Chapter Text
The Nerevarine made his way down the halls, towards the voice which had been beckoning him further and further down into the ruins, through the red smoke and clanking of the surrounding machinery. Swatting aside the servants of the Sixth House as he advanced, his mind was on one thing only, the man- or god- he knew was awaiting him at the end. Descending further, the lava pools grew closer now, letting off a familiar infernal heat. If he were anyone else, he would be sweating profusely. Thankfully, the most that the extreme heat did was simply make him feel invigorated, and he quickened his steps, landing even harsher blows on the servants that awaited him.
Arriving before the door to the lowest level, he faced Dagoth Gilvoth, one of the servants who had still retained some measure of humanity, in appearance, at least. In some lifetimes he managed to speak to him, but not this one. He was immediately attacked, but with some quick, practiced sword work, he too was disposed of. Nothing was left standing between him and Dagoth Ur himself now, except the door to the Facility Cavern.
“Welcome, Moon-and-Star, to this place where destiny is made.” His voice boomed throughout the small room, sending echoes across the rock. He assesed the Nerevarine in front of him, “Strange. This outcome I did not forsee. That you would come unprepared.”
The Nerevarine broke his silence. “Dagoth Ur,” he sighed, relieved. Making his way to the right of the room, he collapsed into the chair, which had been set up, along with another chair around a small table. It was set for dinner by his old friend, it always was, though the food was terrible- he’d already tried it about a dozen times before. Chunks of corprus meat may be appealing to some, but not this time, for him. Maybe if he was a Bosmer, he thought, taking note for future reference.
Dagoth Ur himself still stood in the same spot, only now he turned to face the Nerevarine himself. Even with his masked visage, he feel the confused expression the man wore. But he quickly regained his composure, “Ah, yes. You have come to submit yourself to me and aid me in the construction of Akhulakan?” His voice was grandiose as usual, coming to sit across from him, “A wise choice, Nerevar. Though not one which I would have expected,” he eyed the Nerevarine’s reptillian form. His tail twitched, rolling his eyes.
Dagoth Ur didn’t seem to notice, however. “Well, unexpected but not unwelcome, Nerevar my old friend.” His large frame loomed over him and the table. “We have much to discuss. You have defeated many of my Generals, a wise and cunning move, on your part. Now as the victor of these battles, none shall oppose your return to the glorious House Dagoth, should you be willing.”
“Yeah, definitely,” the small argonian replied flatly. Tiredly.
“Ah, but of course, you must be starving,” Dagoth Ur held his hands out on the table in offering, “How rude I have been. Come, feast with me.”
The Nerevarine cracked a smile, “Voryn, you have terrible taste. Every time, you want me to eat this shit. If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume it was a trick, but no.” He rubbed his hand over his face, fondly exasperated.
“Is this how you honor the Sixth House and the Tribe Unmourned, by refusing the bountiful gifts of my harvest?”
The Nerevarine stared at him, blinking slowly. “Yes,” Of course that’s what he was doing. Corprus meat was disgusting. Dagoth Ur scoffed, beginning to retort, before the Nerevarine instead held something out to him, giving him pause.
“What is this? Nerevar, if this is some sort of trickery-”
“It isn’t, try it. You always like this.” Dagoth Ur hesitantly took the offered food, slipping it under his mask for a bite.
He gasped, “Oh.” Sitting up, he demanded, “Nerevar, you will tell me where this food is made and how I can capture the area in which it is acquired. I will have need of this.”
The Nerevarine hummed. “It’s just bread, Voryn. How long has it been since you ate anything but that corprus meat?”
He could make out the guilty expression behind the mask as if it were clear as day, “Well… Akhulakan has required some more, intensive construction for the past few centuries or so…”
“So you haven’t eaten anything decent since then, got it.” He was still the same Dagoth Ur, he thought with fond exasperation, chow down on some flesh and obsess over his weapon of mass destruction. Surprisingly, the only thing that didn’t grow old during his numerous reincarnations was Dagoth Ur himself, the familiarity of the man grew increasingly comforting each time. He’d long grown tired of everything else on Vaardenfel. Once you’ve done it a thousand or so times, it got boring.
“Enough of this,” his defensiveness did nothing to hide the fact that he knew the truth of the Nerevarine’s words, and he hungrily munched on the last piece of bread as he continued, “I believe we were here to discuss the terms of your forgiveness? I am, as I’m sure you are aware, willing to forgive. If only you would lay yourself upon my mercy, and join me in my plans,” He said this so earnestly, and the Nerevarine could hear the quiet desperation behind his words. “Your form is strange, foreign, but I know it is still you, old friend. I would accept you,” It saddened him every time he made this offer, and something in him longed to give the man what he so clearly wanted.
He had done so once or twice before, but that was long, long ago. Not that Voryn himself would remember it. But that was not this time. He reached across the table, gently clasping one of Dagoth Ur’s hands within both of his small, taloned ones. Dagoth Ur stilled, not pulling away, but not reciprocating either, not moving at all, as if he was on the verge of shattering.
“Voryn…” he spoke softly, leaning slightly over the table, “I’m sorry, for everything.”
The god held his gaze. The Nerevarine knew it, could feel it, the crushing loneliness behind the mask. He’d felt it too, every time he had to be reborn back in Cyrodil without anyone by his side, so far from anyone who he had known, knowing he would have to wait again to be sent to Vaardenfel before he could see him again. He felt the hand in his slowly, tentatively, squeezing back. Dagoth Ur’s defenses had been cut through swiftly by his words, falling to the ground like a cliff racer. Or, many cliff racers, considering the area.
“I forgive you,” his voice had quieted, losing its booming quality. He looked to the side, “I have been long without you, Nerevar.”
“I know. I wish I could have come sooner.” He really did, he had cursed the Daedra and Aedra many times for the timing of his return, always far too late, leaving Voryn centuries to himself each time he died.
“Yes.” Dagoth Ur turned to him, a pleading tone in his voice as he said, “But you’re here to help me now, with my plans?” Please don’t leave me again, he heard the unspoken words.
He responded, “I’m here to stay,” lifting himself from his chair, he walked slowly over to his old friend. When he stood in front of him, he carefully lifted his hands to the golden mask. Dagoth Ur let him, staring at him. Even sitting down he was almost at the same height as the much smaller Nerevarine.
When the Nerevarine began to lift the mask, he grabbed his wrists firmly, stopping him. “Nerevar. I’m not the same man I once was.”
“Neither am I, Voryn,” a bittersweet smile on the Nerevarine’s face. Dagoth Ur nodded his understanding, loosening the grip on his wrists. The Nerevarine carefully removed the mask from his old friend’s face. The sunken eyes beneath the mask were wide, and looked at him in fear of his response, framed by dark rings, set in a face which was gaunt, and covered in scars. Much different than when he’d seen him many lifetimes ago, before the events at Red Mountain. But it was still him.
He cupped his face with one hand, the other resting on the junction between his neck and shoulder. The god leaned into his touch, still not breaking his gaze “Voryn…” he spoke softly, gently caressing his face with his thumb. The claw gently scraped against his skin, eliciting a small shiver.
Nerevar leaned in, Voryn’s hands finding purchase on his hips as he pulled him in closer. The kiss was soft, gentle but insistent. “Nerevar,” he whispered reverently against his lips.
“I’m here, Voryn.”