dared.

Beyte herself preferred making use of openings that arose naturally.

"Was it active?"

This, she felt, was the most important question of all. Bad enough the Blight was of no natural origin. If Dagoth Ur had direct influence on the course of the disease... perhaps even mental influence, like Father feared they would one day find in corprus...

Bael tilted his hand in a so-so gesture. "I don't think so. But the findings were... a little odd. I was going to run the tests again just now – I'd be very grateful for your assistance interpreting the results, if you'd care to give it."

Most people would have addressed that to her Father alone, but Bael knew the sort of work Beyte and her sisters did. His gaze made clear the request encompassed them both.

"We'd be glad to assist," Father, of course, answered for the two of them. It was a fair answer, as well – matters were clearly serious, and Beyte might be invaluable as a second pair of eyes with an in-depth knowledge of the effects of Dagoth influence on living organisms. Still, quietly, some part of her mourned the afternoon in town she'd been hoping for. Hairan would probably be wintering in Vos by now-

"Depending on the progress we make and the questions we uncover, you might still be able to visit town later today, Beyte."

He'd sworn it a failure, but sometimes Beyte really wondered if Father's experiments in acquired telepathy hadn't borne fruit after all. Especially when he winked at her. "You could stop by to meet that scout friend of yours in the tradehouse. Provided you promise not to do anything I wouldn't do, of course."

How was it possible that her face was on fire? Shouldn't being a Dunmer give you resistance to that sort of thing?

"Yes, Father! Thank you, Father! Let's go look at Kena Bael's labwork!"

Bael laughed as they made their way towards the Temple. There was something urgent, almost desperate about the sound, Beyte thought. As though he was latching onto any chance to be light-hearted he saw, out of worry there would be none to follow.

She shook the dark thought off. For now, they had samples to test. Beyte's flights of fancy, just as her hoped-for interlude with Hairan, would simply have to wait.

*****

Notes: So writing this section was... odd, and in a way depressing? I was planning to have a Telvanni interlude for reasons (one of which will become obvious in part 2 of Beyte's point of view next week) and when I started thinking about it Beyte basically started jumping up and down in my head going "pick me! pick me!" OK, fine-

And the instant I started writing her I realised I'd have to change her relationship with Divayth. Up until then I'd been going with the wink-wink nudge-nudge "daughters... and maybe wives?" thing that canon does, which I just sort of... skimmed over at the time, and skimmed over again when Adryn met Alfe Fyr. But writing from Beyte's pov I realised - holy hell, if she *is* actually Divayth's lover and he also made her and raised her and she's never lived anywhere else that is... such a horrible flagrant abuse of power I can't let it go past unchallenged? And I need Divayth Fyr as a benevolent, at most morally ambiguous character? And I don't actually want to write Beyte Fyr's escape from a quasi-incestuous abusive relationship in this story?!

So I have thrown canon's insinuations out the window, Divayth genuinely views Beyte and co. as his daughters and nothing else, maybe there are rumours they're more but there is zero truth to that!

The depressing part is that I didn't realise this until I started writing Beyte's point of view. :/

[SubRosa]

At first I thought the people of Vos were suspicious of strangers because Adryn had recently visited... But wearing a full suit of Daedric Armor? Of course that is going to terrify people!

This was a good interlude showing us the progress of corprus, something which Adryn cannot really see from her own point of view, at least not yet. Divayth Fyr was the perfect nexus point for this. Though I love seeing the scene from Beyte's point of view rather than his.

Like you, I find the idea of Divayth and his harem of daughter-wife clones to be extremely creepy. I prefer the change to a genuinely parental role, rather than predatory one.

[haute ecole rider]

As one who is not familiar at all with TESIII canon I had no idea Divath Fyr had a bunch of women working? living? sleeping? with him, and found your version of the relationship between him and Beyte (and Alfe in mention) quite normal. After all, some men have nothing but daughters, and have good relations with some, if not most of them. My Dad had three of us girls and it looked like no son, until my brother came along late in mom's childbearing life (she was 37). He was close to all of us, and proud of each of us in his own way.

