Chapter 7: New faces with something old.
A few days later, we were all back at Ebonheart. Leroth was jumping all around me while Zarador stood next to the mirror and watched on. He laughed at the Bosmer’s antics and shifted the bandage around his head back into place.
“Leroth! What is all this for? And finally, why did you guys make my ears grow pointy?!” I stammered. My ears were now indeed pointed, like an elf. I doubted it was a temporary change.
Looking in the mirror, I barely recognized myself. Using Zarador’s questionable ‘beard’ spell, I had produced a wealthy beard, which I instantly trimmed down to a more manageable volume. Zarador was a nice guy, but he was a bit crazy at times. Spending decades just to learn how to magically grow a beard could not be considered normal. It did look intimidating though. Gone was the quivering kid from the eggmine. I looked like a man twice my age. It didn’t change my length, though.
And then the clothes. They were fit for a king, to say the least. Black satin with golden embroidery. Heavy golden bracelets which Zarador had enchanted with some minor shield spells just because he could. A necklace of Ebony, and an Ebony walking-stick with a silver grip at the end. Only a handfull of people knew that the silver grip was actually the hilt of my rapier.
“Hush, young man. Let me look at you. Yes, you look just fine. Now get going, we’ve arranged a grand ball in your honour.” The Bosmer replied after a long wait.
“Ball?” I blurted out.
“Work on your manners, my friend. We originally planned to have the Nerevarine as guest of honour yet he isn’t here. So we settled for the next best thing. Now go out there and behave like the king you are. Forgeheart is behind the throne should you somehow need it.” Zarador quipped.
I was utterly confused right now. There was something going on here, a game that had not been explained to me. In times like these, I would just have to improvise. And why had Forgeheart been hidden behind the Duke’s throne? Was such a measure truly necessary? With that sword, I could freeze over the entire castle. It was too scary to use. And speaking about the Duke, why hadn’t I seen him yet? After all I’d done, at least a debriefing would be expected. Yet none of it. And finally, why did Zarador call me a king?
The two elves shoved me out of the door and closed it behind me. I could hear a lock clicking into place. Ok, so I wasn’t supposed to go back and change into my usual attire. Ok, the message was clear. I moved down the corridor towards the stairs that would take me to the main throne-room. Maybe I could find out what was going on.
The stairs turned out to be blocked by a woman. Looking upon her Dunmeri features, I realized that she looked oddly familiar. As if the duke suddenly switched genders and lost a few years. I bowed down.
“Milady. I hope you are doing well.” I said politely, staring at my own shoes and wondering how long these extravagant frills would last in the cold snow of Solstheim.
“I am doing well, thank you. And speak normal, noble doesn’t suit you. Please, call me Ilmeni.” The woman giggled.
Ilmeni Dren turned around and went down the stairs, beckoning me to follow.
“Listen, the houses have been kept in an uneasy balance by Dagoth Ur. With him gone and the Nerevarine out of the picture as well, there is nothing to keep them from falling on each other like hungry wolves. The Duke has come up with a plan. That is where you come in, lord Dwemer.” She said softly, pausing whenever we passed a near invisible peekhole. I was beginning to see the plan now and understood why I was dressed like this, why I had to grow a beard and why we were having a ball.
“I will present myself as the lord of a reborn House Dwemer. With several thousand Centurions at my command, a number that grows each day, I can serve as the counterweight and fill up the void Dagoth Ur left behind.” I interupted the Duke’s daughter.
“That is correct.”
Ilmeni dropped the subject and we chattered about inconsequential things all the way to the throne room. Inconsequential in that they were only meant to keep the spies distracted. I suppose we could sweep the place and clean out any foreign spies but that would only be messy. So we tolerated them, out of necesity.
The throne room was filled with a large assortment of nobles, who all took at least one glance at the short newcomer, some longer than others. Ilmeni picked up the pace and elegantly strode over to her father, who stood up out of his throne and embraced her. The Duchess who I’d never seen before did the same thing. It was both a sign of tenderness and a cold political act. Or perhaps not cold, because it could also be translated as follows.
