Chapter Text
Neetei
“Bad dream?” Caius asked, circling the pipe over the open flame of the candle which perpetually sat lit at his bedside. Nerevar- no. Neetei, that was his name, rubbed at his eyes, red slits peering out into the dim lighting of the room and the shirtless figure before him.
“Something like that,” his gaze casted about shiftily, as if the room could disappear at any moment. Dreams were a simple word to describe what he'd been getting. Insanity was likely more apt. They’d been happening every night since he’d arrived in Morrowind. Every time he slept, he was in a foreign land, one of the mer, accompanied usually by a strange blonde man with golden skin. He always wore the emblems of House Dagoth, as well. But he was a friend. “They keep happening.”
“I understand.” Caius set the pipe down, turning to look at him with a sympathetic gaze, “Prison is a traumatic place, dreams are a common response.”
Shaking his head, he clarified, “No, it’s not that. It’s just ah,” he laughed a little at himself. “I keep having dreams that I’m Nerevar, and about a man from the Sixth House.”
The spymaster dropped some of the sugar into a small bowl. “The stress of the job gets to all of us in different ways, Neetei. Maybe you should take a break. Enjoy some downtime.”
“Maybe,” Neetei looked at his feet where they hung over the edge of the hammock, suspended in the corner above the bench. “It’s just… The dreams all make so much sense, you know?”
“You’re starting to worry me, Neetei.” He paused his drug-preparation fully, turning his attention on him, the attitude of a veteran spymaster slipping onto him like a well-worn cloak, “You’re not going loopy on me, are you?”
“No, I don’t mean like that. It’s just…” What was it? Something about the dreams just felt different, “It’s- they feel so real, is what I mean. Like I’m really there, really Nerevar back in Resdayn. And I wake up, and remember them perfectly. Isn’t that weird?”
“Have you told anyone else about this?” Neetei shook his head, “Good. Keep it that way. A word of advice. In Morrowind, if you have strange dreams, the Temple says you are crazy. And they want to lock you up.” He shot him a pointed look, “And if you have disturbing dreams, and think they mean something, then the Temple thinks you're a prophet or witch. And they want to lock you up.”
“Harsh.”
“It’s a harsh land, Neetei. Filled with even harsher people.” He softened, “I’m sure the dreams will go away soon. But until they do, keep a lid on it. They don’t tolerate eccentricities like that here, not like in Cyrodiil. I don’t want you getting into any trouble.”
“Right,” he supposed he could keep it quiet. It would probably blow over soon, right? “It’s… probably nothing, like you said.”
“Good,” Caius wore a somewhat melancholic smile, “You’ll get used to Morrowind eventually. We all do.”
Hopefully he could get used to it with less skooma than Caius did. But who knows? He’d only been here for a month now.
Speaking of which, Caius seemed like he wanted to get back to his activities.
He stood, gathering up his belongings, and fastening on his armor. “I'd better get going. Collecting secrets of the dwemer for Edwinna and all that.”
Caius simply chuckled, gaze already slightly unfocused from the sugar. He didn’t judge the man for his habits, but he couldn’t stand to be around it. Nasty stuff, and he didn’t like how unpredictable it made most people- excepting Caius, but he wasn’t sure how he handled that.
He actually remembered when it had first been brought to Resdayn in- wait. Did he remember that? No, no, he shook his head, dislodging the trailing memories and visions from his sleep. Those dreams really were too realistic. He fixed his scarf about his mouth and nose, heading out into the streets of Balmora. The hot, humid winds of the island whipped around his head, his hair waving like a flag as he padded through the streets of Balmora, quickly making his way to the Mages’ Guild.
The teleport travel was much more convenient than what they had in the Imperial City, and he was at Ald’ruhn in a few moments. Why hadn't the mages guild instituted something similar in Cyrodiil, he'd never know. If he ever went back, maybe he should bug the mages there to come up with something similar. Not that he had any plans of going back, in truth, he hated the Imperial city and their politics. And especially their guards, he shuddered.
He found Edwinna Elbert where she usually stood, perched over a table filled with various books and documents, along with numerous empty cups of tea, “Edwinna, I have it.” He held the book up as she looked up from her research, a polite smile on her face.
“Excellent! Thank you so much, Neetei.” He held out the book, “I'll just take that off of your… dusty hands.”
Ah. “Sorry,” even though he’d only spent a few moments outside, he was already filthy, damn ash storms. “Ashlands, you know?”
“Quite,” she seemed more concerned about the book than what he’d said, gently dusting off the cover. “There’s your pay,” she pointed to a pile of coins nearby, which he grabbed, stowing them in his coin purse. She seemed to have already forgotten about him, beginning to leaf through the pages, muttering to herself, and he took his cue to leave.
The mage’s fixation on books rather than smalltalk didn’t bother him, she was still nice enough. And it meant that their encounters were always thankfully brief. He had other work to do, after all. No time to spend idly chatting when all he came to do was make a delivery.