I quite enjoyed the interplay between Beyte, healer Bael, and Divath Fyr himself as they discussed their research and the quarantine. I found myself wanting to hear more of said research and the disease (that's the medical professional talking), so I'm glad you said there is a Part 2 of this interlude coming up!

And this

How was it possible that her face was on fire? Shouldn't being a Dunmer give you resistance to that sort of thing?

cracked me up. I loved this poke at the game's sometimes stilted race perks.

[treydog]

Another vote for your version of the Divath/daughters relationship. I mean- cloning them was... odd. But then if he raised them in order to... yeah... just too creepy for me also. So THIS telling is much better- as well as making the hinted relationship a matter of Telvanni-bashing. Probably a Hlaalu invention? (Although- yeah, actually some of Divath's own dialogue suggests it).

And also a vote for the quote haute pulled. Made me laugh (as a pale-skinned Northern European sort, that blush reflex was the bane of my adolescence).

A wonderful Interlude, giving life to important characters- and done beautifully.

[Kazaera]

Glad to hear everyone is on the same page as me insofar de-creepifying Divayth + daughters a little!

@SubRosa - admittedly, this would also have been a good reason to be afraid of strangers! But I think neither the Daedric armour nor the announcement of quarantine helped.

@haute ecole rider - yeah, TESIII canon is like SubRosa mentioned - harem of daughter/wife clones he created himself by magic. Which, ew. I kept the daughter part and the clones part, but let's just keep this relationship familiar, shall we?

And I'm glad the magical medical research works for you! I find science super interesting and have Opinions on the use of scientific approaches in fantasy so it's probably not the last you'll see of it. In fact... if I can ask a favour? My own educational and professional background is really on the T and M side of STEM, so I'd be super grateful if you let me know if anything doesn't ring true from a medical perspective.

@treydog - oh, I like the Hlaalu invention idea! If you don't mind, I'll steal that (or the general concept, it developed as an anti-Telvanni rumour), in large part because I can already see the scene where Beyte is confronted with it in my mind and let me tell you, it is glorious. You're right that canon is fairly explicit here, but... canon? what is canon? we're writing fanfic here!

Anyway...

Last installment, we dropped in on Beyte Fyr, daughter (for a value of daughter that involves "magical cloning") of Divayth Fyr, as she and her father visited Vos. Beyte's plans got a little derailed by Yakin Bael, who asked them to help him in his Blight research. Let's have a look at how that's gone...

Interlude II.3
*****

Hours later, the sun had already fallen behind Red Mountain by the time Beyte left Bael's workshop. She was alone, the two men so deep into discussing the findings of the afternoon that she wasn't entirely sure they'd heard it when she told them where she was going. But even if Father was irritated when he noticed her absence, Beyte would hold firm. They didn't need her anymore, while she in turn desperately needed to clear her head.

The findings had been worrying, to say the least. Their worst fears had not been borne out, but the danger was there. The Blight essence they'd isolated hadn't been as merciless – as irreversible – in its effects as corprus, true. But it had proved just as resistant to the standard healing spells, and with a mutation rate that turned Bael's mouth into a grim line.

And unlike corprus, it was genuinely contagious.

Yet as she walked through Vos, Beyte's somber mood began to lighten under force of her usual sunny nature. After all, no one here was sick or dying, none of the Dagoth residue they'd isolated had been truly active, and even with the Restoration resistance Bael had professed himself optimistic he'd be able to develop a treatment for the latest strains. As for Beyte, the tradehouse would be open and selling mazte, and perhaps she'd still be able to catch up with Hairan there. There was no point ruining the remainder of the day by fretting over storm clouds on the horizon.

Besides, Father would fix it. It was what he did.

Lost in thought, stepping through the familiar streets of Vos, Beyte stopped paying attention to where she was going. This proved a problem when she rounded a corner into a side-street to find it already occupied.

