PoTM: Chapter 45, In Pieces

• Posted by Karver the Lorc April 16, 2018 - Filed in TSC: Mixed - #Straag Rod  #Lissette  #Karver  #Practice of Magic  #Telvanni  - 1,324 views

  

  A lonely guar struggled through the Ashlands on a cold, moonless night. The wind was frosty and bitter and chilled the animal to the bone. "Alas!" it cried, "I will die here, alone in the cold."

   

  Just then, the guar caught sight of a faint orange glow in the distance. "A campfire?" it barked hopefully, "It must be! It must be!"

   

  The guar raced toward the light, its feet growing warmer with every step. Soon, the cold gave way to a sweltering heat. The air grew thick and acrid, searing the guar's nostrils and lungs. But still, it hurried on, barking, "It must be a campfire! It must be! It must be!"

   

  Finally, the guar reached the orange glow. Alas, it was not a campfire, but a great flow of lava. The guar, so seduced by the warmth, gave this truth no heed. It sprinted to the lava's edge and tripped on a loose stone. With one last joyful bark, the beast landed headfirst in the fiery liquid and died.

   

  So you see, child, a fool's thirst for safety carries its own risks.

   

  Grulmar leaned against the door leading into the burial chamber, the metal being half-melted and cracked at places, still radiating heat. The door swung open and the Orc entered something that could be only described as a… battlefield. One of those that could be seen in historical books, the one portraying the land just after a huge battle took place there.

   

  The room was black and covered with ash, the particles of it still floating in the air, the stone walls scorched, the stone cracked as if it experienced rapid changes of temperature. Right in the middle, where a pool blood used to be, was now an empty pit, the blood completely vapourized.

   

  Äelberon was to his right, that scale armor made of light completely gone and Grulmar wondered who was residing in the body now. The Altmer was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, his shoulders stooped, his knees raised, and he was staring into the empty eye visors of Ahzidal’s mask resting in his hands.

   

  “Shiny?” Grulmar said carefully, limping towards him.

   

  The Altmer looked up slowly and he blinked, as if Grulmar just woke him up. Clearly, he was tired, exhausted even, just by the weary look he gave the young Orc. The once bright fire in his eyes were now dim and he looked now every one of his two hundred and forty something years, older even. Grulmar could certainly sympathize with that, because he felt like shit too. The elf’s eyes went over Grulmar, scanning him from head to toe, a sad smile appearing on his face when he noticed the infamous flail over his shoulder. “Mogrul?” he asked hoarsely, just as the Orc slid down to sit right next to him.

   

  Grulmar snorted. “There was lot of cursin’, choppin’ and bleedin’ to death.” He groaned as he lifted his right hand, his wrist now displaying all sorts of colours; from blue to purple and black. “I think I’ll make this day a holiday or somethin’. Day of Lost Hands or some shit like that.”

   

  “Show me that,” Äelberon reached for Grulmar’s hand, a warm light already glowing at his fingertips.

   

  The Orc moved the hand closer to his body, away from the Altmer’s reach. “Save yer magic for yerself, Shiny, I’ve already got the potio-”

   

  “You will really lose that hand if you won’t let me heal it now,” Äelberon’s eyes blazed with a renewed intensity, closely followed by a chuckle. “Seriously, do you want me to knock you out like Decimus did behind the Bannered Mare? I feel like a newly born kitten, but trust me when I say that I can always find at least little bit of strength to punch you for your own good.”

   

  Grulmar couldn’t prevent the chuckle that escaped his mouth, remembering that big Imperial fist landing in between his eyes very well. He sighed, lifting his hand and offering it to Äelberon for inspection. The elf muttered something under his breath as he examined Grulmar’s wrist and it didn’t take long for his magic to spread through Grulmar’s body, concentrating at his wrist. “Just the wrist, yeah? Don’t waste it on the other minor shit.”

   

  Aelberon grunted, blinking few times and quickly shaking his as if he was struggling to keep his eyes open. “Do you still have some magicka left?” He asked.

   

  “I think so. Why?”

   

  “I am nearly out. I need you to close your eyes and let yourself go, and I will take some magicka from you to finish the healing.”

