#and a nord will never see the light at the end of psa. It was different when there were hills to look on; the affected dignity of the dunme

[sbnkalny]

“Now listen well to what I tell you,” said the hen-wife. “You have paid me faithfully and fully, and I am ready to keep my part of the bargain, too. Far and far enough from here, there lies a great dark lake, and the name of it is Lough Erne. Under its waters lives the King of the Fiborg race, a race that lives in the water most happily. There, in the King’s garden, grow three golden apples. In his stable stands a grand black steed. In his castle lies the puppy-hound Samur, and great are the magic powers of that hound. You must send Conn-eda to get these things for you, and to fetch them back within a year and a day and it ’s not a living being who can seek those things and not lose his life in the seeking, unless he has magic to help him.”

However, there has been dissension within the scientific community as to what truth they ADD up to.. I served you faithfully once, lord Nerevar, and you repaid me with it! Oh, yeah! do you get it now? Papa's got a brand new jerky joint down on south st Calld Georges Jerky. Where I put my Big stupid pill Case for MORONS who take idiot pills? I need something to the bottom of a Lake, and a Nord will never see It happen. For the honor And dignity of the dunmer race, and handed over our ancient land to the mongrel dogs of the Empire. The BODILESS Shall rule the world as a MILF fire hydrant, you open me up and I grow three more heads. In the villa of ormen stands a solitary candle. Why are Old wiccan textbooks like the peak of that mountain lies the sky tower. Early one morning shattering life in the face spread the dirt to populace yellow journal yellow journal set the stage name joh Yowza.

[lake-arrius-caverns]

Nerevarine Rising

Chapter 13: Three’s A Crowd

hey just a PSA that since i’ve fallen behind (this chapter is ridiculously late) i’m going to take a short break from posting for a while to work on building up a buffer! (join our discord and bug me to write pls)

summary Fahjoth is hopeful that tensions between Julan and Ribyna will settle, but their animosity risks a guild assignment going pear-shaped.

content warnings violence, blood, minor character death

read under the cut or on AO3, cheers 👍

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He stood quietly awaiting a response after rapping his knuckles on the door, but only a heavy silence greeted him. Frowning, Fahjoth tried again, a little more forcefully this time. This was the right room, wasn’t it? 

The third knock finally yielded a result. From within the room came a low, long groan, and Fahjoth took that as his cue to open the door a sliver and peer inside. 

“Rise and shine,” he called, trying to hold back a grin at the state his friend was in. Julan was slouched on the bed, fully clothed and burying his face in his hands. “How are you feeling?”

“Ugh… fantastic,” came Julan’s gruff response. “Why did you let me drink so much?”

“You’re the one who kept asking for more! Want me to stop you next time?” 

“Yes.” Julan paused. “Maybe. I don’t know. Sheogorath, it feels like my head’s about to explode…”

Fahjoth chuckled, pushing the door open a little more to step inside. “Are you up for training today? Or d’you need some time to, uh… recover?”

“No, no, I’ll be fine,” Julan insisted, hauling himself to his feet and staggering slightly on the spot as he fought to balance himself. “So how come you’re looking so fresh this early?”

“Early?” Fahjoth repeated. “Mate, it’s gone midday.”

“It has?” Julan squinted at Fahjoth as he rubbed his head. “Gods… alright, there’s no time to waste then. What’s the plan?”

“Well, I thought maybe we could do something a bit more practical today,” Fahjoth started. “How d’you fancy taking out a bandit leader?”

“Bandits? Sure.” 

With no sign of Cosades to be seen that morning, Fahjoth had stopped by the Fighters Guild to find something, anything to keep him busy and to keep the gold coming in. While the prospect of facing an entire gang of bandits by himself was daunting, he was a little more confident that he and Julan would be able to deal with it together. And having Ribyna tag along couldn’t hurt, although he hoped that she and Julan would be able to put their differences aside for the time being.

Julan continued to chatter as he sat back down again to pull on his boots. “D’you do this sort of thing regularly?”

“Sort of.” Fahjoth leaned against the doorframe, waiting and watching idly. “I’ve done a few jobs for the Fighters Guild to earn a bit more gold. Nothing this big before, mind.”