Ignoring the suspicious glances the guards sent him as he walked through the Ald’ruhn streets, he soon found what he was looking for. The Ald-Skar Inn. His contact was inside, undoubtedly. A retired Ashlander, spent his days in the Inn, and was apparently knowledgeable about the Nerevarine Cult.
The bosmer eyed him up suspiciously as he approached the table, but he lightened as Neetei slid an extra drink his way. “These ash storms are rough, huh?”
“Fuck yeah they are, can’t get any good jobs herding Netch if we can’t even see the damn things,” the mer sighed, “Don’t mind me, had a little too much to dink- drink. Thanks for this, by the way,” he held up the tankard, “Was getting low.”
Neetei smiled, “You’re welcome. Though if you really want to help me-”
“Oh no, you got the wrong idea. You want Skeetul up there.” Oh. It did look like that, didn’t it? Single mer, alone, buying drinks for strangers.
He flushed, explaining, “I don’t need any… help, with that sort of thing. I was hoping you could tell me about Hassour Zainsubani? The Ashlander.”
“Oh yeah, I know him. Always sitting over there, drinking his fine brandy, reads those books of… poetry.” He gave him a look, “Be careful around him. Terrible drinking buddy, he’ll talk your ear off.”
“I’m hoping he will.”
The bosmer grunted, and he left the mer at the table. Surely there was a bookstore around here.
“Do you have any books of poetry that Hassour Zainsubani might like?”
The imperial looked up from his lectern, “The Ashlander? Yes. He comes here often.” He rifled through some of the stacks cluttering the small establishment, “Looking for a gift?” Neetei nodded, “Ah.” He held up a book, “Here’s one he doesn’t have yet, I don’t think. The Five Far Stars. Twenty-five gold.”
“I’ll take it.” He searched his coin pouch, counting out the expense.
They exchanged, and he left the building, raising the scarf over his face as he went back out into the ashy winds of Ald’ruhn. He hurried over to the Ald Skar Inn, and down to the basement again. He found the mer sitting at a corner table where the bosmer had indicated, drinking from a small glass as he wrote something in a notebook.
“Hassour Zainsubani.”
The mer blinked up tiredly at him. “Yes, What is your business with me?”
“I am Neetei.” He started with the important part, “I brought a gift for you.”
The dunmer looked curiously as he handed him the book. He looked it over approvingly, “A gift for me? Ah, “The Five Far Stars,” he nodded, “A classic. Noble words of noble warriors, a powerful example of the rousing effect of words. I only wish more of them were written, as so many have been lost to time, but that is not the fault of the recorder, only of the ephemeral nature of speech,” he sat the book on the table, addressing Neetei once more, “I thank you, and honor your courtesy, Neetei. What would you ask of me?”
The bosmer was right, he was wordy. Though he didn’t particularly mind, if it meant he would be this thorough with his questions as well. “I wanted to ask you some questions about your people, as well as the Nerevarine Cult.”
“Hm. Specific.” Eyeing him, he asked, “You’re not of the Temple, are you?”
“No.” Far from it, he didn’t particularly like their teachings, “I’m researching the subjects for a colleague of mine.”
“Ah. A scholar, good,” Hassour nodded, pulling out sheets of parchment and readying his quill. “I am always happy to assist in the literary documentation of my people’s culture. Do you have any specific focus?”
“I honestly don’t know much yet, not from an original source. I was hoping you could provide some direction.”
“Wise. We do not know what we do not know, do we not?” Not waiting for an answer, he continued, “I will start you with the most basic stories of our people…”
The two spent the rest of the afternoon talking, Hassour taking breaks to write down the information for Caius- or rather, his ‘colleague,’ as he called him- and Neetei fetching drinks for them both in the brief interims. By the early evening, Hassour had written nearly a small novel of information on the Ashlanders and the Nerevarine cult, and had said much more on both topics. It was almost too much to take in, and by the end he found his head hurting. Similarly, Hassour was flexing his hand, seeming to have run out of words on both of the subjects. For the moment, at least. Surely he would come up with more if asked more specific questions, the mer was a font of knowledge. But he’d gathered sufficient information, as far as his job was concerned.
After all the drinks, things were getting fuzzy around the edges, Hassour didn’t seem all that lively either, breaking out his kreshweed pipe. But he also didn’t seem to be tiring of having company, so Neetei lingered, allowing himself to sit and enjoy the ambience of the tavern in the evening, “Ah,” he sighed, “I’m growing old. It used to be that I could have talked late into the night, written you much more, then still gone out to the caravans in the morning. But the time goes sooner than you expect.”
Right, he mentioned he was a trader, “What was that like, always being on the road? The life of a trader sounds… dangerous here.”