   

  Well, this is new, Grulmar thought as he leaned with his head against the wall, closing his eyes, his mind reaching for that bright star in his soul, the little piece of Aetherius, which still burned, though the light was diminished now. He let it flow freely, and he could feel an invisible hand tapping into that light, taking bits of it, and filtering it back into his body. The pain was being slowly washed away and the magic spreading through his limbs was making him even more tired, almost sleepy.

   

  Decimus always said that gettin’ healed from this old fart was like havin’ a good shag. Yeah, he was right about that. Who would have thought me and Shiny would be having a healin’ magic shag one day? He chuckled at that thought, realizing how much like Decimus that sounded. “I really miss him, ya know,” he said out loud suddenly, sighing. “Keep hearin’ him in my head, all those bad jokes and dirty advices just keep resurfacin’. He saved my life today, I think. That thing he kept sayin’ about Wards.”

   

  “Pretty faces and fucking feet, eh?” the Altmer chuckled and Grulmar could hear him shift a little bit, probably trying to find more comfortable position. “I know that one, yes. He liked saying that. Yes, he taught me a similar lesson, in the dark catacombs under Solitude.” There was a weighted sigh, very similar to Grulmar’s. “I miss him too, lad. He was like a son to me, though that always made him uncomfortable, the emotion too raw. To humor him then, I would often say ‘like the brother I never had’, but no, he was a son to me.”

   

  “Ya know what he would say right now?”

   

  The Altmer snorted at that. “Something about a marriage proposal no doubt. Or that we are being sensitive like two women on their Lunars.”

   

  “Heh. Yeah, sounds about right.” Grulmar felt a smile on his face, letting Äelberon work his magic.

   

  There was a high chance he dozed off, because when he opened his eyes the Altmer wasn’t sitting next to him anymore and the Orc wearily looked around the room. He shook his head, trying to shake away that tiredness and he looked at his wrist. It was numb, every movement of his fingers hurt, but at least he could move them and the colour of his wrist was much better.

   

  “Shiny?” he raised his voice.

   

  “Here, lad,” came the answer from the door on the other side of the chamber, directly opposite to the entrance they came in through. Grulmar was about to get up when the Altmer walked out into his view, carrying something in his hand. And Grulmar could sense it, that dark and...slimy magic.

   

  “Whoa, whoa,” he shook his head in denial. “What are ya goin’ to do with that thing?” he pointed at the Black Book.

   

  “Oh this?” The Altmer lifted the book. “Ah, well... I was thinking about tossing into the sea with a little bit of the thu’um behind it for good measure. It might throw old Mora into a fit.”

   

  “Good,” Grulmar murmured, actually very relieved to hear that. “I think I’ve had enough of those things and crazy Dragon Priests for the rest of my life. I’d die a happy Orc if I never saw either ever again.”

   

  “Me too.”

   

  “A happy Orc?” Grulmar couldn’t resist.

   

  The Mer laughed, but then his expression grew pensive. “It is too tempting, the books’ promises of knowledge and power,” the elf explained, taking a good look at the book with narrowed eyes. “Few have the will to resist it, and just look at me, I will bear the marks forever. They are all over my body, my face, chest, hands, arms, throat. Like he tried to brand me as his with all his might.” He raised his hand, showing the runes on his skin. “And I was tempted, Gru, make no mistake on that. I was struggling not to look for the answers I knew I could find there. But look what the knowledge has done to them,” his arm made a wide circle encompassing the destroyed burial chamber around them. “Ahzidal, Miraak. They believed themselves to be gods, because of what they learned, because of the power they achieved. But knowledge and power does not make you a god. These things, these Black Books, they are not doors to knowledge. They are doors to corruption.”

   

  “What makes ya a god then?” Grulmar wondered out loud, which earned him a look from the Altmer, those fiery eyes narrowing.

   

  “What makes you a god? Belief,” he answered.

   

  “So if I believe hard enough I’m a god, will I be one?”

   

  The Altmer’s laugh rang in the chamber ending with a snort. “Not your belief, silly. Belief of others. We are all just specks of dust in the grand scale of time, but if enough people believe in something, this world can make it true. Towers and Stones… Why do you think Miraak was trying to escape through the perfect world he had created in people’s dreams? It was a world where he was a god and if enough people believed that… This world would cease to be, Miraak’s dream would have become a reality. I could not allow that.“ The Elf sat next to him again after those words, the book on his lap.

