Chapter 19. Endgame.
It was before dawn and Helseth looked at the walls of Necrom. They were high, mighty and very impressive. But fortunately, thanks to the Dres army and their flying wasps, they would not stop Helseth’s army from taking the city.
All around him his army was starting to stir, men putting on their armor, sharpening their weapons, polishing their shields. Everyone knew a great victory awaited them and they wanted to look as good as they could.
Last night Helseth had received his final reports before the battle, and spoken to the faction leaders. Everyone knew what to do that day, so if all went well, and Helseth had no reason to think otherwise, he would have to do little more than watch as his victory unfolded.
He’d been surprised by the reports; fully half of house Telvanni was not here ; they were guarding other parts of the front. They were facing most of the Ashlanders though, but Helseth was not at all worried by them. Baladas Demnevanni, apparently now a Magister of house Telvanni, had come to them last night and told them they need not even bother storming the walls. Instead the Telvanni and their allies would come out of Necrom and face Helseth’s army in the field.
Helseth accepted of course, though he knew it to be madness on the part of house Telvanni. They were outnumbered nearly three to one. Almost all the forces of house Dres had shown up, which now made up of more than a third of Helseth’s army. His mercenaries, the Hlaalu and Camonna Tong men and the two guilds contributed another third, and finally the Indoril constituted nearly a third.
Helseth had thought of this day for weeks now, and he’d told his commanders last night what they would do today. They would attack during the daytime, to make sure the Vampire allies of the Telvanni were useless. Helseth wanted his Indoril in the center. They would not break and could support the flanks if need be. The Dres would serve as the reserves, ready to shore up places where they were needed. They were especially suited for that because of their light armor and fast wasps. The left flank would be held by the Hlaalu and Camonna Tong men, and the right by the fighters guild, with the cavalry mercenaries at the far right ready to storm. The mages would be at the rear, using their magic to offset the Telvanni wherever they might come.
He felt it in his very being; today would be the day to defeat these rebels. He wanted to prove to everyone once and for all, that they’d best obey him or they would surely die.
Varvur had been able to dodge every patrol he came across. And he came across quite a few. Until Suran things had been easy, but he arrived in Suran to find it occupied by Telvanni. He had gone back to his mercenary guise, and was able to exit the town with no trouble from guards. Beyond it, he did his best to stay hidden. It was slow going, and there were a number of times when people had come close to noticing him, but after two days, he finally found himself looking at the entrance to Tel Fyr. Compared to some other Tels, Tel Fyr was very modest and small even. Divayth preferred not to keep too many servants around, so he did not need to accommodate them.
Varvur slowly opened the door, and snuck inside. He’d never been there before, but had frequently heard the stories of his cousin who was once kept prisoner here for a time. To the left was the way to the corprosarium, and to the right the passage to the tower of Tel Fyr, home to the Wizard lord himself. Varvur pondered his choice; he could go to the left and kill the warden first, but if he did that and then got killed by Divayth, it would have been a death without meaning. Or if he went right, to face the Wizard, he could get killed without ever having avenged lord Nerevar.
He choose to go right anyway, remembering again the tale of Balen about the snake’s head. He slowly and carefully made his way up the slope until he reached a door. Opening it slowly, he gazed ahead, looking for any magical traps. Satisfied there were none, he slowly closed the door behind him. He knew the Wizard would be one floor up, but climbing there was simply not an option. Acting on a hunch, he went into the room left of the entrance, where he saw a number of potions. He was lucky yet again; one of the potions allowed the drinker to fly, only for a short while- but still, it would do the trick nicely he thought. He drank it, and immediately felt weightless.
He’d used such a potion once before, and had found it funny to fly inside his father’s house that time. This time though, he did not find it funny at all. He tried his best to remain quiet as he slowly drifted up through the shaft to the upper floor. Poking his head just above the edge, he saw a figure standing with his back to where Varvur was. Usually Divayth wore Daedric armour, but for some reason, today he appeared only to be wearing a dark robe. He had the hood of the robe over his head and was bending a bit over a table, intensely staring at something.
Varvur drifted further upwards, and into an adjoining room. He knew he would have to wait for the potion to wear off; one thing he hadn’t trained for was fighting while he was floating about. Luckily he didn’t have to wait long. He felt himself slowly drifting down until his feet were once again firmly on the floor. He silently took off his Akavir katana and placed it on the floor, he wanted to avenge lord Nerevar with the lords own blade.
Being careful not to make a sound, Varvur snuck out of the room and looked at the figure, which he saw was still bending over the table. He felt very lucky at that moment. He snuck to the entrance of the room where the man was standing, but just before he entered, he must have stepped on something as there was a small creak.
Dawn had arrived, and with it the troops had come out of the city just as Baladas had promised they would. They filed out of Necrom and positioned themselves in front of the city. A large mass of Ashlanders and former slaves formed the center, with rebel Indoril on the right and Telvanni on the left. It was a very smart tactic, Helseth knew at once.
The Hlaalu and Camonna Tong were most likely to break first, the Indoril never would, and the fighters guild would hold for a time, but the Hlaalu had never been the best fighters. Surely Baladas wanted to simply keep the Indoril and right flank of Helseth’s army busy long enough for Drulvan’s Indoril to scatter the Hlaalu, and then join the slaves and Ashlanders against Helseth’s center. Once that tide had started it would be hard to stop it.
It might have worked too, if Helseth did not have the whole of house Dres in reserve, ready to come to a failing flank. When he recognized their intentions, he spoke to the viceroy and they agreed to move the majority of the Dres behind the Hlaalu. It would bolster their resolve, keeping them in the fight longer and, should it look as if they’re breaking, the Dres would quickly come to the rescue.
Helseth looked again at the people around him- the Gahprovihn of the Indoril, the viceroy of house Dres and his many bodyguards. Both the “leaders” had chosen not to personally lead their men into battle. Especially the viceroy of the Dres seemed like a cowardly man to Helseth. Since the start of the campaign, Helseth had not once seen him without his full body armor. Every part of his body was covered; one could not even see the red of his eyes, and when he responded to something it was almost always in high grunts, as if he was afraid even to speak aloud for fear of bringing attention onto himself or providing an assassin with a target.
Helseth didn’t really care though, so long as he helped him win this battle and thus the war. He wouldn’t have cared if the viceroy had showed up naked with his ears painted purple, if he thought that would help him through this, let him do it.
Far in front of him, he suddenly heard heralds blowing horns from atop the walls. He felt that it must be the sign for attack, and he was right. Slowly but surely, the host of the Telvanni started and moved towards his army. He could see people readying their weapons, bracing themselves for the initial impact. His orders to the mages guild had been clear: wait before you fire your magic until the entire Telvanni host is committed, too early a show of power could have them running away and chasing someone can be tiring.
The Telvanni came steadily closer, and then the battle had begun. Telvanni wizards shot spells at the fighters guild, Ashlanders and slaves tried their best not to get killed while battling Helseth’s Indorils, and Drulvan’s Indorils hoping to make fast work of the Hlaalu and Tong. At the very front he saw the powerful figure of Drulvan himself, complete with his plumed helmet. Any minute now the mages guild would let loose their spells and then the Telvanni would be as good as done for.
On top of the walls, a herald suddenly blew yet another signal on his horn, a different signal this time. Helseth was just about to ask the Gahprovihn if he had heard that signal before, when suddenly all around him the sky darkened.
Varvur felt a strong tug at the Ebony Longsword, and next thing he knew it was flying upwards, in an arc towards the cloaked figure, who caught it, but rather then hold it, placed it on the table in front of him.
Varvur wanted to jump forward and throw himself at the figure, willing to use his own body as a weapon, but for some reason he was unable to move. The Wizard must have put him under a spell. It was so frustrating and maddening, to be this close to finishing the killer of lord Nerevar, and not even be able to move.
That feeling changed though, when the cloaked figure pulled down his hood, and in a calm and low voice said, “Hello Varvur, I’m glad you made it just in time.”
