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Fanfic: "Council Meeting" Elder Scrolls (PG)
Basic source background: Morrowind is the third of the Elder Scrolls video game series, though all are independent storylines in themselves. The Elder Scrolls games are set in the world of Tamriel, each game focusing on a specific region. Morrowind is set in the land of the Dark Elves, aka the "Dunmer", a land with an old and very rich history and culture. While they were half-unwillingly incorporated into the Empire, they hold on tightly to their traditional customs and faith. Five oligarchical Great Houses feud among themselves, and the state Temple is a powerful, and at times dangerous, controlling force over all. The King, originally a puppet of the Empire, has his own goals in mind. And, amid growing rumors of the evil under Red Mountain, are other rumors, squelched viciously by the Temple and other great powers, of a Dunmer hero reborn to combat it. But who? And from where?

Story notes: Crassius Curio (NPC canon character)/Elyssa Halaya (player character/OC). Set just before the Third Trial. Angst, sap, romance. Other story notes at end of fic.

"Council Meeting"



Crassius Curio could usually tell when the Grandmaster of House Hlaalu--formerly his protegee and general errand girl--came to pay one of her frequent visits to his manor by the sudden flurry and buzz of the voices of his Dunmer retainers upstairs and outside his door, offering good wishes and compliments and perhaps receiving a generous "consideration" in return. He smiled to himself, rummaging around for a bottle of their favorite Cyrodiilic brandy--Third Era, 407, an excellent year. He knew the pattern of their encounters. Elyssa Halaya would enter his chamber, they would glance decorously, yet flirtatiously, at each other. They would discuss House matters as Grandmaster and Councilor, then perhaps Elyssa's most recent wild adventures--the latest had been gathering obscure relics for the Temple, of all things--and in due time, would touch on more personal matters which inevitably necessitated an overnight visit. They were extremely pleasant visits, and he looked forward to them. To her.

No. That was strange. This was not the usual murmur.

Someone cried out from the upper floor, followed by the sound of footsteps running down the stairs to the bedrooms. Crassius stood up, almost knocking his chair over in his haste. He opened the door to see his stoic bodyguard, Balen Sedrethi, drop to his knees in front of their guest. Elyssa Halaya smiled and touched the top of his bent head in what was unmistakably a benediction. Crassius' agent, Forvse Nerethi, came out of her room, then stopped short, her mouth open in astonishment, and bowed deeply. The other Dunmer retainers joined them quickly, murmuring in surprise and apparent shock. Crassius could not understand why until he saw the Grandmaster standing before him.

Despite the number of people in the small antechamber, Elyssa Halaya dominated the room. She looked drastically different from the last time he'd seen her. Instead of the brilliant blue Flamemirror robe she usually wore, Elyssa was in armor, and not her customary dark leather armor, or even the old chitin suit she had worn when Crassius first met her. Now she was in sparkling green metal and glass with a shining ebony cuirass. He wondered how she was dealing with the weight. It was much heavier than she must have been used to.

But beyond the cosmetic change of wardrobe, was the new, and unexpected, force of her presence, so strong that she appeared to physically glow. Her strange, copper eyes bored into his. Crassius thought of the rhyme Forvse Nerethi had taught him about such eyes: "Copper eyes and copper hair/Hide Sheogorath's lair." It was said that Dunmer women with that coloring had more than the usual streak of fanaticism, though he'd always dismissed that with regards to Elyssa Halaya. It was true that she'd spent much time in the Temple, and lately, even working with members of the Imperial Cult, but he had more regard for her good sense than to think she was easily swayed by religious mania or the seductions of the Madgod Sheogorath. He knew she had her own reasons for her apparent piety, many of them to do with easing the long-standing tension between their secular-minded House and the rigid state Temple.

Still, when he saw the intensity of her gaze meeting his, he wondered.

Crassius opened his mouth to greet the Grandmaster, but she forestalled him.

"Councilor Curio. We must speak."

By the Nine. "Councilor Curio," she'd said. Not her usual affectionate "Crassius", much less the teasing, mock-coy "Uncle Crassius" he so liked to hear her say. He felt a premonitory chill.

"Of course, Grandmaster." He bowed and ushered her into his room, smiling urbanely at Elyssa Halaya and flashing a quick "leave us" glare at the others. He didn't wait to see if they'd taken the hint or not, but closed and locked the door behind them.

"I'm always at your service, Grandmaster." If she was going to be formal, so was he.