   

  Grulmar was silent for a second, trying to absorb all that. It was strange to hear such words coming from a priest, especially one that had been known to be devout beyond common sense - at least that was what Grulmar had always thought. He shook his head, still trying to wrap his head around it. “I barely follow. Are ya sayin’ that gods don’t make the faith, but faith makes the gods? ‘Cause that’s tusked up, Shiny.”

   

  The Altmer shrugged. “We could say that it only comes down to what are you going to decide to believe in. As long as you decide for yourself and not let others decide for you. I would also say that that was not my view in the beginning, but things in my long life have happened that have made me rethink my youth’s narrowness. From even way before I came to Skyrim. Can I condemn Aela anymore for Hircine? Or Ana for her decisions, or Decimus for his? Who am I to tell them what was right for them, when I barely even know what is right for myself anymore? Do not misunderstand me, I have great faith still, more, I think, than I ever had before, otherwise I would not be here, but… but… it’s like it’s bigger than what I believed in before if that makes any sense? I don’t need to say anymore day and night what has already been ingrained in my heart and soul, I know now, from the very beginning...”

   

  The Orc narrowed his eyes, something about what was said scaring him to the bone. What was bigger than the gods, what was beyond them? And believing in such thing… Notions like these could literally rock the world. The whole world, not just Grulmar’s. He opened his mouth to say something to that, but maybe for the first time in his life he had no idea what to say, how to respond. So he averted his gaze, ashamed of himself and his lack of comprehension.

   

  But it lead his thoughts to something else eventually, something that the Altmer might not like and so Grulmar carefully considered his words. He didn’t want it to sound offensive, so he just hoped that by now Äelberon knew him well enough. “And if people decide to put their belief in ya?” he asked, already noticing the elf’s creasing brow. “Ya have the power, ya have the knowledge - ya are the tuskin’ Dragonborn after all. Since people used to worship dragons, why not worship ya? Can ya prevent them from doin’ that, Shiny? If they decide of their own free will to worship ya... Ya would be a god then, no? ‘Cause let’s be honest, people believe in all kinds of bullshit, and if all those people ya saved from dragons come to venerate ya just like Talos, can ya actually stop them? Or maybe the question should be: Should ya stop them?”

   

  The Elf paused, his eyes misting a little. He blinked several times and let out a small gust of air, seemingly taken aback by the Orc’s question and he looked away. “On that night it rained so much, sheets of it, like She was crying, mourning. I remember it, when the first dragon fell. When I learned I was Dragonborn. Grulmar, I did not weep more in my life than I did on that night, not even when I lost the family of my blood. I wept in secret, of course, when Kodlak and the others finally left me alone, while they celebrated. I am…” He shook his head. “I do not know what I am. But my people, the people I have loved and missed more than anything would say that I am a demon. Not a god.” A tear ran down the soot-streaked cheek and it was a moment of profound sadness that surprised the Orc. “Gru, I just want to be a mer and live the rest my life with my Ana.”

   

  “Don’t we all? I mean, live our lives, not live them with yer woman. That would be weird,” the Orsimer murmured, which made the old Elf release a chuckle laced with sadness. So much pain in the elf’s voice, pain he understood very well. Back in the day, when he did nothing but take potshots at the so-called Dragonborn, rubbing all his actions and religion in his face, he didn’t understand. But he understood now. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I still think y’are just an Old Mary fart with too big of a nose. Maybe that’s why I never liked ya. Yer nose is too big. Don’t trust people with big noses. And ya know what? No god can have a big nose. Just doesn’t work.”

   

  “Agreed, my nose is far too big,” the Altmer bounced back. “And if that fails, I could still hire a little Orc princess to ‘unsave’ people for me.”

   

  “Unsave?” Grulmar blinked several times, shaking his head. “Is that a dig at me? I feel like it’s a dig at me. Did I say somethin’ like that? Malacath’s armpit, matey! Ya can’t take everythin’ I say seriously!”

   

  “You do not have to worry about that, Motagiik,” Äelberon shook his head with a smile. “Now come one, we have talked like two senile grandmothers for too long, and frankly, I have been in this position for far too long.” With that, he slowly rose, laughing at the cracks his bones were making.