Varvur couldn’t believe his eyes. The figure, without the hood, looked exactly like lord Nerevar. He had to be an impostor, perhaps Baladas trying to fool him, or Divayth trying to fool the world. Apparently his feelings must have been visible on his face.
“Haha, don’t worry Varvur, I’m not an impostor, I am lord Nerevar.”
Lord Nerevar made a move of his hand, and Varvur could move again.
“Come here Varvur, there is something I‘d like for you to see. Do not worry, I will explain all in a moment, but for now, please, come.”
Varvur moved forward, and looked in the direction lord Nerevar was pointing, toward a large steel tablet lying on the table, and in it, he saw moving pictures. It seemed so lifelike, the scenes appeared to be happening right in front of his eyes. He saw a great city, looking not unlike Necrom, and before the city, two armies were fighting. He saw armour everywhere, men dying as a great host of what appeared to be a combination of mercenaries, Hlaalu retainers, fighters guild members and Indoril soldiers were advancing toward the city. Behind the advancing army came another host, this time of some standard infantry, but also spearmen with spears and shields, on top of giant flying wasps. Varvur realised those must be Dres warriors, and knew that the city was about to fall. No city in history had been able to successfully defend itself against the flying wasps.
Helseth had no idea what caused it, but he knew it would not be good. All around him the sky had continued to darken until no part of the sun could be seen. Helseth still had the amulet of night eye he’d been given that night when he was in Balmora, and he activated it’s magic. What he saw did not make him happy.
Most of his army was as good as blind; the fighters guild members who had just before been rushing towards the Telvanni were now stumbling over each other, giving the Telvanni the chance to focus their energy on combating the mages guild. The Ashlanders and slaves seemed to have lost interest in the battle, as they were slowly moving back. Most Indoril were still able to see though, so Helseth’s Indoril were following the Ashlanders and slaves. Helseth wanted to curse at them;- didn’t they realize they were breaking up the line doing that?
The Hlaalu and Camonna Tong for the most part appeared to be fine, at least fine as in being able to see their enemy. They were still being defeated by Drulvan’s Indoril but at least they could see their killers.
A loud noise to the far right rose up into the dark. Helseth assumed the fighters guild had once again found the Telvanni, but when he looked that way he still saw them slowly advancing. Further to the right, however, he saw the mercenary cavalry. Like the fighters guild, most of them had not been prepared for the darkness, nor did they have very many night eye spells available to them, leaving them with but a small ability to see. But Helseth now saw the source of the noises.
People were running among the horses, people with short blades making fast deadly strikes to the horsemen. Those people were jumping unnaturally high, or even suspended in the air. It was a slaughter and Helseth knew at once what he saw. Vampires. Somehow, after all his preparation and all his efforts to make sure the vampires could not play a part in this, Drulvan and Baladas had outsmarted him. Some powerful magic had been responsible for this darkness, and it made Helseth feel very edgy.
Fortunately though, the Dres were still there. Loyal, well prepared Dres. Not one of them had come to the battle without means to protect themselves against magic, to see in the dark, and even to fly away if outnumbered. Helseth turned to the viceroy but he didn’t even have to say a word. The viceroy simply nodded at him, turned away and signalled his herald to blow the signal for attack.
Regardless of this surprise, Helseth’s army was still in far greater numbers then the Telvanni even without the Dres, but now with the Dres throwing their weight into the battle, a total victory was assured. Helseth smiled. But that smile soon became a frozen rictus. Something was wrong.
Helseth could not believe it. The Dres had advanced alright, but when they came to the rear of the Hlaalu, Mages guild and Indoril forces, they had attacked them instead. They were attacking Helseth’s army! He had been betrayed!
Just as Varvur found himself thinking the city was doomed, he saw spears being thrown, and arrows loosed, and the Dres warriors took a fighting stance, but what amazed him was that the spears and arrows were not aimed at the city, but rather at the advancing army. The Dres were helping the Telvanni. They had betrayed the Hlaalu. Why would they do such a thing? What had appeared a sure victory before for the Hlaalu would turn out to be a crushing defeat.
The image faded, and all he could see now was a normal steel tablet. He looked questioningly at lord Nerevar.
“Yes, you assume correctly. The Dres chose to change sides. But come, let’s sit down for a moment, and have a drink, you’ve travelled a long journey this past month and I’m sure there are many questions you wish to ask me. You can do that.”
Together they went to the room where only moments ago, Varvur had been planning an attack. They sat down, and lord Nerevar poured a drink and gestured or Varvur to ask his questions.
“My lord, I, I don’t understand any of this, how can you be alive? I saw you die. And how could you be in league with the Telvanni? And lord, you did magic; you’ve never done magic. What is going on?”
“So many questions. Well I guess I will start with what happened, and then I’ll tell you why it happened. If after that you are left with more questions, please ask them.”
“Right then, let’s start off with what happened that evening. You were right; one of the servants was in on this. The servant that was staying at the Six Fishes, to all eyes he appeared to be a Breton, but in fact he was Argonian. It was Vistha-Kai, magically transformed to appear to be a Breton. It’s a funny thing, this magic; there’s so much one can do when one is creative. I modified a chameleon spell to not make someone reflective and thus invisible, but instead to appear to be a different shape. Vistha-Kai became my servant just days before the council meeting. He convinced his brother to send in the Jester at the right time and provided you with a “killer” by running away and not being there when you questioned the servants. As to my juice, what was in it? Nothing. It was just very good comberry juice.”
“I wasn’t actually poisoned at any time, I simply used my magic to appear dead. My body was brought downstairs and laid on top of the Imperial Altar. When everyone had gone I got up, and opened the secret door there. Vistha-Kai was waiting for me on the other side of the door with the body that would become mine. I undressed myself, put all the clothes on the other body, and then used magic to alter his appearance to match my own. Who was the man, you might wonder? A Legion deserter who not only deserted, but also stole the Lords Mail from the Legion. I had found him quite a while ago and was given the mail as a reward for killing him by Varus. I lied to him about one thing though, telling him the body was gone. I hid it knowing I might someday have use for it.”
“So, we placed the fake body on the altar, closed the secret door, made sure all of our traces in the sand were gone and then we went our separate ways. I used a spell of recall to transport straight into Tel Fyr, while Vistha-Kai swam down to the secret exit of the caves, took a boat and travelled with it to Omayni where he burned the boat. He then used an amulet to recall back here, though he mentioned he was worried if he might not have left some footprints there.”
Helseth just stood there for seconds, for minutes, it might have been half an hour, looking on as the drama unfolded. It soon became clear, without the Dres, Helseth’s army did not stand a chance, and with the Dres helping their enemy, Helseth and what remained of his army were doomed.
Helseth thought back to that moment this morning when he had sent the few bodyguards he’d taken with him on the campaign back to Mournhold to announce his victory and prepare for his triumphant return. Looking back it had been a rash decision and very premature.
He slowly turned around to look at the viceroy. He wanted to ask him why, he wanted to run at him and cut his throat out, but guards had already positioned themselves between Helseth and the viceroy.
The Gahprovihn of house Indoril was shouting, Helseth hadn’t even heard it until now, screaming at the viceroy to call off his troops. Calling him a traitor, then pleading with him to spare his life. The viceroy just stood there and listened, remaining perfectly still until he turned to one of his guards. Unspoken words passed and the guard nodded. He took several steps towards the Gahprovihn, and rather then grab his sword, he instead slowly took off his helmet.
Beneath it was Drulvan Vules. Drulvan, one of the main leaders of the rebellion, right there in Helseth’s camp. Helseth wanted to shout for guards to take off his head, but of course there were no guards loyal to him left. The Gahprovihn looked like he’d just wet himself, he looked at Drulvan, looked into his eyes and cowered onto his knees.
“Please don’t kill me, Drulvan. Please spare me. I’m too young to die. Please don’t harm me.”