"Sorry!" Beyte gasped out as she stumbled back.

Luckily, the man she'd just run into seemed to have weathered the collision with no harm other than a shock. Now he shot her a contemptuous look, lip curled. "Watch where you're going, girl." His voice was a hoarse rasp, as though he'd been ill. Perhaps that was the reason for his bad temper?

She bit down on a cutting retort, reminding herself that in this particular area, Alfe was not a role model to aspire to. "My apologies, I didn't see you there-"

"Wait a moment," the man's companion broke in. "You can't possibly be- Beyte? Is that you?"

Someone she knew? Beyte blinked, looking at the other man more closely. He was young and dark-haired, with a rakish goatee and golden rings gleaming with enchantment winding their way up one ear...

...she remembered those rings. It had taken him six attempts to get them right, and by the fourth he'd given up on keeping Beyte out of the workroom, telling her she could sit and watch as long as she stopped distracting him at a critical point, please Beyte, I know you've had Master Fyr's lectures on lab safety. She'd been much younger then... but, of course, so had he, a skinny teenager still hoping to put on a few inches, trying for a beard even then although at the time it would have more accurately been described as a few hairs with delusions of grandeur.

"...Aryon?" As soon as the last syllable left her mouth, she hastily corrected herself. "Master Aryon?" She might remember him as her father's gangly apprentice, but she'd heard enough to know he was a Council mage now – one who might not be amused by her lack of respect.

Thankfully, Aryon didn't seem offended by her slip. Instead, a wide smile spread across his face.

"It is you! I've heard people mention they've seen you around Vos, but we always seem to miss each other. You're looking very well." A considering pause. "Is your father around?"

"Yes, Master Aryon – he's with Kena Bael at the Temple. The Blight, you know."

Aryon frowned. "Ah... I'd hoped to catch him, ask him about a few things, but that sounds like something we really shouldn't disturb. Perhaps..." He snapped his fingers. "Actually, you might be able to help me, Beyte. Tiram, would you fill her in-"

The hoarse-voiced man had been standing to the side watching Beyte and Aryon converse with a grim look on his face. Now, his brows drew together.

"Master! You can't possibly expect me to tell such matters to some- some slip of a girl, a gossip no doubt-"

Aryon's expression stayed the same. Only his eyes changed, growing hard and flinty. Beyte, who remembered the temper he'd had when he was younger, watched in fascination.

"I haven't introduced you, have I?" His voice was still mild. "Beyte, Tiram Gadar. He works for me in... delicate matters, ones that require his presence here not to be spread around. But, of course, I trust your discretion. Tiram, Beyte Fyr."

Tiram Gadar did not have the control over his emotions Aryon had clearly learned, his expression growing steadily more thunderous with every word until the last. At that one, he paled.

"Fyr? As in... as in Divayth Fyr?"

"My father." Beyte shot the man a sunny smile.

In truth, watching people quiver in terror when they realised who she was related to had grown old by the time Aryon finished his apprenticeship if not before. Part of Beyte wished that one day she'd have made enough of a name for herself that someone would meet her and be in awe of her, not her family. But for the most part, Beyte prided herself on being optimistic but realistic, and she knew the shadow of Divayth Fyr was far too large for her to ever truly escape.

"I... see. You have my sincere apologies if I caused any offense, sera... Fyr."

Alfe and Delte would have let him stew for a while, but Beyte liked to think of herself as more merciful.

"No offense whatsoever."

"I see you're as kind as ever, Beyte." Aryon smiled at her. It froze on his face when he turned to Tiram Gadar. "Luckily for you, Tiram. For the record? I generally have reasons for the things I ask you to do, reasons you may not be privy to. Therefore, when I ask you to do something, I expect you to listen."

"Of- of course, Master Aryon. I- I beg pardon for my disobedience."

Aryon, Beyte noted, did not immediately grant that pardon. As mercy went, she remembered him as far more similar to her sisters than herself.