   

  He then offered his hand to the Orc who just brushed it off, struggling back to his feet on his own, using that Draugr sword as a support and then as a crutch to lean on. The Altmer gave him and the sword a look. “What?” the Orc asked.

   

  “Are you really going to use that piece of shit?”

   

  The Orc grimaced. “First of all: Never use that phrase in front of me again. Ever. I feel violated by how many times that tusker Mogrul used it today. Lack of imagination if ya ask me.” He then looked at the sword, shaking his head. “Second of all: What in Oblivion is wrong with it? I’m goin’ to use it as a crutch, not to hack someone’s arse to pieces.”

   

  “It is a crutch that is going to break soon,” the Altmer snorted, handing Grulmar his ebony sword. “Now this is one damn fine crutch. Trust me, you will never want any other.”

   

  “Nutjob,” the Orc chuckled, taking the sword and leaned against it. “Awww, y’are right. This is the best crutch I ever had,” he smirked. He looked towards the exit Äelberon appeared from with the Black Book before. “So is there like a back entrance or somethin’? There usually is in Nordic barrows, right?”

   

  “We are going back the way we came in.”

   

  “Why? I barely walk, matey. Can’t we take a shortcut?”

   

  “Grulmar. The miners.”

   

  “Oh. The miners.”

   

  “Yes. They will be confused and most likely in need of our assistance.”

   

  And the dutiful priest is back Or... has he ever left in the first place? it left Grulmar thinking briefly on Azhidal’s words to the dragon. How they had gotten under Tipsy’s skin. Something had happened, but he was too tired to dwell on it now.

   

  “See? This is why y’are the Dragonborn and I’m just a simple Orc. I already forgot about the miners ya knocked out on yer way here. Hmm. But seriously, can’t we let them sort shit out on their own? I mean, I barely walk, right? That is, unless there was some kind of compensation-”

   

  “Grulmar,” the Altmer warned, but there was a twinkle in the tired eyes.

   

  “Alright, alright! I’m goin’. See? I’m goin’. Tuskin’ miners…”

  

  “Mothertusker!”

   

  They just reached the spot where Grulmar left Mogrul, only to find that bloody Orc gone. The shards of Grulmar’s broken vials were tossed around the floor, right next to the torch, with a trail of blood leading to the surface. But not the trail of blood expected from a severed limb. By the looks of it, the tusker used the torch to cauterize the wound then he licked the remaining drops from the broken vials. And just tusking walked away.

   

  “Mothertusker!” Grulmar cursed one more time. “Should have slit that asshole’s throat when I had the chance! Tuskin’ bag of shit!” What a gods damn bloody mistake! Leavin’ a dickhead like Mogrul to live. Why? Why in the all planes of Oblivion did ya have to be so tuskin’ stupid? He glanced at the Altmer who was now chewing the inside of his lip in thought. “Talk to me, Shiny.”

   

  “He was defeated and disarmed, Grulmar,” Äelberon sighed.

   

  “But?”

   

  “The armor.”

   

  “Tusk! I should have.”

   

  The Mer put a hand on his shoulder, looking at him with a reassuring smile. “You are not a killer, son. Is the armor a loose end?” The elf nodded in acknowledgement. “Aye, it is, but Mogrul has also suffered a heavy defeat. He no longer has protection. He has no army, no Ahzidal, no way out of this island.” Äelberon’s features darkened. “And if I know vengeance like I know vengeance, the mothertusker is finished.”

   

  “I tuskin’ hope he is,” the Orc growled, looking at the hand on the floor. The whole gauntlet with the wristguard had remained intact, and Grulmar remembered the magic coming out of that gauntlet. Conjuring Wards without using consuming his own magicka, especially when Wards were so draining for him… He bent down with a groan, picking up the hand from the floor and leaned against the wall. “Hey, Shiny!”

   

  “What is it now?” He eyed the gauntlet and raised his eyebrows. “Picking up the pieces are we?”

   

  They both laughed at the joke.

   

  “Want a souvenir?” Grulmar asked.

   

  Äelberon made a sour face. “P’shaw, son! That’s disgusting.”

   

  “Nah, ya dummy, bet ya saw what those rings can do, and having destruction spells at yer disposal would come in handy, am I right?” The old Mer’s eyes flickered with interest. “Ya could finally heat yer tea…” Grulmar smirked, nodding slowly.