Pathetic, Helseth thought, a Gahprovihn clutching at someone’s leg begging him not to kill him, that was another first for proud house Indoril.
Drulvan apparently shared his thought, for he roughly dragged the Gahprovihn back to his feet.
“Get up Meven, and die like a Mer.”
The Gahprovihn burst into tears at that, and really did wet himself then. Helseth saw Drulvan turn his head in disgust, but not for long. He turned back, drew his blade and, without any ceremony, pierced Meven’s heart.
Helseth looked down, lying there was Meven Aravel, who just before had been Gahprovihn of house Indoril, now he was dead and just Meven again. He looked back up and at Drulvan.
“If you’re here, then who did I see leading your Indoril?” Helseth heard himself ask,
“Endris Dilmyn. Most reliable and fortunately, with my armor on, a spitting image of me,” came the short reply.
A dark voice giving Helseth the creeps suddenly spoke; “It’s over, we know who you are.”
Helseth turned and looked at the viceroy. The voice, however, wasn’t even close to the voice of the viceroy. It was the voice of a woman, and yet it wasn’t. Somehow it sounded very old, and mysterious. The reason for that soon became clear when the viceroy took off his helmet.
It wasn’t the viceroy at all, but rather a very old looking Dunmer Vampire.
“I am Dhaunayne Aundae,” Helseth heard her say, and realised his mistake then. For centuries rumors had been floating around Morrowind about involvement of Vampires within house Dres, but Helseth had never found any proof for this, so he choose to ignore it. How wrong he was.
“I’ll assume my friend the viceroy has been killed then for siding with me?”
“On the contrary,” Dhaunayne replied, “he did everything he did on orders from me. He’s sitting at Tear right now, having completed one of his most important assignments. During the night, he and a number of elite guards broke into the palace at Mournhold and rescued her highness, your mother Barenziah and escorted her to Tear where she is beyond your influence.”
Helseth found it hard to think right now; everything he’d worked so hard for had come crumbling down. So many months spent perfecting the potion that kept Barenziah docile, also for nothing. Looking down at the battlefield, he saw his army was being decimated. He did not expect more then a score of men to survive.
Varvur considered all that he’d heard. “But then, why take the trouble of the boat? Why not simply vanish without a trace?”
“Because, my good Varvur, of two things. First, I wanted to steer things away from magic as much as possible. If you’d suspected the Telvanni, you might never have done the things you did. And second, to get you to Omayni.”
“So Mallam Ryon and his wife were your doing?” Varvur asked.
Yes, both of them are members of house Telvanni. They owed me a favour, so I asked them to go undercover in house Redoran, and be there to help you once you arrived. I needed to buy some time, and a sleeping draught always works nicely, I think.”
“Anyway, from there you went to the Morag Tong, again a logical choice. I knew the Morag Tong would never try and harm me, because I paid them not to. I paid them both with money, and with an ancient artefact, nearly priceless. Eno mentioned to me that he saw you looking at it. I gave it to Eno along with quite a bit of money, and in return I got a good night’s sleep each night, never needing to worry about someone stabbing me in my bed.”
“Eno sent you to Belwen, who really was a Dark Brotherhood assassin, a ranking one even. Yes, he did have that explosive device in his home, but I’d already been there myself, the night before, to disarm it. His only choice was going for the crossbow as the option of blowing you both up was useless. And I knew you’d be able to fend off a crossbow. As to the note you found, it was almost identical as the one Lucien really did send, with one important change- in the original note the name Fafnir was not present.”
“So then you went to the Imperial City, met an old friend of mine, two of them actually, and were given a quest. That was the goal in case you’re wondering, you accepting that quest. For how can Cyrodiil survive without a hero?”
“That was what I did, now on to the reason I did it. Do you know what I was called before I became lord Nerevar? Relien Geles. That was the name I took when I came to Nirn. I was sent to Morrowind by the Emperor because he thought I might match some ancient legend. Well, apparently I did. When I first got here, the temple did everything it could to stop me from succeeding, even going so far as to proclaim me an outcast. I felt very alone, very helpless. But all that changed when I first came here, to Tel Fyr. Divayth cured me of a horrible disease, and gave me immortality in the process. He also found a power inside me, found I could do magic more and better then perhaps anyone he’d ever met, including himself. He worked with me to develop that talent, and while we were doing that we grew very close. He saved my life, and then saved me again. He showed me that many ideas men and Mer have are based on nothing. Rules for the sake of rules is what he calls them. And I’ve since learned to look beyond a rigid rule, to what it actually stands for.”
“What do you mean?” Varvur asked.
“Let me give you an example. A common rule is, Vampires are evil and need to die. But why are Vampires evil? They are what they are, they often did not choose to become Vampires but rather were made unwillingly. So does that mean they’re evil? Is an Argonian a slave simply for being an Argonian? Or is he a slave because someone made him that way? And isn’t one rule that slaves are inferior to us? But then why would you speak nicely to an Argonian when you pass him in the street, yet look down on him when you see him slaving away on a plantation? I can think of a few hundred thousand Argonians back in Black Marsh who would have a very pointed answer to that.”
“One truth I learned, is this we are defined, not by our upbringing, ancestry or appearance, but rather by our actions.”
“I learned all sorts of things about the so-called truths of this world, and knew I at least would strive to be better. I went out and found all the Houses and the Ashlander tribes, becoming Hortator and Nerevarine. And then I came to Ghostgate, where I met Wulf- again, the same Wulf you met in the Tiber Septim hotel. We spoke, and like he did for you, he gave me some very good advice for latter years. So I took his coin, made him a promise and set out to find Dagoth Ur. I found the artefacts, came to Dagoth Ur and there he was, ready to share his empire with me, or so he said. And all I would have to do was bend the knee, grovel and worship him. I did not think that was a good idea, so I firmly refused him, and I guess in the end, he saw my point.”
“Then came Helseth, sending his assassins after me, trying to force me to see things his way. And then of course Almalexia, who offered me divine power, and all I had to do for it was bow to her, and worship her, and kill Vivec for her. So I killed her. And then I went to Vivec, and he proclaimed me his brother, and told me I could rule all of Morrowind, if I left Vvardenfall to him to do with as he pleased. And I killed him as punishment for his crimes. And then when the temple found out I’d killed two thirds of their Tribunal, they offered me Vivec’s palace, and lordship and dominion over all, and all I’d need to do was be their living icon, and bless them and say what a good job they’d been doing. Well, I didn’t kill them, but I did refuse them. And made my own changes as I saw fit.”
“Do you know what Wulf told me, Varvur? He told me that he’d looked into my future, and had seen me abolish slavery, and he also told me that exactly one week to the day after I did it, I was slain by my own men, my own trusty Indoril followers. You see, Varvur, in a way I had little choice, it was either kill myself, or be killed. At least I got what I wanted. Slavery is gone, and the new great Ghostfence is coming along nicely. Next year, when the Imperials look east towards Morrowind, all they will see is a Ghostfence.”
“Who was Wulf?”
“He was a god, Tiber Septim, he who became Talos. And the favour he wanted from me was you. He wanted me to make sure you wound up in the Tiber Septim hotel, on that day you did. And fortunately everything worked out nicely.”
“Why, why did you do this, Dhaunayne? I could have given you half of Morrowind, if only you had come to me.”
“No, I would not side with you. I once saw your father from afar, and foresaw the horror he would try to bestow upon the land. I could not stop him, but when I saw you, the real you, I vowed to stop you.”
“But, what do you mean Dhaunayne? Symmachus was a great man, a general, he died serving Morrowind.”
“He was and he did, but as we both know, he was not your father. Just as we both know you are not Helseth.”
Helseth looked shocked at that. “What do you mean, Dhaunayne? I am Helseth Hlaalu, your rightful king.”
“No…. Jagarn. Like the man after whom you were named , you are but an impostor skilled at Illusion.”