"As I was saying before we found ourselves sidetracked," Aryon went on serenely, "Tiram works for me in the realm of... covert information acquisition. And he stumbled across a tale involving Tel Fyr. Now, you understand that the last thing I want to do is pry into your family's affairs, but I am a member of the Council and I am simply forced to make inquiries when I hear about..."

He trailed off, giving Tiram Gadar a significant look.

"According to my sources," the man picked up the thread, "two weeks ago a small group including two Mages' Guild members rescued a member of House Redoran who was being held captive in Tel Fyr?"

The professional demeanour was offset by the way he couldn't help but make it into a question at the end.

"Oh," Beyte said with feeling. "That mess."

A pause.

"I wasn't aware your father was in the habit of abducting members of other Houses." Aryon's voice was exquisitely polite. "I mean, apparently Neloth also had a Redoran captive, but from him one expects that sort of thing... anyway! I found myself forced to wonder whether your father might..." he licked his lips, "be developing political interests."

Beyte could feel undercurrents swirling beneath her in this conversation, ready to drag her into the depths. Sadly, she had no idea what they were. For a moment, she wished fiercly that Delte were here.

Well, absent her more politically minded sister, she'd just have to be honest and hope it would be enough.

"Nothing like that – she came to us, in fact. Uupse found her sniffing around, and we decided to stick her in a cell for a few days as a lesson. I mean, you know we're open to the public, but only within reason! She was actually at the entrance to the Corprusarium. We wanted to drive the lesson home. Then..."

Beyte rubbed the back of her head in embarrassment as she remembered. "Well, there was that riot among the new intake, and then Father accidentally stranded half the tower in the Coloured Rooms, and... between one thing another, to be honest I plain forgot. It's a good thing the food, water and waste disposal enchantments work automatically! So really, the ones who rescued her did us a bit of a favour... aha... ha..."

Her sheepish laugh trailed off into silence.

Aryon heaved a sigh. "If you were anyone else, I'd be skeptical... but that does all sound fairly typical for Tel Fyr. Well, then. If that's how it is, there's no point in wasting your time." He looked disappointed. Beyte, who had absolutely no idea why that should be the case, once more found herself wishing frantically for Delte's presence. "Although... one last thing?"

"Of course, Master Aryon."

"Tiram, you mentioned something about an artifact stolen from Tel Fyr?"

The man jerked to attention. "Ah – yes, sir. A propylon index, which the- the culprits used to escape."

"I believe," Aryon said with a smile, "I remember the item in question. An inscribed crystal, on the shelf in the third storage room, correct?"

Beyte nodded, wary. Rare magical artifacts were something Tel Fyr had in abundance, but she and Delte together had tried to keep something of a catalog going ever since the incident involving Dawnbreaker and the Necromancer's Amulet which had led to not just the loss of both items but also the need to regrow the entire southeastern tower-pod. Besides, the index had caught her attention even before, from the time she'd walked in one day to find Father holding the thing with something achingly far away in his gaze.

Why Aryon was familiar with it, of course, was another question altogether.

"Tiram is in a position to be able to retrieve it, and punish the thief." Tiram made a protesting noise, which cut off rapidly when Aryon shot him a look. "You only need to tell me if you think your father would desire it. Call it a favour on my part."

Beyte considered this.

It would only be fair, she knew. Stealing from Tel Fyr was –

Well, really, stealing from Tel Fyr wasn't forbidden per se. After all, Father found adventurers amusing and had expressed several times that he felt a particularly good performance deserved a reward. But those were always – unimportant things, not ones her father had a clear sentimental attachment to. It would only be right to make an example. Alfe or Delte wouldn't even hesitate.

But it was Beyte standing here now, Beyte who led lost scribs back to their nest and still cried when reading Mystery of Talara. And Beyte didn't like the cold look in Aryon's eyes. Didn't like the thought of this Mages' Guild girl, whoever she was – this girl Beyte arguably owed a favour – being subject to whatever he decided was suitable punishment.