   

  The Mer laughed so hard he was wiping the tears from his eyes. “Anything for tea.” He grinned, extending his hand.

   

  Only for Grulmar to pull the gauntlet away. “But I’m callin’ dibs on the gauntlet.”

   

  “‘Dibs’? Now you do sound like Dec.” The Altmer rolled his eyes.

   

  Grulmar began fighting with those stiff green fingers, trying to rip the rings of them, but the flesh had already swelled, making it nearly impossible. “Oh for tusk’s sake.”

   

  “Seems that even in pieces Mogrul is just pain in the ass to deal with,” the Altmer chuckled.

   

  “Tusk this!” Grulmar pulled out his heavy throwing knife and simply cut off the fingers with the rings, tossing them at Äelberon, who caught them. “Here, have fun.”

   

  The Altmer bowed in gratitude, but Grulmar knew he was joking. “My canis root tea thanks you, Grulmar Telvanni.” He stared at the rings in his hand. “Ah, seemed Ahzidal favored ebony. Interesting choice for jewelry, an old choice. The carvings are remarkably well preserved, a dragon priest motif. Urag would be  all over this, you just really can’t match late Merithic artisanship. Fascinating, hmm, let me see, if I was to take a guess and based on the colors I’m seeing that the rings are giving off, my new tea heater would be the ring with the ruby and sapphire. Nords were a good deal more blunt with their labeling. Of a remarkable quality too, I am envious.” His eyebrows furrowed as he scrutinized the other ring more carefully. “And pale moonstone for the other, ah, like how eyes grow opaque upon death, I see where the artist was coming from with their choice. Tusker caused a lot of trouble with this ring too…” his expression softened. “Ana deserves a gift, if, for anything, just putting up with me.”

   

  “Ya going to give her that?” Grulmar raised his eyebrows. “Ya know what it does.”

   

  “Yes, I do. If it makes fighting for her eaiser. I used to kill them, you know, whatever she would raise, to set them free. But now my desire for her to survive outweighs my personal feelings on the matter.” His eyes found Grulmar. “Compromise, Dec taught me that too.”

   

  Grulmar nodded to that and then stared on the gauntlet. He unstrapped the wristguard and luckily the gauntlet had only plated knuckles and not the whole fingers, so getting the hand out of it was easier than getting the rings from the fingers. He tossed the green hand aside, spitting for a good measure. “Mothertusker,” he murmured one more time.

   

  The world just wasn’t fair when people like Mogrul always managed to survive and slip away. Like a damn cockroach. I hate cockroaches. That Orc deserved something much worse than just losing an arm, much much worse. But the world wasn’t fair, so why was Grulmar so surprised? Because he most likely allowed himself to believe, even if just for a second, that justice would be served to the wicked. But the world doesn’t punish the wicked. It just doesn’t...

   

  As they moved through the barrow, they ran into a few of the surviving miners, who were shaken and confused. Äelberon tried to calm them down, and Grulmar let him, because the Orc certainly didn’t give a rat’s ass about those miners. It was what set him apart from Äelberon, he just didn’t care. Not about them, not about Raven Rock, none of it. It wasn’t why he had come to the barrow, to confront Ahzidal. But there was a part of him which cared for the Altmer and his vampire.

   

  But why? Decimus loved the Altmer, but Grulmar never really liked him. At least at first. It seemed that the more events they shared, the closer they became, and the Orc came to the realization that Äelberon understood him. Accepted him. In a way that very few did. And wasn’t that what he had always wanted?

   

  “Are you alright, sera?” one of the miners approached Grulmar, which made him frown in confusion. The Dunmer was looking at him, a concerned expression on his face and just when Grulmar was to open his mouth and say something along the lines of: ‘What do ya think, asshole? I’m covered in blood, most of it is mine, so do I tuskin’ look alright?!” the Dunmer stepped closer to him and threw the Orc’s arm over his shoulder. “Here, let me help you.”

   

  The Orc was so shocked he wasn’t capable of letting out a sound. He just let the Dunmer carry his weight, almost sighing in relief when he didn’t have to put so much pressure on his wounded leg anymore. “Why?” whispered, his mind still unable to comprehend such a simple act of kindness. No stranger ever did that for him - most of them would rather spit on him than help him.

   

  “It’s the least I can do. You know, for what you both did for us,” the Dunmer answered and Grulmar forced himself not to shake his head.