Drulvan backed up. Lord Nerevar had told him the truth that day when he visited with Divayth Fyr, but Drulvan had not been prepared for what he beheld. Where just a moment before Helseth had stood, now stood the oddest, ugliest creature he had ever seen. He was short, as short as a Bosmer, but his skin was discoloured. Three different colors were mingled together, the bright color of an Altmer, the darkness of a Dunmer and the fair color of a Breton or Imperial. The pupils of his eyes were red but they had a blue-ish glow in the middle. His hair was short and dirty, as was his skin. He was dressed in rags and wasn’t even wearing shoes. It really was not a pretty sight to behold, and when it spoke, the sound was hoarse and unpleasant.
“How did you know?”
“I’ve taught myself long ago to see through such spells, Jagarn, and I was not alone. Lord Nerevar and Divayth Fyr both saw it too. Though it takes one of great power to see it.”
“I came so close. I had everything ready, the ultimate revenge on my awful mother.” He spat that last word with the deepest contempt. “She never loved me.”
“Sadly, you are wrong, Jagarn.”
“Am I? Am I now?” Jagarn exclaimed. “She sent me away; she sent me to live with peasants, farmers; she wanted nothing to do with me. First she provided the means for that dreadful hero to kill my father, and then she abandoned me, his son.”
“For years I was raised among those farmers. They could not teach me magic, could not teach me anything. Each time I came into a room, they would look at me with disgust in their eyes, and whenever I performed a feat of the magic that came so easily to me, Illusion magic, they forbade it and sometimes even beat me. They did not teach me how to read, or write. I had to learn all of that on my own.”
“All the children of the village would make fun of me, of how I looked, and never could I do anything against them. All of them were larger and stronger then me, I was but a helpless puppet in their eyes. And the other grownups, they were the worst, they even encouraged their children to call me names, and throw rocks at me, and beat me. And never was I allowed to use my magic against them or the farmer or his wife would beat me.”
“So I vowed to take revenge on the woman who put me there. I taught myself to read and write, found out everything I could about the one who put me there, and learned it was Barenziah. Barenziah, beloved queen of Wayrest and then Morrowind. I vowed to take everything from her, so she would feel what I had felt.”
“So one day, I killed the people caring for me, and I killed all those who had once harmed me in that village. I didn’t do it myself though, I simply set them to kill each other; using magic, I had them kill each other. And then I came to Morrowind, sought out Helseth when he was staying as a guest of the old king, and killed him. Then I took his place, and, well, the rest you know.”
“Poor Jagarn. You are wrong you know. Barenziah did not send you away because she hated you; she did not send you away to be rid of you, no. Barenziah sent you away because she was trying to protect you.”
“Nonsense!” Jagarn interrupted “She never cared one bit for me.”
“Again, you’re wrong. Picture the situation. Your father, Jagar Tharn had just been destroyed by the eternal champion. Things were just quieting down. How do you think the nobles at Wayrest would respond knowing you were the son of someone they had spent so long fighting? Do you think they would have just embraced you? No, they would have wanted you dead.”
“And look at you. Everyone knows how Jagar looked; everyone would have been able to see the resemblance. Even if Barenziah had made up a story about you, it would just have been a matter of time before people found out the truth, and would have had you killed anyway.”
Jagarn looked confused. Could this be true, could Dhaunayne be telling the truth? But what then of his feelings all these years, his hatred, could everything he had thought he knew been a lie?
“An old friend of mine watched that day as Barenziah gave you to the farmer and his wife for safe keeping, she told me of how Barenziah wept, she came very close to never letting you go, but she knew, if she wanted to save your life that she had to give you up.”
“She did the best she could, a small town, in the middle of nowhere, with very few people there, little realization of important things that happened in the empire, illiterate people to make sure they never found out who you really were. Children were cruel to you, but children are always cruel. They get cured of that when they grow up, or turn into people like your father.”
“Did you know Jagarn, that Barenziah came to the farm many times during those first few years? She simply could not bear being without you and wanted to see for herself that you were still well. She could not come when you were older, because seeing her might tell you things she did not want you to know, it hurt her very much, not being able to come visit you. But for your sake, she made the hard choices.”
Jagarn felt awful. As he listened he slowly came to realise it had to be true. Those few conversations he’d had with Barenziah, when she thought he was Helseth. She had been so full of love, had never wanted to believe her son had done such awful things, but all the while he had been blind to it; his hatred had blinded him.
“You know Jagarn, I‘m convinced, even if you were to go to Barenziah now, and show true remorse, she would find it in her heart to forgive you, she’s a good Mer, a far better person then any of us and someone we can look up to. Why not try it, Jagarn? Try it and see how she responds.”
Jagarn was torn; all these years he had felt left out, all these years he’d felt unloved, unwanted, scorned, and now, all of that had been a lie? Had he lied to himself for all these years? Thinking what he wanted to think, believing what he wanted to believe? Even now, could things really become better? Having a real mother in his life, someone who cared for him, who trusted him, a family. But no, he’d killed his brother, his brother who had never done anything to him and he killed him. And others as well, all those lives gone. All the damage he’d done, how could he ever live with that, knowing it had all been for nothing? For a lie.
“No! No, this cannot be, this simply cannot be! You lie, now prepare to die!”
And, with a shout, Jagarn threw himself at Dhaunayne. Drulvan never forgot the look on Dhaunayne’s face: pity, sorrow, regret all mixed in one. She moved swifter then the eye could behold and Helseth, or rather Jagarn, stopped dead in his tracks.
Dhaunayne was holding something in her hand, holding it out for Jagarn to see. Jagarn looked at it, then looked down at his chest, and a look of gratitude crossed his face as he fell down.
Dhaunayne was also looking at her hand. She held the still beating heart of Jagarn, blood dripping down onto the ground. Jagarn’s body lying in front of her. She sighed and spoke to Drulvan,
“Lord Nerevar made it clear, had Jagarn truly shown the will to surrender and face judgement, he would have lived. In prison, but lived anyway. If he resisted, death was to be his punishment.”
“Why do you think he choose death?” Drulvan asked.
“Sometimes, the idea of living in knowledge of what you’ve done is more of a fear than the unknown. I fear that Jagarn chose to die, rather then having to truly consider his life so far had been a lie and all the implications that brings with it.”
Varvur had two more questions; “Why the Ghostfence, and where will you go?”
“Well the Ghostfence will be there to ensure Morrowind will be ruled by Dunmer, now and forever. A very wise man once said; “The only sovereign we can allow to rule us is reason.’ I think no one could have said it better. Now that doesn’t mean I wish to isolate Morrowind, I just want to make sure no outside influence will ever again interfere with us.“
“As for what I am going to do, I will make one more appearance as lord Nerevar, before your father, explaining what I just told you and erasing any dishonour you might still have clinging to you. And forge an everlasting alliance between the Dres, Telvanni Redoran and the honourable Indoril. And then, lord Nerevar will truly die, and Archmagister Gelen will emerge.”
“Barenziah will be crowned queen, and will rule Morrowind from Tear, until the Indoril have purged themselves of corruption. Once that happens Barenziah might return to Mournhold. But for the coming time, the Ghostfence will be there to separate Morrowind from it’s surrounding provinces, and the Hlaalu and corrupt Indoril will find themselves surrounded by the Redoran to the west, Dres to the south and Telvanni and honourable Indoril to the east. They will have no choice but to reform their ways, either that or perish.”
“But what about Helseth, why did he cause so much suffering?” asked Varvur.
“King Helseth, as so much else, was not who he appeared to be. He was an impostor, but I sense his life has been ended. He will not trouble us again.” Lord Nerevar replied. “Now Varvur, I hope that answers your questions.” Varvur nodded, “good, for we have quite a journey ahead of us today. First we need to visit your father at Blacklight and explain recent events to him, and then I believe you have some business left to attend to in Cyrodiil do you not?”
“Yes, you are right Archmagister, I have a promise to keep.””