“This is my daughter, who I love. Hurt her, and I shall hunt you forever and make you beg for death.”
I followed at a slower pace, both out of political correctness and because I was a bit nervous with that big crowd. Five steps away from the throne, I made a slight bow to the Duke, his wife and Ilmeni. Slight, because I’d begun to play the game. It was a sign to those looking on that I respected the Duke as a host and an equal, but not necessarily my superior. If I was to revive House Dwemer, I had to act it.
“Duke Dren, I thank you for your invitation.” I spoke solemnly. There was no invitation, but that was one of those things that had to be covered up.
The Duke made the exact same bow I’d made earlier, another sign.
“I welcome you, lord Dumac of House Dwemer, to my humble abode.” Inwardly, I relished a mental grin at the collective gasp that drew through the room. Yes, lord Dumac had returned. I felt the slight tug of Magicka being used. Someone had recalled out of the room, a great breach of protocol. So the game was now in full swing.
The Duke turned to his other guests.
“And to you, I extend my welcome as well. Allow me to introduce, my friend and ally, lord Dumac of House Dwemer.” He spoke loudly.
“Friend and ally. Heh, it never harms to look out for yourself, milord.”
The nobles were in a hushed yet frantic discussion. I could pick up a few words.
“Dumac?”
“Is he crazy?”
“But the Dwemer are gone, right?”
“Maybe not, just look at him. Pale skin, beard, elven ears. He looks like a Dwemer. And aren’t they called Dwarves by some?”
There was another tug of Magicka. Someone had returned. No, two had returned. Dren moved closer to me without anyone noticing.
“I’ve been hearing rumours about those two for a long time. I leave this up to you.” He whispered. I wondered who he meant. The doors swung open and I laid my eyes on….a very familiar face.
I looked on in silence as the two made their way towards the throne. One I knew only from reports. Divayth Fyr, one of the oldest and arguably the most powerful mage in House Telvanni. Fortunately for us, also one of the most isolationist. Till now, it seemed. The other, was a man I’d known long before. Or rather, a man I’d known when I still carried the name of Dumac.
The two stopped before the Duke, but I knew that their eyes were on me.
“Duke, allow me to introduce a friend of mine who has spent the last few years in my Corprusarium. Yagrum Bagarn. I must leave now. Farewell.” Divayth spoke with no modesty whatsoever and poofed away. Yagrum exchanged some smalltalk and then had himself escorted to a room, claiming he was still weak from his miraculously cured Corprus.
“A real Dwemer. Talk about timing. He might cause trouble. Want me to….deal with him?” Fargoth whispered behind my back. He then extended a plate with several glasses into my view. I couldn’t quite imagine Fargoth as a servant, but he probably pulled it off quite well. I took a glass of wine and pretended to thank him for it.
“No, everything’s under control. Let him do whatever he wants.” I whispered back in reality.
I kept to myself at first. I mingled in enough to play my role, but not so much that I’d risk making a slip. I also danced a few times with Ilmeni, who taught me a few new tricks on the spot. I hadn’t danced since before I died. Though the Floating Butterfly style did bear some resemblance, so it wasn’t that hard to get back into it. I was a bit distracted though, both with Yagrum Bagarn in the back of my head and the prospect of an assassin on my doorstep every morning.
A few hours later, the ball was beginning to calm down, for which I was grateful. I was tired and bored, two things that don’t go well with the act I was playing. I played with the full glass of wine I’d taken from Fargoth hours ago and asked myself if I should drink it or remain sober. From the corner of my eyes, I saw two Bosmer approach, one dressed like a noble and the other in a dress with markings that looked distinctly magelike to me.
“Good evening, sir. I must say that I am honoured to meet the famous king of the Dwemer. I am Leroth and this here is Galbedir, my wife-to-be.” He spoke courteously. I took a double-take on the woman he was with. It was indeed Galbedir, the Bosmer I’d brought him in touch with. I wondered if spying and being married went together but kept that question to myself.
“The honour is mine. I wish you a very joyous and long life.” I replied with a polite nod. So now I was acting formal to old friends. That was a bit annoying. But I couldn’t let Galbedir know I was the kid from the Balmora mage guild.