She twisted her fingers nervously. "Crassius. I just made out my will and had it notarized by Baren Alen at the Treasury. I've made you my executor. If something happens to me, I want Hlodala and Lleryn to have Rethan Manor. They've looked after it so well in my absences, and it's really their home more than mine, in some ways. I'm also dividing my money and movable goods among...."

"Wait." Crassius put his hand on her shoulder, signaling her to take his chair. He poured a glass of brandy for each of them, surprised when his hand shook and stray drops flecked the table. Elyssa's fingers curled around her goblet stem, rigid with tension. He swirled the brandy in his glass and inhaled, trying to give himself time to think. "It's always wise to have these legal matters sorted. But is there something that makes you feel this is an urgent step, or...?" He let the question hang in the air.

Elyssa Halaya, he thought to himself, what have you gotten yourself into now? It couldn't have been trouble with the Ordinators. Almost every foreigner in Vivec had run into trouble with the military religious order that policed the city, but Elyssa Halaya appeared to lead a charmed life with them. He'd heard she'd reached a remarkably high rank in the Temple hierarchy. "Your Holiness?" he asked, trying to make a joke and hoping it wouldn't come out wrong.

A flicker of smile on her lips. "Close. I'm Archcanon now. Which I think means that everyone still answers to either the Captain of the Ordinators or to the former Archcanon, and I'm the official Temple figurehead. Much as I'm the figurehead for House Hlaalu."

Crassius started to protest but she shook her head. "Hlaalu runs itself these days," she said. "You and I and Dram Bero, and perhaps Yngling, if you've given him a 'nice present' recently, form a solid majority on the council. Don't tell me I'm that vital as Grandmaster."

"Don't sell yourself short, either, Grandmaster," he said. "We wouldn't have our current balance of power if it weren't for you, and you know it." He took a breath and risked a more intimate tone with her. "Dumpling, tell me. What's wrong?"

She sipped her brandy, not meeting his eyes. "I've been in the Ashlands," she finally said.

What she was doing in that Nine- and Three-forsaken land he had no idea. "I'm glad you came back safely," he said. It was no more than the truth.

"I'll be going back there soon." Unexpectedly, Elyssa knocked back the rest of her glass and roughly refilled it. "And, um. Well. I might not come back."

"You're resigning the Grandmastership?" Crassius asked, keeping his tone neutral with effort. What about your House? he wanted to shout. What about me? I thought we.... "Is there a reason you might not be able to return?" he said instead. You have to come back, he thought. You have to. You always have before.

"It's...business." Elyssa had the shifty-eyed look that Hlaalu kinfolk often got at the word, but Crassius couldn't think of any Hlaalu-related "business" that would take her to the Ashlands. They had the ebony situation sorted out, and it wasn't as though the Ashlanders had much else anyone would want.

"Have you found more raw goods the Ashlanders might trade for?" Perhaps there was some marvelous new potions ingredient that both House Telvanni and the Mages Guild were mad to obtain. He hadn't heard of one, but his contacts in those circles were not as numerous as they might be.

"No. This is..." She broke off abruptly and stood up, hunching her shoulders, a tricky gesture in ebony and glass armor. Her face was turned away from him. "Business of the Emperor," she finished.

For all his quirks, Crassius was Imperial to the bone, and there was no arguing with that order. He nodded.

"And..." She turned back to him, gloved hand at her lips. "It might mean...."

No, he thought. Not your death, dumpling, not yours. Let the Emperor take me instead, he can't have you, he can't! Crassius felt his breath rushing in and out of his lungs as though he'd been racing, but he and Elyssa were still as statues.

"Can you refuse these orders?" he asked quietly, though he knew the Emperor's word could not be gainsaid.

"I could." She frowned. "I could. But it would be unwise at this point. Too much hangs on it."

Of course.

"Crassius." Her voice, holding back tears, nearly broke his heart. "I don't want to die."

He stepped toward her then, and took her in his arms. She returned his embrace awkwardly, spikes from her armor digging into his body. He stroked her hair, cradling her to him as he had so many times before, though more stiffly than he wanted to with the unaccustomed glass barrier. Stay with me, he silently pleaded. Don't go.

Instead he asked "Why do you think you might die?" Why shouldn't she, his inner voice scoffed. Running around Red Mountain, of all hellish places on Tamriel, it was a wonder that she hadn't left him--them--months since. But she'd come back from Red Mountain, by a miracle of whatever gods one cared to thank, she'd come back from near-death by Corprus disease, she'd come back from more terrifying encounters than he cared to remember. But she'd always come back to him, always alive and with a little smile.