The End.
It was before dawn and Helseth looked at the walls of Necrom. They were high, mighty and very impressive. But fortunately, thanks to the Dres army and their flying wasps, they would not stop Helseth’s army from taking the city.
All around him his army was starting to stir, men putting on their armor, sharpening their weapons, polishing their shields. Everyone knew a great victory awaited them and they wanted to look as good as they could.
Last night Helseth had received his final reports before the battle, and spoken to the faction leaders. Everyone knew what to do that day, so if all went well, and Helseth had no reason to think otherwise, he would have to do little more than watch as his victory unfolded.
He’d been surprised by the reports; fully half of house Telvanni was not here ; they were guarding other parts of the front. They were facing most of the Ashlanders though, but Helseth was not at all worried by them. Baladas Demnevanni, apparently now a Magister of house Telvanni, had come to them last night and told them they need not even bother storming the walls. Instead the Telvanni and their allies would come out of Necrom and face Helseth’s army in the field.
Helseth accepted of course, though he knew it to be madness on the part of house Telvanni. They were outnumbered nearly three to one. Almost all the forces of house Dres had shown up, which now made up of more than a third of Helseth’s army. His mercenaries, the Hlaalu and Camonna Tong men and the two guilds contributed another third, and finally the Indoril constituted nearly a third.
Helseth had thought of this day for weeks now, and he’d told his commanders last night what they would do today. They would attack during the daytime, to make sure the Vampire allies of the Telvanni were useless. Helseth wanted his Indoril in the center. They would not break and could support the flanks if need be. The Dres would serve as the reserves, ready to shore up places where they were needed. They were especially suited for that because of their light armor and fast wasps. The left flank would be held by the Hlaalu and Camonna Tong men, and the right by the fighters guild, with the cavalry mercenaries at the far right ready to storm. The mages would be at the rear, using their magic to offset the Telvanni wherever they might come.
He felt it in his very being; today would be the day to defeat these rebels. He wanted to prove to everyone once and for all, that they’d best obey him or they would surely die.
Varvur had been able to dodge every patrol he came across. And he came across quite a few. Until Suran things had been easy, but he arrived in Suran to find it occupied by Telvanni. He had gone back to his mercenary guise, and was able to exit the town with no trouble from guards. Beyond it, he did his best to stay hidden. It was slow going, and there were a number of times when people had come close to noticing him, but after two days, he finally found himself looking at the entrance to Tel Fyr. Compared to some other Tels, Tel Fyr was very modest and small even. Divayth preferred not to keep too many servants around, so he did not need to accommodate them.
Varvur slowly opened the door, and snuck inside. He’d never been there before, but had frequently heard the stories of his cousin who was once kept prisoner here for a time. To the left was the way to the corprosarium, and to the right the passage to the tower of Tel Fyr, home to the Wizard lord himself. Varvur pondered his choice; he could go to the left and kill the warden first, but if he did that and then got killed by Divayth, it would have been a death without meaning. Or if he went right, to face the Wizard, he could get killed without ever having avenged lord Nerevar.
He choose to go right anyway, remembering again the tale of Balen about the snake’s head. He slowly and carefully made his way up the slope until he reached a door. Opening it slowly, he gazed ahead, looking for any magical traps. Satisfied there were none, he slowly closed the door behind him. He knew the Wizard would be one floor up, but climbing there was simply not an option. Acting on a hunch, he went into the room left of the entrance, where he saw a number of potions. He was lucky yet again; one of the potions allowed the drinker to fly, only for a short while- but still, it would do the trick nicely he thought. He drank it, and immediately felt weightless.
He’d used such a potion once before, and had found it funny to fly inside his father’s house that time. This time though, he did not find it funny at all. He tried his best to remain quiet as he slowly drifted up through the shaft to the upper floor. Poking his head just above the edge, he saw a figure standing with his back to where Varvur was. Usually Divayth wore Daedric armour, but for some reason, today he appeared only to be wearing a dark robe. He had the hood of the robe over his head and was bending a bit over a table, intensely staring at something.
Varvur drifted further upwards, and into an adjoining room. He knew he would have to wait for the potion to wear off; one thing he hadn’t trained for was fighting while he was floating about. Luckily he didn’t have to wait long. He felt himself slowly drifting down until his feet were once again firmly on the floor. He silently took off his Akavir katana and placed it on the floor, he wanted to avenge lord Nerevar with the lords own blade.
Being careful not to make a sound, Varvur snuck out of the room and looked at the figure, which he saw was still bending over the table. He felt very lucky at that moment. He snuck to the entrance of the room where the man was standing, but just before he entered, he must have stepped on something as there was a small creak.
Dawn had arrived, and with it the troops had come out of the city just as Baladas had promised they would. They filed out of Necrom and positioned themselves in front of the city. A large mass of Ashlanders and former slaves formed the center, with rebel Indoril on the right and Telvanni on the left. It was a very smart tactic, Helseth knew at once.
The Hlaalu and Camonna Tong were most likely to break first, the Indoril never would, and the fighters guild would hold for a time, but the Hlaalu had never been the best fighters. Surely Baladas wanted to simply keep the Indoril and right flank of Helseth’s army busy long enough for Drulvan’s Indoril to scatter the Hlaalu, and then join the slaves and Ashlanders against Helseth’s center. Once that tide had started it would be hard to stop it.
It might have worked too, if Helseth did not have the whole of house Dres in reserve, ready to come to a failing flank. When he recognized their intentions, he spoke to the viceroy and they agreed to move the majority of the Dres behind the Hlaalu. It would bolster their resolve, keeping them in the fight longer and, should it look as if they’re breaking, the Dres would quickly come to the rescue.
Helseth looked again at the people around him- the Gahprovihn of the Indoril, the viceroy of house Dres and his many bodyguards. Both the “leaders” had chosen not to personally lead their men into battle. Especially the viceroy of the Dres seemed like a cowardly man to Helseth. Since the start of the campaign, Helseth had not once seen him without his full body armor. Every part of his body was covered; one could not even see the red of his eyes, and when he responded to something it was almost always in high grunts, as if he was afraid even to speak aloud for fear of bringing attention onto himself or providing an assassin with a target.
Helseth didn’t really care though, so long as he helped him win this battle and thus the war. He wouldn’t have cared if the viceroy had showed up naked with his ears painted purple, if he thought that would help him through this, let him do it.
Far in front of him, he suddenly heard heralds blowing horns from atop the walls. He felt that it must be the sign for attack, and he was right. Slowly but surely, the host of the Telvanni started and moved towards his army. He could see people readying their weapons, bracing themselves for the initial impact. His orders to the mages guild had been clear: wait before you fire your magic until the entire Telvanni host is committed, too early a show of power could have them running away and chasing someone can be tiring.
The Telvanni came steadily closer, and then the battle had begun. Telvanni wizards shot spells at the fighters guild, Ashlanders and slaves tried their best not to get killed while battling Helseth’s Indorils, and Drulvan’s Indorils hoping to make fast work of the Hlaalu and Tong. At the very front he saw the powerful figure of Drulvan himself, complete with his plumed helmet. Any minute now the mages guild would let loose their spells and then the Telvanni would be as good as done for.
On top of the walls, a herald suddenly blew yet another signal on his horn, a different signal this time. Helseth was just about to ask the Gahprovihn if he had heard that signal before, when suddenly all around him the sky darkened.
Varvur felt a strong tug at the Ebony Longsword, and next thing he knew it was flying upwards, in an arc towards the cloaked figure, who caught it, but rather then hold it, placed it on the table in front of him.
Varvur wanted to jump forward and throw himself at the figure, willing to use his own body as a weapon, but for some reason he was unable to move. The Wizard must have put him under a spell. It was so frustrating and maddening, to be this close to finishing the killer of lord Nerevar, and not even be able to move.
That feeling changed though, when the cloaked figure pulled down his hood, and in a calm and low voice said, “Hello Varvur, I’m glad you made it just in time.”