“You have grown a lot, Ro-El. The beard looks cute.” Galbedir whispered and winked. So she did know. Hell, I bet she’d been drafted into the order just because she was Leroth’s ‘totally hot Bosmer chick’. In that case, no need to play around.
“It’s a new one to me. Since it’s created through magicka, I don’t know if I need a knife or a spell to shave.” I laughed, but still making sure I kept my voice down.
“Anyway, this Yagrum Bagarn fellow has been asking for a conversation with Dumac. He’ll meet you on the northern balcony.” Leroth whispered, casting a few quick glances at a Telvanni. He was with a member of the mage guild, so some wariness around Galbedir’s great rivals was not out of place.
I said my farewell to the happy couple and casually slinked to curtains hanging behind the throne. When no one was looking, I grabbed Forgeheart and vanished in the servant’s corridor just behind the throne, giving the signal to the guards who were hidden there. They stepped aside and allowed me to pass. Now safely hidden from prying eyes, I attached the scabbard to my back. Holding Dumac’s sword would make it easier to convince Yagrum of my identity.
Yagrum said nothing at first when I joined him. He simply looked me over with a blank expression, lingering on the hilt of Forgeheart for a while. Time had not been kind to him. While once he was a cranky old man, now he looked like a pile of half-rotten fat slapped on top of a giant spider Centurion.
“So you’re Dumac. I don’t know if I should believe that. If you are, you’ve changed. If you’re not, you act like a good impostor.” He finally said.
“Hello, Bagarn.” I replied with the same neutral tone.
Yagrum Bagarn turned away and gazed over the land.
“It has been so long since I saw the sky. The land has changed. Does anyone remember me?” He spoke to himself, using the Dwemer language.
“I do.” I replied. His eyes shot to me, the confusion at hearing someone actually speak Dwemer clearly evident.
“Then what do you remember, lord?” He asked, slipping back into Tamriellic.
“Not much, a few vague pictures and feelings.” I answered, slipping back to Tamriellic as well.
For a moment, we were both silent again and watched the moons in the nightsky.
“You know, I made a promise.” I said softly while I leaned on the railing. I saw a cloaked man move through the streets below, heading for the harbour.
“What kind of promise, lord?” Yagrum asked without looking at me.
“Remember Forgeheart, Yagrum?” I asked in return.
“Forgeheart….yes, I do. I remember how Kagrenac slaved on it for days without rest. It was his masterpiece, one of the six great tools of Lorkhan. That’s what he called it and its siblings. Now though, this sounds like nonsense. The heart is no more. I felt its demise. We all did.”
I shook my head.
“No, not all of us did. I didn’t, and ended up trying to fight Dagoth Ur a day after he’d been killed. After risking my life again and again, it was a bit of an anti-climax to be honest.” I said.
“Now what was this promise?” Yagrum asked again.
“I promised that I would right the wrongs that had been committed against Dwemer like Nebrighk. I swore it on Forgeheart.” I told him. I was still following the cloaked man with my eyes, and was now also looking at the shadow that seemed to follow him. We were silent again. I knew I had convinced him that I really was Dumac the moment I spoke Dwemer.
I raised my voice.
“You there! Behind you!” I shouted and pointed at the shadow. The cloaked man didn’t look at me as I’d expected, but immediately turned on the assassin that had been stalking him. I watched the battle that began to unfold.
“That is a fine promise, but I fear it has little use. What good would it do those of us who are gone? No one has been called Kagrenac since Red Mountain. Since the day the Dwemer perished.” Yagrum said, apparently unconcerned with the battle raging below.
“Yeah, no one will really feel better if I avenge the Dwemer.” I muttered.
“And what is there to avenge? They could have chosen immortality, yet they chose for an eternal sleep. I must go now, lord. I am tired.” Yagrum Bagarn said and began to walk back to the door a few steps away.
“I never break a promise, neither the one I made to Nebrighk, nor the one I made to you…..Kagrenac.” I spoke solemnly and pulled Forgeheart free from the block of frozen flesh and steel.