“The Fighters Guild? You’ve never mentioned that. Fighters… they’re alright, I guess.” Julan suddenly looked up, eyes wide. “Hey, have you ever seen a Nord hit himself in the face with his own hammer?”

“No?”

Julan sighed, a grin growing on his face. “Well, me neither, but I live in hope.” He stood up and approached the doorway, patting Fahjoth on the shoulder as he reached him. “After you.”

Fahjoth laughed as he headed out of the cornerclub, feeling an odd excitement begin to quiver somewhere in his gut. Or was that nervousness? Whatever it was, the feeling intensified as he stepped outside and came face-to-face with his twin, who was leaning against the wall and looking bored stiff as she waited for them. 

“About fucking time,” Ribyna muttered, and as Julan stepped out after him, Fahjoth heard him falter. His good mood instantly took a nosedive; he had been hopeful for a few more moments of peace at least before the hostilities began again. 

“Are you still up for coming with us to Suran, Beebs?” Fahjoth asked, in an attempt to ease the tension. 

“Why the fuck else d’you think I’d be stood here like a lemon waiting for you?” She jerked her head towards Julan. “The question is whether drunk tank here can cope with it.”

Julan frowned. “I’ll be fine.” 

“You sure about that? You got pretty hammered last night.” Ribyna’s voice was casual, but the glare she fixed Julan with was hard and cold. “You almost drank a hole in Fahji’s coin purse.”

“What does that even—” 

“Guys!” Fahjoth said abruptly, rubbing his temple as he spoke. Better to nip this in the bud before it became blown out of proportion. “Let’s get going, shall we? It’s a fair way to Suran. It’d be nice to get there before it gets dark.”

Neither Ribyna nor Julan continued to bicker, but the scathing looks they shot at each other instead left Fahjoth’s nerves shot. Julan’s eyes eventually met Fahjoth’s own and he began to look quite guilty. 

“Sorry, Fahjoth,” Julan said. “Go ahead.” 

Fahjoth flashed Julan a small smile of appreciation before setting off out of town. The balmy afternoon sun warming the top of his head offered little comfort as he dreaded having to break up fight after fight between his two companions, an outcome that was looking more likely by the minute. 

                   ——————————————

The journey to Suran passed mostly in a very strained silence. Fahjoth would make conversation with Julan or with Ribyna, but never both at the same time, as they seemed to be doing their best to ignore each other. Fahjoth wasn’t sure whether he preferred that over the snide comments and defensive retorts. 

His contact in Suran, Serjo Avon Oran, resided in what was possibly the grandest house Fahjoth had ever set foot in. Delicate steps and care to avoid breaking or dirtying anything led the three to Oran; on speaking to him, Fahjoth learned that the bandits were occupying a cave among the hills to the northeast. 

“Be careful,” Oran had cautioned. “Nasty piece of work, those bandits. But take out their leader, Daldur Sarys, and the rest should scatter. Good luck.” 

With this advice in mind, Fahjoth was thoughtful as they exited Oran Manor and stepped out into the cool Suran evening. 

“I felt so weird being in a house like that,” Julan remarked. “I was expecting someone to yell at me for trailing muck all over their floor…” 

“You know, you were trailing a lot more than muck in there,” Ribyna replied. She sniffed, looking down at Julan’s boots. “Is that guar shit?” 

A momentary flash of alarm crossed Julan’s face and he hastily lifted up his foot to check the underside of his shoe, only to scowl as Ribyna in turn cackled like a hyena. 

“Don’t listen to her, she’s winding you up,” Fahjoth said with a sigh. “Right, well, if you’re done, shall we get going? We’re losing daylight. Unless we got a room for the night and headed out first thing.” 

“Oh no, I’m not hanging around any longer than I need to!” Ribyna insisted, already turning on her heel and strolling out under the town’s entrance archway. “We’re going. What are you? Men or scribs?” 

“You know that shit doesn’t work on me!” Fahjoth called, but nonetheless he followed suit, glancing back to ensure that Julan was following. 