Alfe would call her unbearably soft-hearted. Beyte had given up protesting. In truth, she didn't think it was such a bad thing.

"No," Beyte said after a long moment of silence. "No, I don't think that will be necessary, Master Aryon, but thank you very much for the offer."

Aryon's eyebrows rose fractionally. "As you wish, Beyte. The offer remains open – please do let me know if you change your mind." Hidden behind the words: if your father disagrees.

Beyte felt her smile sharpen. From the corner of her eye, she saw Gadar blanch. He'd met her father, then – Beyte had seen this expression in her mirror before, knew it threw their resemblance into sharp relief.

"I assure you that I will not." You are speaking to me, not Father.

Though the resemblance must have struck him as strongly as his spy, Aryon kept his composure. After a beat, he dipped his head in a nod – one deeper and more respectful than any he'd ever given her before.

"My apologies for the presumption, Beyte. I did not mean to give offence."

Beyte's hidden dreams of making a name for herself in her own right rose once again. Suddenly, they no longer seemed quite so far out of reach. "None taken."

"I must say, Beyte, it's been a true pleasure to speak to you and see who you've become. I hope it won't be a singular occurrence. Might I see you around Vos more often, in the future?"

And the undercurrents were back, opaque to her as always. Perhaps, Beyte thought, if she were to truly pursue that dream she'd need to take some lessons from Delte. For now, all she could do was answer honestly.

"Perhaps later, but not in the near future. I will be travelling." She couldn't keep a touch of relish out of her voice at the words. The circumstances might not be what she had hoped for, but still – Father had relented.

"All the best on your journeys, then, and I shall hope we meet again once they are concluded," Aryon responded. "Do give my regards to your father and sisters before you leave. The doors of Vos, and of course of Tel Vos, are always open to any of you."

"I'll do that. Thank you very much, Master Aryon." The smile she gave him this time was more typical of her, sunny and warm with no edge of threat.

Beyte remained where she was even as Aryon and Gadar continued on their way. Despite herself, her eyes drifted up to Red Mountain, a hulking shadow against sunset's last rays.

The day had brought a cloudless blue sky, and even in the evening the air was clear enough that she could make out the glimmer of the Ghostfence in the distance. For a moment, she simply gazed towards the white-blue glow, let her eyes drift upwards from there to the dark clouds that always hid the mountain's peak no matter how good the weather. Idly, she imagined that if only she stared long and hard enough she might be able to pierce that veil and see all the way into that blighted region. Might be able to see the being whose power lay at the heart of each and every one of the Blight essences she'd spent the afternoon so carefully extracting... was threaded through every single person who dwelled in the Corprusarium.

Whose influence, this afternoon had proven beyond doubt, was slowly but certainly spreading beyond the barrier meant to keep it in.

Then she shook her head firmly to dismiss her flight of fancy and turned to make her way to the tradehouse.

*****

Notes: So I know a lot of my readers haven't actually played Morrowind themselves. I'm delighted that my story has such widespread appeal and it's generally not a problem to explain things as I go along, especially since Adryn herself started the fic completely ignorant. That said, one of the reasons for the interlude was that I looked back on what I'd written and went "......you know, I should probably let the people who haven't played the Mages' Guild questline in on the fact that Tiram Gadar is a Telvanni spy."

The generally unexpected side-effect being that Beyte is now making a bid to become a recurring character - she came out with all that stuff about travelling and wanting to make a name for herself all on her own as I stood by going "but... none of that is in my notes..."

[SubRosa]

His voice was a hoarse rasp
Isn't every male Dunmer's voice a hoarse rasp?

I loved the little trip down memory lane with now Master Aryon, then gangly slip of an apprentice with dreams of beardy grandeur.

Ah, so it is circling back to Adryn's misadventures at Tel Fyr.

How kind of Adryn to steal a propylon index to escape!

Now I really want to see more of Beyte in the future. I really enjoyed how you described these last two episodes from her point of view.




nit?
and... between one thing another
This sounds a little odd. Perhaps you meant one thing and another?