Varvur couldn’t believe his eyes. The figure, without the hood, looked exactly like lord Nerevar. He had to be an impostor, perhaps Baladas trying to fool him, or Divayth trying to fool the world. Apparently his feelings must have been visible on his face.
“Haha, don’t worry Varvur, I’m not an impostor, I am lord Nerevar.”
Lord Nerevar made a move of his hand, and Varvur could move again.
“Come here Varvur, there is something I‘d like for you to see. Do not worry, I will explain all in a moment, but for now, please, come.”
Varvur moved forward, and looked in the direction lord Nerevar was pointing, toward a large steel tablet lying on the table, and in it, he saw moving pictures. It seemed so lifelike, the scenes appeared to be happening right in front of his eyes. He saw a great city, looking not unlike Necrom, and before the city, two armies were fighting. He saw armour everywhere, men dying as a great host of what appeared to be a combination of mercenaries, Hlaalu retainers, fighters guild members and Indoril soldiers were advancing toward the city. Behind the advancing army came another host, this time of some standard infantry, but also spearmen with spears and shields, on top of giant flying wasps. Varvur realised those must be Dres warriors, and knew that the city was about to fall. No city in history had been able to successfully defend itself against the flying wasps.
Helseth had no idea what caused it, but he knew it would not be good. All around him the sky had continued to darken until no part of the sun could be seen. Helseth still had the amulet of night eye he’d been given that night when he was in Balmora, and he activated it’s magic. What he saw did not make him happy.
Most of his army was as good as blind; the fighters guild members who had just before been rushing towards the Telvanni were now stumbling over each other, giving the Telvanni the chance to focus their energy on combating the mages guild. The Ashlanders and slaves seemed to have lost interest in the battle, as they were slowly moving back. Most Indoril were still able to see though, so Helseth’s Indoril were following the Ashlanders and slaves. Helseth wanted to curse at them;- didn’t they realize they were breaking up the line doing that?
The Hlaalu and Camonna Tong for the most part appeared to be fine, at least fine as in being able to see their enemy. They were still being defeated by Drulvan’s Indoril but at least they could see their killers.
A loud noise to the far right rose up into the dark. Helseth assumed the fighters guild had once again found the Telvanni, but when he looked that way he still saw them slowly advancing. Further to the right, however, he saw the mercenary cavalry. Like the fighters guild, most of them had not been prepared for the darkness, nor did they have very many night eye spells available to them, leaving them with but a small ability to see. But Helseth now saw the source of the noises.
People were running among the horses, people with short blades making fast deadly strikes to the horsemen. Those people were jumping unnaturally high, or even suspended in the air. It was a slaughter and Helseth knew at once what he saw. Vampires. Somehow, after all his preparation and all his efforts to make sure the vampires could not play a part in this, Drulvan and Baladas had outsmarted him. Some powerful magic had been responsible for this darkness, and it made Helseth feel very edgy.
Fortunately though, the Dres were still there. Loyal, well prepared Dres. Not one of them had come to the battle without means to protect themselves against magic, to see in the dark, and even to fly away if outnumbered. Helseth turned to the viceroy but he didn’t even have to say a word. The viceroy simply nodded at him, turned away and signalled his herald to blow the signal for attack.
Regardless of this surprise, Helseth’s army was still in far greater numbers then the Telvanni even without the Dres, but now with the Dres throwing their weight into the battle, a total victory was assured. Helseth smiled. But that smile soon became a frozen rictus. Something was wrong.
Helseth could not believe it. The Dres had advanced alright, but when they came to the rear of the Hlaalu, Mages guild and Indoril forces, they had attacked them instead. They were attacking Helseth’s army! He had been betrayed!
Just as Varvur found himself thinking the city was doomed, he saw spears being thrown, and arrows loosed, and the Dres warriors took a fighting stance, but what amazed him was that the spears and arrows were not aimed at the city, but rather at the advancing army. The Dres were helping the Telvanni. They had betrayed the Hlaalu. Why would they do such a thing? What had appeared a sure victory before for the Hlaalu would turn out to be a crushing defeat.
The image faded, and all he could see now was a normal steel tablet. He looked questioningly at lord Nerevar.
“Yes, you assume correctly. The Dres chose to change sides. But come, let’s sit down for a moment, and have a drink, you’ve travelled a long journey this past month and I’m sure there are many questions you wish to ask me. You can do that.”
Together they went to the room where only moments ago, Varvur had been planning an attack. They sat down, and lord Nerevar poured a drink and gestured or Varvur to ask his questions.
“My lord, I, I don’t understand any of this, how can you be alive? I saw you die. And how could you be in league with the Telvanni? And lord, you did magic; you’ve never done magic. What is going on?”
“So many questions. Well I guess I will start with what happened, and then I’ll tell you why it happened. If after that you are left with more questions, please ask them.”
“Right then, let’s start off with what happened that evening. You were right; one of the servants was in on this. The servant that was staying at the Six Fishes, to all eyes he appeared to be a Breton, but in fact he was Argonian. It was Vistha-Kai, magically transformed to appear to be a Breton. It’s a funny thing, this magic; there’s so much one can do when one is creative. I modified a chameleon spell to not make someone reflective and thus invisible, but instead to appear to be a different shape. Vistha-Kai became my servant just days before the council meeting. He convinced his brother to send in the Jester at the right time and provided you with a “killer” by running away and not being there when you questioned the servants. As to my juice, what was in it? Nothing. It was just very good comberry juice.”
“I wasn’t actually poisoned at any time, I simply used my magic to appear dead. My body was brought downstairs and laid on top of the Imperial Altar. When everyone had gone I got up, and opened the secret door there. Vistha-Kai was waiting for me on the other side of the door with the body that would become mine. I undressed myself, put all the clothes on the other body, and then used magic to alter his appearance to match my own. Who was the man, you might wonder? A Legion deserter who not only deserted, but also stole the Lords Mail from the Legion. I had found him quite a while ago and was given the mail as a reward for killing him by Varus. I lied to him about one thing though, telling him the body was gone. I hid it knowing I might someday have use for it.”
“So, we placed the fake body on the altar, closed the secret door, made sure all of our traces in the sand were gone and then we went our separate ways. I used a spell of recall to transport straight into Tel Fyr, while Vistha-Kai swam down to the secret exit of the caves, took a boat and travelled with it to Omayni where he burned the boat. He then used an amulet to recall back here, though he mentioned he was worried if he might not have left some footprints there.”
Helseth just stood there for seconds, for minutes, it might have been half an hour, looking on as the drama unfolded. It soon became clear, without the Dres, Helseth’s army did not stand a chance, and with the Dres helping their enemy, Helseth and what remained of his army were doomed.
Helseth thought back to that moment this morning when he had sent the few bodyguards he’d taken with him on the campaign back to Mournhold to announce his victory and prepare for his triumphant return. Looking back it had been a rash decision and very premature.
He slowly turned around to look at the viceroy. He wanted to ask him why, he wanted to run at him and cut his throat out, but guards had already positioned themselves between Helseth and the viceroy.
The Gahprovihn of house Indoril was shouting, Helseth hadn’t even heard it until now, screaming at the viceroy to call off his troops. Calling him a traitor, then pleading with him to spare his life. The viceroy just stood there and listened, remaining perfectly still until he turned to one of his guards. Unspoken words passed and the guard nodded. He took several steps towards the Gahprovihn, and rather then grab his sword, he instead slowly took off his helmet.
Beneath it was Drulvan Vules. Drulvan, one of the main leaders of the rebellion, right there in Helseth’s camp. Helseth wanted to shout for guards to take off his head, but of course there were no guards loyal to him left. The Gahprovihn looked like he’d just wet himself, he looked at Drulvan, looked into his eyes and cowered onto his knees.
“Please don’t kill me, Drulvan. Please spare me. I’m too young to die. Please don’t harm me.”