She wasn't smiling now. "I'm on trial."

Crassius frowned. "Is this related to your prison sentence?" He still found it hard to believe that his elegant Grandmaster had begun as an orphaned jailbird, but he remembered the shy, taciturn figure in chitin armor who'd unaccountably found the perfect lead actor for his erotic stage masterpiece. He'd barely noticed her then, too intent on having his play performed in its full glory. He hadn't known that she would stay with him in heart and mind and body long after the piece had run its course and been forgotten. She'd changed so much over time, but something of that awkward girl still remained. He wondered if he was the only one who still remembered Elyssa Halaya as she was then.

Elyssa's voice broke into his reverie. "No, the sentence was waived for good when I came to Morrowind. Imperial orders."

His Grandmaster was also the Temple Archcanon, head of the Morrowind faithful. Could she possibly have fallen afoul of the reactionaries who hated the thought of an outlander among their sacred ranks? He lowered his voice, automatically scanning the room, although they were alone. "The Ministry?"

"Not yet."

Crassius found that even less reassuring, if possible. He was about to ask her for details, but found himself saying instead, "I don't want you to die either." Strange how the room had begun to blur and streak before his eyes.

"Help me out of this damn armor, Crassius," Elyssa said with a catch in her voice. "I can't even hold you properly now."

"Oh, pudding. Come here."

His hands shaking, he removed the shell of her armor from her. With the removal of the ebony cuirass--the cuirass was an insignia of her exalted Temple rank, he remembered now--some of the hard aura about her seemed to fade and she was closer to the girl in chitin, his dumpling. She stripped off her gauntlets, laid them on the table, and ran into his arms.

They clung to each other. Crassius buried his face in Elyssa's neck, trying to get impossibly closer to her. "Don't die, dumpling, for the Nine's sake," he muttered.

"I don't know if the Nine can help with this. But if you think they can, then pray for me. I was Imperial-born, maybe they'll listen. Can you do that for me?"

"What of your Almsivi, your Holy Three?" If Elyssa Halaya couldn't find consolation with her own gods, things were even worse than he'd feared.

"Them least of all, I think." Her voice was desolate.

His arms tightened around her, and she embraced him with enough force to constrict his breathing. He didn't care. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt her skin dampen under his cheek.

"It's the Daedra that'll judge if I live or die," she continued. "The old Dunmer gods, the gods of my people. Or maybe Dwemer magic. Or my own soul will judge me fit to live. I don't know. I don't know."

"Elyssa. Elyssa, Elyssa." He rocked her in his arms, unable to say more.

"I don't know how this happened," she said in a choked whisper. "I don't know who I am, what I am." She sniffed. "I can't even remember what I was, how am I supposed to know what I'll become?" She began to cry in earnest, and Crassius could only hold her close, completely bewildered by her words.

"Shhh, shhh, love. You're my darling, my dumpling, my Grandmaster. You're safe with me. Hush now." He crooned what he hoped was soothing nonsense through the tightening knot in his throat. His heart hurt. "Oh my sweet."

Eventually her sobbing eased. They both sat down on the bed, Elyssa swiping roughly at her eyes with the back of her hand. Crassius chuckled sadly, thinking of other times he had done exactly this, and pulled out his handkerchief to dry her eyes properly.

Elyssa laughed shakily. "Remember when you scolded me for not using a handkerchief?"

"A priceless robe like that Flamemirror of yours, and you were wiping your nose with it. Disgraceful." He kissed her to take away the mock-sting of his words, and she smiled sadly at him, then looked away.

"If I do come back..."

"WHEN you come back, Elyssa Halaya." Anything else didn't bear contemplating.

"Or when I come back. If I'm different. If I've...changed, become someone else. Would you still want me?"

"Does the City of Canals have a problem with damp? Of course I'd want you."

She smiled at his retort. Then the smile faded.

"They don't tolerate heresy in this land. I don't know if I could even visit you."

This made no sense to Crassius. "I worship the Nine because that's how I was brought up and I saw no reason to change it, but I've never flaunted my religion here." Not that he'd ever been that religious, really. Not like some of his family back home, who were as devout in their belief as any Temple follower in Morrowind. He prayed to Zenithar for profit and Dibella for love when it seemed opportune, and didn't worry much about the gods the rest of the time. They had no shortage of followers, after all.

Crassius lowered his voice. "Are you expecting a crackdown on non-Temple religions?" The walls had ears, after all, even though he made sure to pay his retainers lavishly, and he and Elyssa were still outlanders, no matter how well they had tried to integrate into Morrowind society.