[treydog]

but, of course, so had he, a skinny teenager still hoping to put on a few inches, trying for a beard even then although at the time it would have more accurately been described as a few hairs with delusions of grandeur.

I only have to look back some... (number larger than 30 but smaller than 60) years to recall my own laughable attempt at a mustache...

And more excellent Morrowindian factional background, as Lord Fyr investigates the causes and impacts of Blight diseases... With the additional seasoning of Telvanni infighting, plus the battles between the other Houses and the Guilds....

Adryn seems to have an ability to cause people to decide on mercy- of course, Beyte's own personality has a lot to do with that....

When a character for whom you have planned a "cameo" or "bit part" takes over the page, the best thing you can do is listen to her.... Beyte's story promises to be most interesting.

As to making use of the "Hlaalu Misinformation" concept, please do.

[haute ecole rider]

I have to admit that of all your secondary characters so far, I am in love with Beyte. A smart girl, humble but with dreams of her own . . . I can relate to that! I really enjoyed her interaction with Master Aryon and Tiram the Spy. This holds promise as a story of its own - be careful there!

If you don't mind, I'll steal that (or the general concept, it developed as an anti-Telvanni rumour), in large part because I can already see the scene where Beyte is confronted with it in my mind and let me tell you, it is glorious.

Now I want to see you follow this rabbit hole!

[Kazaera]

@all - glad to know Beyte has captured people's hearts! This feedback will be taken into account in further planning

@SubRosa - yeah, I couldn't resist showing the Telvanni viewpoint on Adryn's most recent misadventures! And thank you for pointing out the typo, will fix

@treydog - who could say no to more Telvanni infighting, after all! And re: Beyte, this is really more of her own character shining through - Adryn got really lucky regarding which sister Aryon intercepted. (Although I actually suspect Divayth Fyr himself might have reacted the same way.)

@haute ecole rider - super glad to hear you like Beyte, she's also really grown on me! Honestly, if I could write more quickly, the temptation to create a few spin-offs would be nearly irresistible - next to Beyte, Jamie is also up to interesting things on the island, and although I suck at getting Varvur back on page I think he's undergoing some fast-paced character development right now. Alas, Adryn's tale is long enough that that's where it'll stay... but I think she and Beyte may yet find themselves crossing paths.

Last section, we got to see Beyte Fyr chat with Master Aryon of the Telvanni Council (although Beyte herself knew him as a not nearly so impressive figure) as well as one Tiram Gadar, Telvanni working in the realm of covert information acquisition and definitely not someone we'd met before in this fic. Let's see if we see Beyte again. For now, there's one person we haven't looked in on in a while who is very interested in how Adryn is doing...

Interlude II.4
*****

"Here – that's all I could make."

"Thank you, Sosia." Methal smiled at the Imperial as she showed him the stack of bottles. "You've been a great help. Now, would you put those into the small storeroom and start on cure disease potions? We should have more than enough willow anther and chokeweed in stock, but Danoso will be able to help you if anything is running low."

"Of course, Brother. Almsivi's blessings on you."

Sosia was very respectful for someone who was not just unaligned, but an outlander, Methal thought as he looked after her. The Temple could use more like her, especially in current times.

But speaking of current times, he had somewhere to be.

Methal nodded to young Danoso and Ureso as he passed them, making sure to project calm and reassurance with the gesture. The announcement of the quarantine had shocked all of Ald'ruhn, and especially the novices were still out of sorts. Methal, whose long life had taught him that panicking was the worst thing one could do in this sort of situation, was doing his best to offer them some stability. Ordinarily, he would spend the whole afternoon in the common areas, doing his best to be a rock in the storm for the highly-strung young ones. Today he had other plans.

Methal's quarters were spare, a cot with a simple nightstand in a room so narrow he could stretch out his hands and touch the walls to either side. Once upon a time, he remembered, he'd laid claim to a building nearly as large as Ald'ruhn Temple itself. His closet alone had almost been larger than this space, his sheets silk and velvet as opposed to scratchy wool.