“Well, come on then! You and Guar-Boy better get a move on, or those bandits will have died of old age by the time we get there.” 

Fahjoth said nothing, merely trotted along in Ribyna’s wake with an exasperated roll of his eyes. Likewise, Julan was quiet, but when Fahjoth risked a peek back at him, he caught him furiously mouthing “Guar-Boy?!” under his breath. 

The road to Saturan was pleasantly empty. With the shadows cast by the sun growing as it sank behind the hills, plunging them into the bitterly chilly shade, Fahjoth was grateful that they encountered no trouble along the way. 

By the time they located Saturan, dusk had come and gone, leaving only clear dark skies glittering with distant stars overhead. Fahjoth shivered as he stared at the cave entrance, the dilapidated wooden door concealing the unknown that lay within. He took a few cautious steps closer and gently pushed the door open, wincing as the hinges emitted a slight, shrill creak. The inside of the cave stretched further in than Fahjoth could see, its earthy tunnels lit by bracketed torches propped up on long iron poles jutting up from the ground. 

The entrance cave meandered on for a short distance, descending deeper into the hill until opening up into a much larger cavern. The path was supplemented by a rough wooden boardwalk, its far end strewn with crates and candles and a ladder leading down to the lower levels. Fahjoth scuttled along, taking care not to hit his head on the low-hanging stalactites until he reached the crates, and beckoned Julan and Ribyna along behind him as he tucked himself behind one. Here, they looked down upon the lower boardwalk, where a few others paced back and forth, carrying boxes and sacks of loot back and forth. Fahjoth’s gaze was fixed down below, but he heard Ribyna and Julan settling down and crouching on either side. 

“So, these must be the bandits,” Julan whispered. “Have you got a plan?” 

“Sort of,” Fahjoth answered. “We need to get to the leader, somehow. Daldur Sarys. If we can take him out with a sneak attack, the rest should scatter like Oran said.”

“Right! So… how do we get to Sarys? Which one is Sarys, anyway?”

Fahjoth paused, frowning as he stared down at the bandit activity below. Truthfully, it was impossible to know exactly who their target was; all they could do was hope to hear his name brought up in conversation and go from there. But how long could they stay put, before someone discovered them and raised the alarm? 

As Fahjoth pondered this rather pressing dilemma, he became aware of a soft rustling and clinking coming from his left. He glanced over, his heart beginning to hammer as he watched Ribyna idly rummaging through one of the crates. 

“Oh hey, look!” She held up what seemed to be a bottle of sujamma, admiring it in the soft orange light of a nearby candle. “There’s loads of this shit in here! We won’t have to buy drinks for like, a week with this lot.” 

Like Fahjoth, Julan’s agitation was evident. 

“Put that down, they’ll hear you!” he hissed, lunging for the bottle. Though he made contact, Ribyna refused to relinquish it, keeping a firm grip on it herself. 

“Piss off, Guar-Boy, get your own!” 

“I’m not trying to steal it, you s’wit!”

“Oh yeah, right-o! I bet you’d be happy to guzzle this whole crate by yourself, you fucking alchie!” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?! Let go—!” 

With one sharp tug from Julan, the bottle was wrenched from Ribyna’s grip. But Julan, not expecting Ribyna to let go, toppled back and hit the boardwalk with a dull thud. His elbow struck the wood and the bottle was flung from his grasp, sailing over the side of the boardwalk and crashing against the wooden deck below, shattering on impact and splattering its sweet, frothy innards in a graceful explosion of liquor. 

“Shit—!”

Fahjoth ducked back behind the crates, keeping himself as low to the ground as possible as he reached out towards Julan and hauled him back to safety as soon as he felt their hands meet. As the three huddled together, their breathing laboured with the effort of remaining as silent as possible, Fahjoth strained his ears to listen. 

It was quiet. Far too quiet. The sounds of activity below ceased entirely as all bandits froze in their tracks. 

“What the hell?” 

Over the sound of Fahjoth’s own rapid heartbeat reverberating in his head, he listened to the soft creaking of the wooden planks beneath the bandits’ cautious feet becoming louder as the seconds ticked by. They couldn’t remain there for much longer. 