   

  Sir Shiny the Saint. That’s what ya used to call him, remember? It was an insult then. Now y’are ridin’ along with him on that wagon. Y’are losing yer touch, matey, this is goin’ to ruin yer reputation.

   

  As they walked, Grulmar realized the barrow around them somehow lost most of its ominous atmosphere, everything around them paled in comparison to what he and Äelberon had went through in the burial chamber. Grulmar was never as close to death as he was back there, that realization somewhat making him feel even more alive. It made him him tired, but at the same time more aware. Not only of his surroundings, soaking in the colours and details he never noticed before, but also to the fact of how fragile and precious life was. How easily it was taken away, and when it was, there were no consequences to it. Or maybe, at least, not consequences that he could notice, because, beside feeling sick about it, he didn’t feel that different.

   

  They exited the barrow and Grulmar took a deep breath of the fresh cold air. It was already dark, the sky clear and full of stars and the Orc just kept staring at them for several moments. He never noticed how bright they were.

   

  “What now?” he asked Äelberon, which got the attention of the five miners that were clinging to the Altmer and the Orc as kids to their mother’s skirt. The Altmer was facing the sky too, breathing deeply, a look of relief on his face.

   

  “Feels so damn good,” He murmured, closing his eyes, “the fresh air. Cool. I will be almost giddy from it, if my breaths are too deep.” The Mer then opened his eyes and pointed to the west. “Raven Rock is that way.” Grulmar could see that the Mer was thinking. “But so was the army that marched on the town. The Draugr had to be destroyed to the last of their numbers, but the Reavers broke off quickly after Ahzidal’s demise, no longer controlled, so they ran to save their lives. It is very likely we could encounter a few of them if we tried to reach Raven Rock. I am in no shape to fight them and neither are you. I say we stay here at the camp for the night and then travel to Raven Rock in the morning.”

   

  “How in Oblivion ya know all that?” the Orc frowned in confusion.

   

  Aelberon only smiled. “You were not paying much attention as we walked, were you?”

   

  “Wait. Ya talked with Fangs, right? With the shard. She’s goin’ to pick us up? If she is, tell her I’d like somethin’ roasted and somethin’ to wash it down with.”

   

  “She’s a tough woman, tougher than me. The battle went well,” the Altmer chuckled, slowly and stiffly walking up the ramp into the camp that started as an excavation camp for the miners and then eventually turned into a sort of military camp for Mogrul’s army. “I have no doubt we will find something roasted lying around. Reavers eat too.”

   

  The old Elf made to start a fire, lifting some firewood, but one of the miners came to him, telling him they would take care of it. The Altmer didn’t argue, choosing to plant his arse right on the ashen ground,  with his back leaning against some wooden crates. He stretched his long legs and winced from the soreness. “I will never get up again.” He moaned, closing his eyes.

   

  Grulmar told the grateful miner he was leaning on to sit him down on a stool close to the campfire, right next to Äelberon. As soon as he did, the miner went looking for something for them to eat and drink and the Orc chuckled. “I could get used to this, ya know.”

   

  Aelberon opened his eyes and blew some air out of his nostrils. He turned his head to face the Orc. “Gah. I still hate it, but Oghma’s tits, I am too tired to argue with them. It will at least keep their minds occupied, because what Ahzidal did to them…” The silver-white brow creased. “It was worse than rape, Grulmar.” He paused when one of the miners came closer and worked on the making the fire, but the Altmer’s eyes were still focused on Grulmar, speaking volumes. “At least they do something kind. Nords, Dunmer, even Orcs, you do something for them and they usually give back. My people? You just go back to your station in life. Save a village, you are still what you were before. Sometimes I was a priest, but most of the time, I was... no better than a goblin, and now?  I am worse.”

   

  The Orc grimaced. “Ya don’t have to tell me, matey.” He then sighed, shaking his head. “Too depressive to think about.”

   

  “I agree.”

   

  “So what now? What are ya plannin’ to do now?”

   

  “Rest I suppose,” Äelberon shrugged, closely followed by a chuckle. “I feel like sleeping well into afternoon and have my woman bring me breakfast in bed, though in the Netch ‘tis on the floor because I don’t fucking fit in a Dunmeri bed. Will that happen? Probably the breakfast in bed part because for all her hardness, she does nice things like that for me, but sleep? I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Sometimes, I rest well after something like this, but other times, if there is a loose end, or my mind is racing, sleep won’t come for days, and I feel one of those bouts coming on.”