The End.
A few days later, we were all back at Ebonheart. Leroth was jumping all around me while Zarador stood next to the mirror and watched on. He laughed at the Bosmer’s antics and shifted the bandage around his head back into place.
“Leroth! What is all this for? And finally, why did you guys make my ears grow pointy?!” I stammered. My ears were now indeed pointed, like an elf. I doubted it was a temporary change.
Looking in the mirror, I barely recognized myself. Using Zarador’s questionable ‘beard’ spell, I had produced a wealthy beard, which I instantly trimmed down to a more manageable volume. Zarador was a nice guy, but he was a bit crazy at times. Spending decades just to learn how to magically grow a beard could not be considered normal. It did look intimidating though. Gone was the quivering kid from the eggmine. I looked like a man twice my age. It didn’t change my length, though.
And then the clothes. They were fit for a king, to say the least. Black satin with golden embroidery. Heavy golden bracelets which Zarador had enchanted with some minor shield spells just because he could. A necklace of Ebony, and an Ebony walking-stick with a silver grip at the end. Only a handfull of people knew that the silver grip was actually the hilt of my rapier.
“Hush, young man. Let me look at you. Yes, you look just fine. Now get going, we’ve arranged a grand ball in your honour.” The Bosmer replied after a long wait.
“Ball?” I blurted out.
“Work on your manners, my friend. We originally planned to have the Nerevarine as guest of honour yet he isn’t here. So we settled for the next best thing. Now go out there and behave like the king you are. Forgeheart is behind the throne should you somehow need it.” Zarador quipped.
I was utterly confused right now. There was something going on here, a game that had not been explained to me. In times like these, I would just have to improvise. And why had Forgeheart been hidden behind the Duke’s throne? Was such a measure truly necessary? With that sword, I could freeze over the entire castle. It was too scary to use. And speaking about the Duke, why hadn’t I seen him yet? After all I’d done, at least a debriefing would be expected. Yet none of it. And finally, why did Zarador call me a king?
The two elves shoved me out of the door and closed it behind me. I could hear a lock clicking into place. Ok, so I wasn’t supposed to go back and change into my usual attire. Ok, the message was clear. I moved down the corridor towards the stairs that would take me to the main throne-room. Maybe I could find out what was going on.
The stairs turned out to be blocked by a woman. Looking upon her Dunmeri features, I realized that she looked oddly familiar. As if the duke suddenly switched genders and lost a few years. I bowed down.
“Milady. I hope you are doing well.” I said politely, staring at my own shoes and wondering how long these extravagant frills would last in the cold snow of Solstheim.
“I am doing well, thank you. And speak normal, noble doesn’t suit you. Please, call me Ilmeni.” The woman giggled.
Ilmeni Dren turned around and went down the stairs, beckoning me to follow.
“Listen, the houses have been kept in an uneasy balance by Dagoth Ur. With him gone and the Nerevarine out of the picture as well, there is nothing to keep them from falling on each other like hungry wolves. The Duke has come up with a plan. That is where you come in, lord Dwemer.” She said softly, pausing whenever we passed a near invisible peekhole. I was beginning to see the plan now and understood why I was dressed like this, why I had to grow a beard and why we were having a ball.
“I will present myself as the lord of a reborn House Dwemer. With several thousand Centurions at my command, a number that grows each day, I can serve as the counterweight and fill up the void Dagoth Ur left behind.” I interupted the Duke’s daughter.
“That is correct.”
Ilmeni dropped the subject and we chattered about inconsequential things all the way to the throne room. Inconsequential in that they were only meant to keep the spies distracted. I suppose we could sweep the place and clean out any foreign spies but that would only be messy. So we tolerated them, out of necesity.
The throne room was filled with a large assortment of nobles, who all took at least one glance at the short newcomer, some longer than others. Ilmeni picked up the pace and elegantly strode over to her father, who stood up out of his throne and embraced her. The Duchess who I’d never seen before did the same thing. It was both a sign of tenderness and a cold political act. Or perhaps not cold, because it could also be translated as follows.