“Fahjoth,” Julan whispered, “we have to do something.” He paused to listen for a moment before continuing with the same hushed urgency, “If we all rush out at the same time, maybe we can catch them off-guard.”

“Yeah. It’s our best chance,” Fahjoth agreed. “Alright... ready? One... two... three!”

Julan led the assault. He vaulted down the steps and engaged with the first bandit, an Orc who was unlucky enough to be standing closest. As Fahjoth followed suit, from his periphery he saw Ribyna leap over the crates and land on the lower boardwalk where she lunged at the closest bandit. The force from her collision knocked them both clean off the edge, causing a loud squelch as they landed in the muck beneath. 

Fahjoth drew his weapon as he charged forward and the Redguard bandit in front of him scrambled back for distance, reaching for his own axe. But Fahjoth was faster, and the Redguard hollered as his hand was struck with Fahjoth’s sword, leaving an angry, weeping welt across his knuckles. With the blade sailing ever closer, the Redguard threw up both hands in an act of surrender. 

“I yield!” he cried, and Fahjoth ceased his attack. There was no way he could kill a surrendering man... But his sword hand did not waver, and after a second he spoke the first thing that came to mind. 

“I’ll give you one chance,” he said, his voice heavy with threat. “Your group’s done. Get out.”

The Redguard needed no encouragement. Edging around Fahjoth’s sword, he broke into a sprint up the steps and fled, his footsteps echoing down the cavern until the creaking of the door in the distance announced his departure. 

As he caught his breath, Fahjoth glanced around to see how his companions were faring. His eyes fell on Julan; his sword was slick with blood and his opponent had dropped twitching to the ground, and a surge of admiration welled up in Fahjoth’s chest. He opened his mouth to call over to him, but the air froze in his chest as a shadow caught his eye. 

A hunched figure crept closer to Julan, the glint of a blade flashing in the candlelight as it was drawn from its sheath. 

“Julan!” Fahjoth yelled, kicking off into a mad dash back up the boardwalk to his friend. The figure, a Dunmer, recognising that his cover had been blown, fully brandished his weapon and rushed towards Julan as well. As Julan raised his own sword, Fahjoth caught up with the bandit and threw himself legs-first at the bandit’s ankles. 

A burning pain radiated out from his shin as the bandit’s foot collided with it. Fahjoth skidded to the ground, but his effort had been enough. The Dunmer, tripped up by Fahjoth’s sliding tackle, stumbled forward — and directly into range of Julan’s shortsword. Julan lunged, impaling the bandit clean through the neck. With blood dribbling from his gurgling mouth, the bandit crumpled to his knees, and after a hard kick to the chest from Julan, he dropped to the ground and fell still. 

With his leg throbbing, Fahjoth struggled to get his feet, but Julan was quick to approach and offer a hand which he gladly accepted. But before he could say his thanks, footsteps at the end of the cavern alerted them to the arrival of two more Dunmer. 

One of them, donning thick chitin armour, stared at the scene in shock before his angular features twisted with rage. 

“You’ll regret killing my people, you n’wah!” he hissed, drawing a glimmering sword as he stepped closer. Behind him, the second Dunmer — donning the elegant robes of a mage — raised his hands as he prepared a blistering fiery spell. Julan prepared his own spell in retaliation, but before the mage could attack, a dark figure on the ground beneath the boardwalk suddenly lunged at his legs. 

The mage howled as Ribyna plunged her dagger into his knee, and as he was rendered lame and unbalanced, she grabbed his robes and dragged him down to the ground with her. The head bandit  — Daldur Sarys — snapped his head around in alarm, and Fahjoth took his opportunity. 

He struck at Sarys with his sword, but Sarys faced him in time to block it with his own, the hilt vibrating in Fahjoth’s hand and the blades screeching as they clashed. As Fahjoth jumped back to avoid Sarys’ retaliation, Julan’s voice rang out from behind. 

“Fahjoth, get down!” 

Without hesitation, Fahjoth ducked. 