   

  “No magicky tuskity tusk for ya, eh?”

   

  “Aye, won’t be casting for a wee spell. Usually eating helps me get through not sleeping, but I’ve no appetite lately. I know I am too thin, close to sick even, but food, it is revolting to me,  and I usually love eating. Of course there’s nothing wrong with the food, it’s in my mind. There’s a cleansing diet that my Order swore by, maybe I’ll try it again. It’s worked in the past.”

   

  “Well, I can see yer bones, Shiny. I think gettin’ some fat back on yer cheeks would do ya some good, so why in Oblivion’s shit would ya want to eat less?”

   

  “It’s not about eating more or less, but more of a spiritual thing. I need to focus, I need to ready myself. In the meantime, before I can do that, I will wait for ship in Raven Rock, try to heal and gather my strength. There are still pressing matters in Skyrim.” After those words his expression grew dark and Grulmar knew exactly what he was talking about.

   

  Alduin. So close now, Shiny. So close to yer freedom, to end of yer struggles. One way or another. Though the ‘another’ means Alduin’s goin’ to eat the world and we’re all tusked…

   

  “And you?” Äelberon interrupted his brooding and he looked up, blinking several times.

   

  “Hmm. I might go to Raven Rock with ya. Hang around for few days.”

   

  “Reason?”

   

  Grulmar smirked. “Well, first reason is that I need to talk with Sapphire. Might try to talk with her about Glover, I don’t know. We’ve been through a lot together, so maybe she’ll want to chat.”

   

  “So you are not planning on telling her about Mogrul?”

   

  “Well, there’s that,” the Orc grimaced. “She’ll want to know, and let’s be honest here, if I don’t tell tell her and she finds out, this island is not big enough for me to hide from her,” he snorted, rubbing his eyes. That was a small lie, because he was absolutely going to tell Sapphire about Mogrul. She had the right to hear it and decide what she wants to do. He sure hoped she would pick the more violent option.

   

  “Yes, tell her about Mogrul.” Äelberon pointed out, seeing right through the small lie. “I was tempted to track him myself, but no, the vengeance should be hers and hers alone. I know how it feels to not have closure. No one deserves that.” The Mer let the last setence hang for a few moments before continuing. “And the other reason?”

   

  Grulmar sighed. “Yeah. Y’are leavin’ and I feel like it’s probably going to be the last time we see each other. And, ehm, most of the times we were hangin’ together, we fought a lot, so...yeah. I’d be up for grabbin’ a bottle or two with ya, just have a good time.”

   

  “Awww, Grulmar. Are you going to propose now?” the Altmer imitated Decimus’ voice with a chuckle closely following it. He did well with it too, which surprised Grulmar. “I am not going to turn down that offer, but do not expect me to help you with those bottles.”

   

  “I’m just goin’ to ask Tipsy, he might be up for that.”

   

  “Ha! You don’t know what you’re asking for, Motagiik!” the Altmer thundered with a slightly different voice, the dragon in him bubbling briefly to the surface. But with a shake of his head Äelberon was back at the reins, a smile on his face. “So you plan on staying here then, with that crazy Telvanni?”

   

  “Yes,” Grulmar said immediately, then grimaced. “I don’t know. Maybe.” He looked around, at the ash under his feet, at Red Mountain in the distance, at the snowy peaks in the northern part of the island. “The place’s sort of grown on me. I don’t mind the time to study magic, and even Neloth is...bearable, in his own way. Though I certainly wouldn’t mind if things got little bit more...borin’ now that all this bullshit is over.”

   

  “I understand,” the Altmer solemnly nodded. “The voices...they are not so loud here, are they?”

   

  “Maybe,” Grulmar shrugged. I hope so. “Maybe,” he repeated, mostly for himself. But that was a topic for another time, now it was time to rest. And who knows, maybe the time with Shiny in Raven Rock could be a little productive. Maybe the Altmer could help with his problem, with the voices in his head and the tuskers in his dreams. He glanced at the Mer who was now watching the campfire intently.

   

  Here’s hopin’.