He didn't miss those times. Now, privileges of rank gave him all he needed: a room of his own, with a door that locked.

He made use of the second property now, jiggling the rusty key until it turned, then reached beneath the bed. A small wooden box emerged, one that only opened after Methal stroked the top with fingers glowing purple. He was very, very careful when withdrawing the crystal within. It was one of the only ones of its kind left, Methal knew, and the one who'd made them had been either unwilling or unable to create replacements for quite some time.

Of course, perhaps that would change soon.

Methal set the crystal on the nightstand, then – gently – reached out to it with a spark of his magicka. He closed his eyes as the world swirled around him, fighting down rising queasiness. This form of teleportation had never quite agreed with him.

When he opened his eyes, he was in a round chamber larger than the one he had left, one bare of all furnishings except the model – if one could call it that – of Vvardenfell hovering in the air near its center. Two figures awaited him, one standing at the side, the other hovering cross-legged over the dais in the middle.

Methal knelt before his god.

Vivec did not react. His eyes were closed, and Methal could sense that almost all of His attention was fixed elsewhere – on Baar Dau, on the Ghostfence, on the people of Vvardenfell – with only a sliver remaining here.

That was all right, of course. Methal was no longer so arrogant as to demand a response.

"Blessings of Almsivi be on you, Methal," the other figure in the room spoke. "How are things in Ald'ruhn?"

"Tholer." Methal gave his friend a welcoming nod. "As well as can be expected. House Redoran declared martial law after the news broke – a prudent response, in my opinion, when one hears about what almost happened here. Or did happen in Balmora."

Tholer's mouth twisted. "Feldrelo informed us, yes. Did you know part of the mob even set foot in the Temple courtyard? None gained entry to the Temple itself, but there was damage done to the exterior and they were forced to disable the Intervention point for a time."

Methal frowned. "I hadn't heard that. It's worryingly disrespectful, if you ask me. Tempers are high, true, but none of the pious should let that stand as an excuse for blasphemy."

"Exactly my view! I told Feldrelo to demand harsh punishments, but-"

The air around them grew heavy. Tholer's voice cut off mid-sentence as the two priests made their obeisance to their waking god.

On the dais, Vivec's eyes opened.

"How is Nerevar?"

Methal raised his head from the flagstones as he gathered his thoughts. It only took a moment – after all, this was the true reason he had come.

"I believe the plan is starting to work. She appears increasingly positively inclined towards us, and as of recently has been convinced to join the Temple as a lay member. Last I heard, she was going to start on the pilgrimages." He did not try to keep the satisfaction out of his voice. The whole thing was, after all, quite a coup.

However, Methal could not stop worry replacing triumph in his next words. "That said... I'm not entirely certain what became of her after the quarantine was announced. She's not in Ald'ruhn."

He prayed she had not been on the mainland. The girl had never seemed interested in leaving the island – Methal suspected she was running from something, although their investigations had not yet turned up what – but something as simple as a day trip by guild guide to Almalexia could be the ruin of their plans.

His prayers were answered. "He is here," Vivec spoke.

"In the city?" Blessed relief swirled through him, washing away tension he hadn't even realised he was carrying.

Vivec did not respond to the impertinent question, his eyes sliding shut again. The energy in the air remained, however, his attention like a physical force.

"She was at the High Fane when the quarantine was announced," Tholer responded in the god's place. "I didn't intervene directly, as you recommended. From the reports, she was doing the pilgrimages."

Methal couldn't stop a smile at this independent confirmation of what he'd heard from young Ervesa. Tholer, however, was looking pensive. "In the last report you sent, you said she was still very reluctant to commit to the Temple. What changed?"

"An encounter with her ancestors, from the sounds of it. She chanced across her ancestral tomb and would like to know her family."

This was an explanation any Dunmer could respect, and indeed Tholer nodded to hear it. But there was still a faint crease between his brows, and he asked, "Isn't that dangerous for us? If she should discover herself a member of a strong clan, one eager to take her in..."