Pathetic, Helseth thought, a Gahprovihn clutching at someone’s leg begging him not to kill him, that was another first for proud house Indoril.
Drulvan apparently shared his thought, for he roughly dragged the Gahprovihn back to his feet.
“Get up Meven, and die like a Mer.”
The Gahprovihn burst into tears at that, and really did wet himself then. Helseth saw Drulvan turn his head in disgust, but not for long. He turned back, drew his blade and, without any ceremony, pierced Meven’s heart.
Helseth looked down, lying there was Meven Aravel, who just before had been Gahprovihn of house Indoril, now he was dead and just Meven again. He looked back up and at Drulvan.
“If you’re here, then who did I see leading your Indoril?” Helseth heard himself ask,
“Endris Dilmyn. Most reliable and fortunately, with my armor on, a spitting image of me,” came the short reply.
A dark voice giving Helseth the creeps suddenly spoke; “It’s over, we know who you are.”
Helseth turned and looked at the viceroy. The voice, however, wasn’t even close to the voice of the viceroy. It was the voice of a woman, and yet it wasn’t. Somehow it sounded very old, and mysterious. The reason for that soon became clear when the viceroy took off his helmet.
It wasn’t the viceroy at all, but rather a very old looking Dunmer Vampire.
“I am Dhaunayne Aundae,” Helseth heard her say, and realised his mistake then. For centuries rumors had been floating around Morrowind about involvement of Vampires within house Dres, but Helseth had never found any proof for this, so he choose to ignore it. How wrong he was.
“I’ll assume my friend the viceroy has been killed then for siding with me?”
“On the contrary,” Dhaunayne replied, “he did everything he did on orders from me. He’s sitting at Tear right now, having completed one of his most important assignments. During the night, he and a number of elite guards broke into the palace at Mournhold and rescued her highness, your mother Barenziah and escorted her to Tear where she is beyond your influence.”
Helseth found it hard to think right now; everything he’d worked so hard for had come crumbling down. So many months spent perfecting the potion that kept Barenziah docile, also for nothing. Looking down at the battlefield, he saw his army was being decimated. He did not expect more then a score of men to survive.
Varvur considered all that he’d heard. “But then, why take the trouble of the boat? Why not simply vanish without a trace?”
“Because, my good Varvur, of two things. First, I wanted to steer things away from magic as much as possible. If you’d suspected the Telvanni, you might never have done the things you did. And second, to get you to Omayni.”
“So Mallam Ryon and his wife were your doing?” Varvur asked.
Yes, both of them are members of house Telvanni. They owed me a favour, so I asked them to go undercover in house Redoran, and be there to help you once you arrived. I needed to buy some time, and a sleeping draught always works nicely, I think.”
“Anyway, from there you went to the Morag Tong, again a logical choice. I knew the Morag Tong would never try and harm me, because I paid them not to. I paid them both with money, and with an ancient artefact, nearly priceless. Eno mentioned to me that he saw you looking at it. I gave it to Eno along with quite a bit of money, and in return I got a good night’s sleep each night, never needing to worry about someone stabbing me in my bed.”
“Eno sent you to Belwen, who really was a Dark Brotherhood assassin, a ranking one even. Yes, he did have that explosive device in his home, but I’d already been there myself, the night before, to disarm it. His only choice was going for the crossbow as the option of blowing you both up was useless. And I knew you’d be able to fend off a crossbow. As to the note you found, it was almost identical as the one Lucien really did send, with one important change- in the original note the name Fafnir was not present.”
“So then you went to the Imperial City, met an old friend of mine, two of them actually, and were given a quest. That was the goal in case you’re wondering, you accepting that quest. For how can Cyrodiil survive without a hero?”
“That was what I did, now on to the reason I did it. Do you know what I was called before I became lord Nerevar? Relien Geles. That was the name I took when I came to Nirn. I was sent to Morrowind by the Emperor because he thought I might match some ancient legend. Well, apparently I did. When I first got here, the temple did everything it could to stop me from succeeding, even going so far as to proclaim me an outcast. I felt very alone, very helpless. But all that changed when I first came here, to Tel Fyr. Divayth cured me of a horrible disease, and gave me immortality in the process. He also found a power inside me, found I could do magic more and better then perhaps anyone he’d ever met, including himself. He worked with me to develop that talent, and while we were doing that we grew very close. He saved my life, and then saved me again. He showed me that many ideas men and Mer have are based on nothing. Rules for the sake of rules is what he calls them. And I’ve since learned to look beyond a rigid rule, to what it actually stands for.”
“What do you mean?” Varvur asked.
“Let me give you an example. A common rule is, Vampires are evil and need to die. But why are Vampires evil? They are what they are, they often did not choose to become Vampires but rather were made unwillingly. So does that mean they’re evil? Is an Argonian a slave simply for being an Argonian? Or is he a slave because someone made him that way? And isn’t one rule that slaves are inferior to us? But then why would you speak nicely to an Argonian when you pass him in the street, yet look down on him when you see him slaving away on a plantation? I can think of a few hundred thousand Argonians back in Black Marsh who would have a very pointed answer to that.”
“One truth I learned, is this we are defined, not by our upbringing, ancestry or appearance, but rather by our actions.”
“I learned all sorts of things about the so-called truths of this world, and knew I at least would strive to be better. I went out and found all the Houses and the Ashlander tribes, becoming Hortator and Nerevarine. And then I came to Ghostgate, where I met Wulf- again, the same Wulf you met in the Tiber Septim hotel. We spoke, and like he did for you, he gave me some very good advice for latter years. So I took his coin, made him a promise and set out to find Dagoth Ur. I found the artefacts, came to Dagoth Ur and there he was, ready to share his empire with me, or so he said. And all I would have to do was bend the knee, grovel and worship him. I did not think that was a good idea, so I firmly refused him, and I guess in the end, he saw my point.”
“Then came Helseth, sending his assassins after me, trying to force me to see things his way. And then of course Almalexia, who offered me divine power, and all I had to do for it was bow to her, and worship her, and kill Vivec for her. So I killed her. And then I went to Vivec, and he proclaimed me his brother, and told me I could rule all of Morrowind, if I left Vvardenfall to him to do with as he pleased. And I killed him as punishment for his crimes. And then when the temple found out I’d killed two thirds of their Tribunal, they offered me Vivec’s palace, and lordship and dominion over all, and all I’d need to do was be their living icon, and bless them and say what a good job they’d been doing. Well, I didn’t kill them, but I did refuse them. And made my own changes as I saw fit.”
“Do you know what Wulf told me, Varvur? He told me that he’d looked into my future, and had seen me abolish slavery, and he also told me that exactly one week to the day after I did it, I was slain by my own men, my own trusty Indoril followers. You see, Varvur, in a way I had little choice, it was either kill myself, or be killed. At least I got what I wanted. Slavery is gone, and the new great Ghostfence is coming along nicely. Next year, when the Imperials look east towards Morrowind, all they will see is a Ghostfence.”
“Who was Wulf?”
“He was a god, Tiber Septim, he who became Talos. And the favour he wanted from me was you. He wanted me to make sure you wound up in the Tiber Septim hotel, on that day you did. And fortunately everything worked out nicely.”
“Why, why did you do this, Dhaunayne? I could have given you half of Morrowind, if only you had come to me.”
“No, I would not side with you. I once saw your father from afar, and foresaw the horror he would try to bestow upon the land. I could not stop him, but when I saw you, the real you, I vowed to stop you.”
“But, what do you mean Dhaunayne? Symmachus was a great man, a general, he died serving Morrowind.”
“He was and he did, but as we both know, he was not your father. Just as we both know you are not Helseth.”
Helseth looked shocked at that. “What do you mean, Dhaunayne? I am Helseth Hlaalu, your rightful king.”
“No…. Jagarn. Like the man after whom you were named , you are but an impostor skilled at Illusion.”