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as a crackling energy sailed overhead. He risked peering up in time to witness a bolt of electricity crashing down on Sarys. As the magic jolted through his body, he gave a choked gasp and stumbled back, and Fahjoth took his chance. He whacked at Sarys’ sword arm, and — as he drew a deep breath and steeled himself — slashed his blade across the bandit’s throat. 

With a deep laceration in his neck now gushing blood, Sarys began to stagger on the spot. A weak glow illuminated his hand as he tried desperately to heal himself, but the damage had already been done. Unable to breathe, and with his own blood generously painting both himself and the wooden planks beneath his feet, Sarys could only remain standing for a few seconds more before his legs gave way beneath him and, like the rest of his comrades, he collapsed. 

With the silence in the cavern now punctuated only by the sound of their ragged panting, Fahjoth turned to face Julan, taking deep breaths in an attempt to force his heart rate back to normal. The pain in his leg now pulsed much more noticeably than before. 

“I think that’s all of them,” he said, limping to meet Julan and weakly wiggling his sword to shake off the blood. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” Julan answered. “What about you? Is your leg okay? That fall looked nasty.”

“It will be,” Fahjoth replied, but before he could continue, a noise behind them caused them both to whirl around in alarm. Fahjoth’s heart hammered again, but it calmed as soon as he realised it was just Ribyna, wearily clambering back up onto the boardwalk from the muddy cave floor beneath, splattered from head to foot with a grim combination of muck and blood. Fahjoth started towards her and offered a hand to help her up — which she ignored entirely. 

“Beebs! Are you alright—“ 

“No thanks to you.”

Fahjoth paused. “What d’you mean?“ She had since got to her feet, but as Fahjoth tried to reach out to her again, he faltered as she smacked his hand away. “Ribyna, what’s the matter?”

Ribyna didn’t answer. Instead she gave a derisive scoff, turning away from Fahjoth and making a half-hearted attempt to clean the grime off her leathers. Confusion gave way to a prickling anger as Fahjoth’s blood began to boil. 

Before he could stop himself, he had snapped back. 

“What exactly is your problem? I mean if it wasn’t for you fighting with Julan, none of this would have happened in the first place! What the hell were you thinking?!” 

Ribyna let out a humourless laugh. “Oh yeah, that’s right! Go on, blame me instead of your new best mate who can do no wrong!”

“What?” Fahjoth’s mouth dropped open as he stumbled over his words. “W— where’s this coming from?” 

“As if you need to ask! It’s like he’s the only one who matters now!”

From beside him, Fahjoth noticed Julan bristle and take a breath as he prepared his retort. Fahjoth held up a hand and shot him a pleading glance — a silent request to let him handle this situation, which Julan thankfully obliged. 

“Beebs, you’re being ridiculous—”

“Am I, though?! Ever since he joined us, you’ve been siding with him and defending him all the time!”

Fahjoth frowned, his frustration from Ribyna’s behaviour over the past few days finally bubbling over and spilling out. “Because you’ve been treating him like shit!”

“He treated us like shit, Fahjoth! Or have you forgotten already?!”

“I apologised for that,” Julan interjected with a frown. 

Glancing between Julan and Ribyna, Fahjoth nodded. “He did apologise for that, Beebs.”

Ribyna cackled again, a rough, unpleasant sound devoid of any mirth. “There, you’re doing it again! Well, d’you know what, I’m done. I’m fed up of you picking this random guar-fucker over your own fucking family.”

Fahjoth stepped back, Ribyna’s words hitting him like a punch to the face as a wave of unease washed over him. “But... I’m not—”

“Save it!”

She turned away, and Fahjoth’s stomach churned as he noticed an unmistakable dark red stain oozing from her hairline, just before her temple. 

“Ribyna? Did you— are you hurt?”

He stepped closer again and cautiously touched her shoulder, but another hard strike from Ribyna sent him recoiling instantly.

“Ribyna—!”

“Fuck you both. See you ‘round.” 

Ignoring Fahjoth’s cries, Ribyna wheeled around and stormed off with a distinct unsteadiness in her steps. His gut twisting and a cold sweat settling on his skin, Fahjoth continued to shout after his twin long after her angry footsteps had receded into silence. 