“This is my daughter, who I love. Hurt her, and I shall hunt you forever and make you beg for death.”
I followed at a slower pace, both out of political correctness and because I was a bit nervous with that big crowd. Five steps away from the throne, I made a slight bow to the Duke, his wife and Ilmeni. Slight, because I’d begun to play the game. It was a sign to those looking on that I respected the Duke as a host and an equal, but not necessarily my superior. If I was to revive House Dwemer, I had to act it.
“Duke Dren, I thank you for your invitation.” I spoke solemnly. There was no invitation, but that was one of those things that had to be covered up.
The Duke made the exact same bow I’d made earlier, another sign.
“I welcome you, lord Dumac of House Dwemer, to my humble abode.” Inwardly, I relished a mental grin at the collective gasp that drew through the room. Yes, lord Dumac had returned. I felt the slight tug of Magicka being used. Someone had recalled out of the room, a great breach of protocol. So the game was now in full swing.
The Duke turned to his other guests.
“And to you, I extend my welcome as well. Allow me to introduce, my friend and ally, lord Dumac of House Dwemer.” He spoke loudly.
“Friend and ally. Heh, it never harms to look out for yourself, milord.”
The nobles were in a hushed yet frantic discussion. I could pick up a few words.
“Dumac?”
“Is he crazy?”
“But the Dwemer are gone, right?”
“Maybe not, just look at him. Pale skin, beard, elven ears. He looks like a Dwemer. And aren’t they called Dwarves by some?”
There was another tug of Magicka. Someone had returned. No, two had returned. Dren moved closer to me without anyone noticing.
“I’ve been hearing rumours about those two for a long time. I leave this up to you.” He whispered. I wondered who he meant. The doors swung open and I laid my eyes on….a very familiar face.
I looked on in silence as the two made their way towards the throne. One I knew only from reports. Divayth Fyr, one of the oldest and arguably the most powerful mage in House Telvanni. Fortunately for us, also one of the most isolationist. Till now, it seemed. The other, was a man I’d known long before. Or rather, a man I’d known when I still carried the name of Dumac.
The two stopped before the Duke, but I knew that their eyes were on me.
“Duke, allow me to introduce a friend of mine who has spent the last few years in my Corprusarium. Yagrum Bagarn. I must leave now. Farewell.” Divayth spoke with no modesty whatsoever and poofed away. Yagrum exchanged some smalltalk and then had himself escorted to a room, claiming he was still weak from his miraculously cured Corprus.
“A real Dwemer. Talk about timing. He might cause trouble. Want me to….deal with him?” Fargoth whispered behind my back. He then extended a plate with several glasses into my view. I couldn’t quite imagine Fargoth as a servant, but he probably pulled it off quite well. I took a glass of wine and pretended to thank him for it.
“No, everything’s under control. Let him do whatever he wants.” I whispered back in reality.
I kept to myself at first. I mingled in enough to play my role, but not so much that I’d risk making a slip. I also danced a few times with Ilmeni, who taught me a few new tricks on the spot. I hadn’t danced since before I died. Though the Floating Butterfly style did bear some resemblance, so it wasn’t that hard to get back into it. I was a bit distracted though, both with Yagrum Bagarn in the back of my head and the prospect of an assassin on my doorstep every morning.
A few hours later, the ball was beginning to calm down, for which I was grateful. I was tired and bored, two things that don’t go well with the act I was playing. I played with the full glass of wine I’d taken from Fargoth hours ago and asked myself if I should drink it or remain sober. From the corner of my eyes, I saw two Bosmer approach, one dressed like a noble and the other in a dress with markings that looked distinctly magelike to me.
“Good evening, sir. I must say that I am honoured to meet the famous king of the Dwemer. I am Leroth and this here is Galbedir, my wife-to-be.” He spoke courteously. I took a double-take on the woman he was with. It was indeed Galbedir, the Bosmer I’d brought him in touch with. I wondered if spying and being married went together but kept that question to myself.
“The honour is mine. I wish you a very joyous and long life.” I replied with a polite nod. So now I was acting formal to old friends. That was a bit annoying. But I couldn’t let Galbedir know I was the kid from the Balmora mage guild.