Drulvan backed up. Lord Nerevar had told him the truth that day when he visited with Divayth Fyr, but Drulvan had not been prepared for what he beheld. Where just a moment before Helseth had stood, now stood the oddest, ugliest creature he had ever seen. He was short, as short as a Bosmer, but his skin was discoloured. Three different colors were mingled together, the bright color of an Altmer, the darkness of a Dunmer and the fair color of a Breton or Imperial. The pupils of his eyes were red but they had a blue-ish glow in the middle. His hair was short and dirty, as was his skin. He was dressed in rags and wasn’t even wearing shoes. It really was not a pretty sight to behold, and when it spoke, the sound was hoarse and unpleasant.
“How did you know?”
“I’ve taught myself long ago to see through such spells, Jagarn, and I was not alone. Lord Nerevar and Divayth Fyr both saw it too. Though it takes one of great power to see it.”
“I came so close. I had everything ready, the ultimate revenge on my awful mother.” He spat that last word with the deepest contempt. “She never loved me.”
“Sadly, you are wrong, Jagarn.”
“Am I? Am I now?” Jagarn exclaimed. “She sent me away; she sent me to live with peasants, farmers; she wanted nothing to do with me. First she provided the means for that dreadful hero to kill my father, and then she abandoned me, his son.”
“For years I was raised among those farmers. They could not teach me magic, could not teach me anything. Each time I came into a room, they would look at me with disgust in their eyes, and whenever I performed a feat of the magic that came so easily to me, Illusion magic, they forbade it and sometimes even beat me. They did not teach me how to read, or write. I had to learn all of that on my own.”
“All the children of the village would make fun of me, of how I looked, and never could I do anything against them. All of them were larger and stronger then me, I was but a helpless puppet in their eyes. And the other grownups, they were the worst, they even encouraged their children to call me names, and throw rocks at me, and beat me. And never was I allowed to use my magic against them or the farmer or his wife would beat me.”
“So I vowed to take revenge on the woman who put me there. I taught myself to read and write, found out everything I could about the one who put me there, and learned it was Barenziah. Barenziah, beloved queen of Wayrest and then Morrowind. I vowed to take everything from her, so she would feel what I had felt.”
“So one day, I killed the people caring for me, and I killed all those who had once harmed me in that village. I didn’t do it myself though, I simply set them to kill each other; using magic, I had them kill each other. And then I came to Morrowind, sought out Helseth when he was staying as a guest of the old king, and killed him. Then I took his place, and, well, the rest you know.”
“Poor Jagarn. You are wrong you know. Barenziah did not send you away because she hated you; she did not send you away to be rid of you, no. Barenziah sent you away because she was trying to protect you.”
“Nonsense!” Jagarn interrupted “She never cared one bit for me.”
“Again, you’re wrong. Picture the situation. Your father, Jagar Tharn had just been destroyed by the eternal champion. Things were just quieting down. How do you think the nobles at Wayrest would respond knowing you were the son of someone they had spent so long fighting? Do you think they would have just embraced you? No, they would have wanted you dead.”
“And look at you. Everyone knows how Jagar looked; everyone would have been able to see the resemblance. Even if Barenziah had made up a story about you, it would just have been a matter of time before people found out the truth, and would have had you killed anyway.”
Jagarn looked confused. Could this be true, could Dhaunayne be telling the truth? But what then of his feelings all these years, his hatred, could everything he had thought he knew been a lie?
“An old friend of mine watched that day as Barenziah gave you to the farmer and his wife for safe keeping, she told me of how Barenziah wept, she came very close to never letting you go, but she knew, if she wanted to save your life that she had to give you up.”
“She did the best she could, a small town, in the middle of nowhere, with very few people there, little realization of important things that happened in the empire, illiterate people to make sure they never found out who you really were. Children were cruel to you, but children are always cruel. They get cured of that when they grow up, or turn into people like your father.”
“Did you know Jagarn, that Barenziah came to the farm many times during those first few years? She simply could not bear being without you and wanted to see for herself that you were still well. She could not come when you were older, because seeing her might tell you things she did not want you to know, it hurt her very much, not being able to come visit you. But for your sake, she made the hard choices.”
Jagarn felt awful. As he listened he slowly came to realise it had to be true. Those few conversations he’d had with Barenziah, when she thought he was Helseth. She had been so full of love, had never wanted to believe her son had done such awful things, but all the while he had been blind to it; his hatred had blinded him.
“You know Jagarn, I‘m convinced, even if you were to go to Barenziah now, and show true remorse, she would find it in her heart to forgive you, she’s a good Mer, a far better person then any of us and someone we can look up to. Why not try it, Jagarn? Try it and see how she responds.”
Jagarn was torn; all these years he had felt left out, all these years he’d felt unloved, unwanted, scorned, and now, all of that had been a lie? Had he lied to himself for all these years? Thinking what he wanted to think, believing what he wanted to believe? Even now, could things really become better? Having a real mother in his life, someone who cared for him, who trusted him, a family. But no, he’d killed his brother, his brother who had never done anything to him and he killed him. And others as well, all those lives gone. All the damage he’d done, how could he ever live with that, knowing it had all been for nothing? For a lie.
“No! No, this cannot be, this simply cannot be! You lie, now prepare to die!”
And, with a shout, Jagarn threw himself at Dhaunayne. Drulvan never forgot the look on Dhaunayne’s face: pity, sorrow, regret all mixed in one. She moved swifter then the eye could behold and Helseth, or rather Jagarn, stopped dead in his tracks.
Dhaunayne was holding something in her hand, holding it out for Jagarn to see. Jagarn looked at it, then looked down at his chest, and a look of gratitude crossed his face as he fell down.
Dhaunayne was also looking at her hand. She held the still beating heart of Jagarn, blood dripping down onto the ground. Jagarn’s body lying in front of her. She sighed and spoke to Drulvan,
“Lord Nerevar made it clear, had Jagarn truly shown the will to surrender and face judgement, he would have lived. In prison, but lived anyway. If he resisted, death was to be his punishment.”
“Why do you think he choose death?” Drulvan asked.
“Sometimes, the idea of living in knowledge of what you’ve done is more of a fear than the unknown. I fear that Jagarn chose to die, rather then having to truly consider his life so far had been a lie and all the implications that brings with it.”
Varvur had two more questions; “Why the Ghostfence, and where will you go?”
“Well the Ghostfence will be there to ensure Morrowind will be ruled by Dunmer, now and forever. A very wise man once said; “The only sovereign we can allow to rule us is reason.’ I think no one could have said it better. Now that doesn’t mean I wish to isolate Morrowind, I just want to make sure no outside influence will ever again interfere with us.“
“As for what I am going to do, I will make one more appearance as lord Nerevar, before your father, explaining what I just told you and erasing any dishonour you might still have clinging to you. And forge an everlasting alliance between the Dres, Telvanni Redoran and the honourable Indoril. And then, lord Nerevar will truly die, and Archmagister Gelen will emerge.”
“Barenziah will be crowned queen, and will rule Morrowind from Tear, until the Indoril have purged themselves of corruption. Once that happens Barenziah might return to Mournhold. But for the coming time, the Ghostfence will be there to separate Morrowind from it’s surrounding provinces, and the Hlaalu and corrupt Indoril will find themselves surrounded by the Redoran to the west, Dres to the south and Telvanni and honourable Indoril to the east. They will have no choice but to reform their ways, either that or perish.”
“But what about Helseth, why did he cause so much suffering?” asked Varvur.
“King Helseth, as so much else, was not who he appeared to be. He was an impostor, but I sense his life has been ended. He will not trouble us again.” Lord Nerevar replied. “Now Varvur, I hope that answers your questions.” Varvur nodded, “good, for we have quite a journey ahead of us today. First we need to visit your father at Blacklight and explain recent events to him, and then I believe you have some business left to attend to in Cyrodiil do you not?”
“Yes, you are right Archmagister, I have a promise to keep.””
The End.