“Ribyna!” 

With nothing answering him but the gentle dripping of water from the cave roof, Fahjoth dropped his head into his hand and sighed. Things had been tense with Ribyna lately, but he hadn’t anticipated such a blow-out. He hadn’t realised she still held such a grudge for Julan’s attitude on their first encounter. Why couldn’t she have just talked to him about this? He was used to her stubborn reticence, but it was still incredibly frustrating. 

“I’m sorry.”

Fahjoth turned around. Julan was standing there, looking almost as wretched as Fahjoth felt. 

“What are you apologising for, mate?” 

Julan wrung his hands, dropping his gaze. “I just… I feel like this is all my fault.”

“Hey, don’t be daft!” Fahjoth took a few hasty steps forward until he was close enough to rest his hands on Julan’s shoulders. “It’s not your fault. Ribyna is just…” He grimaced, shrugging as he wondered how best to explain. “She isn’t the easiest person in the world to get on with. She doesn’t really… make friends very easily.” 

“But my point still stands!” Julan protested. “Me being here is just causing you problems. You wouldn’t be fighting with your twin if it wasn’t for me.” 

Fahjoth scoffed. “I wouldn’t be so sure. We always squabble over… pretty much everything. But— look…” He gave Julan’s shoulders a squeeze and crouched the few inches necessary until they were at eye-level with each other, trying to convey his sincerity with a small smile. “I promised I’d help you train, and I’m sticking to that. Whether that’s with or without Ribyna. Okay?”

Julan managed a weak smile in return. “Okay.” 

“Anyway, you’re not just causing me problems!” Fahjoth continued. “Look at what we did today! I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you, mate.”

“You probably would have. But thanks.” Julan’s smile gradually became a grin. “We do make a pretty good team, don’t we?”

Fahjoth’s smile widened. “Damn right we do!” Without thinking, he pulled Julan into an enthusiastic one-armed hug — only to panic as he realised what he’d done. Had he crossed a line? He didn’t know what Julan’s stance on physical contact was; what if he was offended?

“Sorry, I just—” he began babbling as he backed off, but Julan simply laughed and patted Fahjoth on the shoulder in return. 

“It’s fine,” he said. “So… shall we get going? I could kill for a mazte right now!”

Fahjoth raised a brow, glancing around at the bloodied heaps of bodies dotted around the cave. “I think we already did, mate.” He flashed Julan another grin and set off, limping out of the cave while frequently looking back to ensure that Julan was following. “I think we’ve more than earned that mazte.”

“Hah, you’re right.” He glanced down at Fahjoth’s leg, noticing his awkward gait. “Are you sure your leg’s alright?” 

“Oh, it’ll be fine, don’t worry,” Fahjoth replied, waving Julan’s concern aside with an airy flick of his wrist. “It’s just a bit bruised, I think.” 

“As long as you’re sure. You know, that was an impressive tackle.” Julan paused, a thoughtful look on his face as he trotted along beside Fahjoth. “I heard you letting one of them go.” 

Fahjoth faltered, his grin slipping away to a wry smile. “Yeah… he was yielding. I couldn’t bring myself to kill someone after they’d surrendered.” 

“You’ve got better morals than half of Morrowind then. At least.” For a moment, Fahjoth wasn’t sure whether that was meant to be taken as a compliment or an insult, but Julan continued, “Oh, I’m not criticising! I think it’s nice. Just… be careful, okay? I’d hate to see anything happen to you.” 

A curious feeling settled in Fahjoth’s stomach. He glanced at Julan, the earnesty on his face clear to see even in the low light of the nearby torch flames, and instantly Fahjoth felt a rush of gratitude and affection for his new friend. The idea that another person cared that much about him warmed him from the inside out, even as they stepped out into the chilly night air. 

“Cheers, mate,” he said, clapping Julan on the shoulder as another smile lifted his cheeks. “Let’s go tell Oran the good news, then go get those drinks.”

Julan grinned back, lightly bumping Fahjoth’s shoulder with his own. 

“Sounds good to me.”