“You have grown a lot, Ro-El. The beard looks cute.” Galbedir whispered and winked. So she did know. Hell, I bet she’d been drafted into the order just because she was Leroth’s ‘totally hot Bosmer chick’. In that case, no need to play around.
“It’s a new one to me. Since it’s created through magicka, I don’t know if I need a knife or a spell to shave.” I laughed, but still making sure I kept my voice down.
“Anyway, this Yagrum Bagarn fellow has been asking for a conversation with Dumac. He’ll meet you on the northern balcony.” Leroth whispered, casting a few quick glances at a Telvanni. He was with a member of the mage guild, so some wariness around Galbedir’s great rivals was not out of place.
I said my farewell to the happy couple and casually slinked to curtains hanging behind the throne. When no one was looking, I grabbed Forgeheart and vanished in the servant’s corridor just behind the throne, giving the signal to the guards who were hidden there. They stepped aside and allowed me to pass. Now safely hidden from prying eyes, I attached the scabbard to my back. Holding Dumac’s sword would make it easier to convince Yagrum of my identity.
Yagrum said nothing at first when I joined him. He simply looked me over with a blank expression, lingering on the hilt of Forgeheart for a while. Time had not been kind to him. While once he was a cranky old man, now he looked like a pile of half-rotten fat slapped on top of a giant spider Centurion.
“So you’re Dumac. I don’t know if I should believe that. If you are, you’ve changed. If you’re not, you act like a good impostor.” He finally said.
“Hello, Bagarn.” I replied with the same neutral tone.
Yagrum Bagarn turned away and gazed over the land.
“It has been so long since I saw the sky. The land has changed. Does anyone remember me?” He spoke to himself, using the Dwemer language.
“I do.” I replied. His eyes shot to me, the confusion at hearing someone actually speak Dwemer clearly evident.
“Then what do you remember, lord?” He asked, slipping back into Tamriellic.
“Not much, a few vague pictures and feelings.” I answered, slipping back to Tamriellic as well.
For a moment, we were both silent again and watched the moons in the nightsky.
“You know, I made a promise.” I said softly while I leaned on the railing. I saw a cloaked man move through the streets below, heading for the harbour.
“What kind of promise, lord?” Yagrum asked without looking at me.
“Remember Forgeheart, Yagrum?” I asked in return.
“Forgeheart….yes, I do. I remember how Kagrenac slaved on it for days without rest. It was his masterpiece, one of the six great tools of Lorkhan. That’s what he called it and its siblings. Now though, this sounds like nonsense. The heart is no more. I felt its demise. We all did.”
I shook my head.
“No, not all of us did. I didn’t, and ended up trying to fight Dagoth Ur a day after he’d been killed. After risking my life again and again, it was a bit of an anti-climax to be honest.” I said.
“Now what was this promise?” Yagrum asked again.
“I promised that I would right the wrongs that had been committed against Dwemer like Nebrighk. I swore it on Forgeheart.” I told him. I was still following the cloaked man with my eyes, and was now also looking at the shadow that seemed to follow him. We were silent again. I knew I had convinced him that I really was Dumac the moment I spoke Dwemer.
I raised my voice.
“You there! Behind you!” I shouted and pointed at the shadow. The cloaked man didn’t look at me as I’d expected, but immediately turned on the assassin that had been stalking him. I watched the battle that began to unfold.
“That is a fine promise, but I fear it has little use. What good would it do those of us who are gone? No one has been called Kagrenac since Red Mountain. Since the day the Dwemer perished.” Yagrum said, apparently unconcerned with the battle raging below.
“Yeah, no one will really feel better if I avenge the Dwemer.” I muttered.
“And what is there to avenge? They could have chosen immortality, yet they chose for an eternal sleep. I must go now, lord. I am tired.” Yagrum Bagarn said and began to walk back to the door a few steps away.
“I never break a promise, neither the one I made to Nebrighk, nor the one I made to you…..Kagrenac.” I spoke solemnly and pulled Forgeheart free from the block of frozen flesh and steel.
The End.