She nodded. "Not yours," she whispered.

"I don't understand," he murmured back, close to her ear. "You're head of the Temple. How can you be a heretic against your own..." His eyes widened. He drew back and mouthed "Dissident priests?!" at her.

She nodded fractionally.

Crassius fell back onto the bed, his eyes shut in disbelief. His arms automatically closed around Elyssa Halaya as she snuggled up next to him.

His eyes snapped open as he unwillingly made the next connection.

Heresy.

Ashlands.

Ashlanders.

Oh no. NO.

"Copper eyes and hair/Sheogorath's lair" ran over and over through his mind.

Not Elyssa Halaya. Not his Elyssa, so pragmatic and levelheaded, the Grandmaster of House Hlaalu.

She would die or she had gone mad. Impossible to tell which was worse.

He turned to her, wanting to plead with her, to shake her, to tell her she couldn't possibly take seriously the jumbled ravings of discredited wilderness prophets. Of course, it was fun to dream about being some great god-hero--he couldn't count the number of times he'd pretended to be Emperor Reman or Pelinal Whitestrake as a boy--but they were children's fantasies, nothing more. If she truly thought...

Crassius choked back a wild laugh. If those desert prophecies were true, Elyssa Halaya had been a man once, in the distant, legendary past. He couldn't envision her that way. Not that he found the idea of sex with her unappealing if she'd been born male. Crassius did not believe in that sort of discrimination in bed. But Elyssa Halaya as anyone else than Elyssa Halaya was impossible to imagine.

Elyssa Halaya. Woman and Dark Elf.

Elyssa Halaya. Crassius' love.

Elyssa Halaya. Mortal.

Not a god, not a saint or divine hero. Just his Elyssa.

Just Elyssa.

He wanted to tell her that, wanted to make some sort of joke or laugh off the whole thing, but Elyssa touched a gentle finger to his lips. Her copper eyes held such sadness that Crassius couldn't speak. He could only gaze at her and wish that fate could somehow, in some way, be different than it was.

"Who are you, Elyssa Halaya?" he breathed. "What are you?"

Her lips parted and the air seemed to thicken.

Her throat seemed to choke on a word before it was even uttered, even formed. The moment of declaration hung, lingered, and faded away.

She could not tell him, he thought. Saying the unsayable, the unthinkable, would make it real. Neither of them could bear that at the moment.

Crassius rolled over onto her then, pressing his body against hers. He took Elyssa's face in his hands, and spoke softly, but distinctly, stressing every word so she would understand.

"You will live, Elyssa Halaya. You will come back. And whoever you are, whatever you are, I will love you. I will never stop loving you."

She reached up and gently pressed her hand against Crassius' chest. It was an old gesture between them: you hold my heart.

He thought his would break.

They did not make love that night. She slept and he watched over her. Before dawn, silently, she rose and put on her armor, refusing his offer of breakfast, though she accepted the kwama eggs he pressed on her. She had a long journey ahead, she told him, and needed every available moment of light she had.

At the door, she turned.

"I forgot," she said. "I almost forgot. I came here to give you this."

She handed him a book. Mechanically, he leafed through it. Poetry. Ashlander poems.

The book fell open at a certain page, the spine bent from repeated reading.

"What a wondrous love it is..."

When he looked up, she was gone.

After some time, Crassius made himself move. Walking like a suddenly older man, he corked and put away the bottle of 407 brandy. It would be a long time, he thought, before he would taste it again.




Notes:

Sheogorath is the god of madness. I made up the rhyme about hair and eye color, but I noticed that Elyssa Halaya's character template is sometimes used in Morrowind for women who are dedicated, strongly religious people. (Mehra Milo, Danso Indules. I am also very fond of these characters on a personal level.)

The Dissident Priests are a reformist order within the Temple, viciously persecuted by the orthodox hierarchy for heresy. Elyssa Halaya is not a member, but is sympathetic to them and has given them aid.

The complete in-game text of "Wondrous Love" which I use as Crassius and Elyssa's "theme song". This is the only poem readable in the game, although the book Ashland Hymns is supposed to be an entire anthology:

Ashland Hymns
by Anonymous

This is a volume of folk verses collected from Ashlanders. "Wondrous Love" is from the Urshilaku Ashlanders of the northern Ashlands

What a wondrous love it is
To bind two souls in faith,
Chained completely together
With never a false word,
Weal and woe, wish and real,
Woven each together
From first kiss to last breath,
First and last whispered in love.


February 3, 2009