He trailed off, but the implication was clear: it suited none of them for this new Nerevar to have any other sources of support. The Sarethi connection was already unfortunate, one Methal was frustrated to say that he could think of no way to negate without unduly drastic measures. Tholer was correct that blood kin could pose an even bigger problem, especially if they proved unfriendly towards the Temple.

Except that Tholer did not have all the facts.

Methal closed his eyes. He had always had an excellent memory for faces, and one now swam before him against the red of his eyelids. The woman was older than young Adryn, with straight crimson hair cropped close to her ears in place of Adryn's coppery mess and bearing a confident grin that he had never seen on the girl... but all the same, the resemblance could not be denied.

"I'd had a fair idea of her heritage already. The tomb only served to confirm it. You are right in that it is not one that would serve our interests... but I am certain I can divert her."

He opened his eyes to find Tholer looking at him consideringly. Passing unspoken between them: deliberately keeping a seeker from their ancestors was blasphemy of the highest order.

But, of course, it was not the worst thing either of them had done for their god.

"If you say so." Tholer still sounded skeptical. It was refreshing – to Methal's eternal annoyance, most of those who knew his past were afraid to openly disagree with him. "Although I must admit I still have misgivings about this plan of yours. We know Nerevar can become hugely dangerous to us once the memories come, no matter how harmless his appearance now. With the Sharmat gaining strength, we cannot afford a war on two fronts. It would be so much safer to deal with the potential threat in a more... direct fashion."

The face in Methal's mind changed, became even clearer, the force of twenty years' nightmares giving depth and detail to the visage he saw now. This woman bore no physical resemblance to Adryn, with darker skin, a broader build, and wavy brown-black hair tied back in a single braid. Said braid was threaded with carved beads, tribal tattoos on cheeks and forehead completing the image of an Urshilaku Ashlander. The eyes, too, were different, round and surrounded by thick lashes, the irises a red almost dark enough to be black. Yet somehow, something in them reminded him unerringly of the girl he'd met on the back of a strider.

Well. It was hardly surprising, was it.

"We've learned that, even with the memories, Nerevar's early experiences can strongly influence his later actions," Methal said, trying to push that accusing gaze back down into his subconscious. Peakstar's presence in his dreams was acceptable – her memory (his guilt) intruding on his waking life was not. "I would simply like to see whether we can make that work to our advantage for once, instead of our detriment."

"But the risk-"

"You will proceed as agreed. Watch him, but take no action against Nerevar without my word."

Vivec's words ended the argument, Tholer bowing his head in submission and apology. Despite the fact that he had intervened in the conversation, the god's eyes did not open, and the heavy atmosphere lightened if anything – as though his attention were wavering, shifting to a far distant place and time.

"I love Nerevar."

Methal could not stop himself from shooting an alarmed glance at Tholer, who spent far more time with their god. They were not owed any explanation, so why was Vivec was providing one? And more, doing so as if Vivec were speaking to himself? It did not bode well.

"I wish him nothing but the best. It grieves me deeply to be forced to kill him. And yet..."

Tholer met Methal's gaze, expressionless. Behind him, Vivec's eyes opened again, brilliant gold and glaring red, their light stripping Methal down to his stained and battered soul.

"It grows easier every time."

*****

[haute ecole rider]

ooooh!

And the plot thickens!

Poor Adryn! One almost feels sorry for her. However, I've read enough of this story to know that she will get out of it with her usual aplomb! In fact, should we start feeling sorry for Methal, Tholer and even Lord Vivec for daring to tangle with our favorite Dunmer heroine?

[SubRosa]

Vivec. This cannot be good. Oh boy is Adryn in it now. This really puts a new perspective on things. At least at this point they are still thinking they can manipulate Adryn, rather than jumping straight to killing her, like all the other Nerevarines. At this point.

Hopefully one day Adryn will wreak a terrible vengeance upon them all...