“It most certainly is, my friend. It was long hours, but the money flowed like water in Vivec with the trade routes I ran. Still, I was glad to give it up, in the end, those days are far less preferable to these,” he took a pull of his pipe, “Now I can spend all of my time digesting the written word, trying to pass on as much of my knowledge as I can. My son is young, he can handle the business now, have those long hours and late nights on my behalf. He enjoys- or enjoyed it more than I ever did.”
“What happened to him?”
“The folly of youth is what caught him,” shaking his head, he explained, “He’s not dead, no, I have no ashes or body to confirm it is so. I only fear he is,” he took another drag, “He’s the type of adventuring sort which seldom says no to an opportunity to expand his horizons, even to the dangerous unknown. He went exploring a Sixth House base a few weeks ago, despite my ardent protests. Didn’t come back. Maybe I’m simply an overly paranoid father, but he is my only heir, my only child, and so I fear the worst.”
Neetei bit his lip. Surely there was something he could do, right? There wasn’t too much on his plate to handle right now, besides, he had to help with something as important as this; The mer’s son’s life was at stake. “I could look into it for you.”
Hassour shook his head, “You don’t need to do that. The caverns of Mamea run deep and long, and the agents of the Sixth House rule in that place. I’ll tell you what I told him, it’s not prudent to face such matters alone.”
“I can handle myself, I’ve faced the Sixth House before. Besides, it’s worth it to help you, after all you’ve helped me.”
“You are doom-driven. I could see that when I first laid eyes upon you, Neetei, the face of a man who would run headfirst into danger.” He sighed, “I’m not of your stock, and I cannot understand your inclination to put yourself into such situations.” Considering, he acquiesced, “But I know that, like my son, my chances of stopping you are slim. Maybe the two of you could face together what he could not alone. I will show you where the caverns of Mamea lie, if you still wish to go.”
After Hassour had marked it on his map, leaving him with another few warnings, he bid him goodnight, retiring to his own room at the inn. He was out almost as soon as he hit the pillow.
Nerevar
“Hey, wake up!” A golden-skinned mer stared down at him, features graceful and delicate, long white hair falling around him, brushing his face where he lay on the bedroll, the hard earth beneath him. Voryn.
“Huh?” Nerevar asked, still half-asleep, blinking blearily up at his friend.
“We're almost late,” he said, getting up, brushing the dust off his crimson skirt. He’d undoubtedly get it dirty again soon in their travels, but he always insisted on being pristine anyways.
“To… what?” Last he remembered, he was going to… Mamea. But that was in his dream.
Amber eyes met his own, “We need to get to Kogoruhn by tonight, remember?”
“Right. Yes.”
The mer narrowed his eyes, “You didn't remember, did you?” How was Voryn always so good at that? He came to crouch down next to where Nerevar was currently in the process of sitting up, feeling his forehead, “Dreams? What was it this time?” He asked, while Nerevar let Voryn turn his head this way and that, poking and prodding as if to find the source of the problem.
“I was… Neetei.” The name felt foreign and yet familiar on his tongue.
“What?” Voryn sat back, concern clear on his features.
“Yeah, I was collecting information for… a muscular, shirtless spymaster.”
Voryn blinked a few times, “Have you been reading those fantasy books again?”
“No, no! It wasn’t that. He was my superior, an Imperial.”
Voryn raised an eyebrow, “Really? I didn’t know you were into that.”
He couldn't help but smile back, even as he protested, “I’m not! It was just… It wasn’t like that,” he shook his head, sobering, “No, it was serious. I had to go save someone from…” being imprisoned by the Sixth House. He didn’t mention that part, “Someone was in trouble, I had to go rescue them. It was going to be dangerous.”
Voryn pursed his lips, “I think you've been too stressed lately.”
“Stressed? The job isn't too difficult, Voryn.”
“Mm. No, it's not. You just worry too much.” He smiled, “You're so dedicated to protecting me-” Nerevar smacked him in the face lightly with his pillow, huffing a laugh as Voryn spat out dust. “You little asshole!” He dodged Voryn's retaliation, which wasn't too hard, considering Voryn was already dressed, and hated messing up his clothes, trying to dodge his attacks while keeping his robes off of the floor, while he was free to be as dirty as he liked. No one cared if the guard was a bit dusty, after all.
“Wait, wait,” he panted on the ground, holding out a hand to stop Voryns next attack. “You're right, we really- really need to get going.”
Voryn looked to the entrance flap of the tent, biting his lip, before he turned on Nerevar, getting one last swing in.
The road ahead was long and dusty. Vvardenfell had the type of ash Nerevar couldn’t get used to, coughing as the very air seemed to cake up in his throat. Voryn rolled his eyes, long white hair whipping in the wind as the silt-strider carried them along, handing him a scarf from his bags. A duplicitous gesture, for all who saw. Not only a gesture of kindness, but reinforcement of their respective stations, as well as a chastisement, was likely what the driver saw occur between them in those moments.
But between them, it was not duplicitous. It was true that their kind had a penchant for such things, but it rarely intruded on the private life between the two of them. No, they were always open, and honest with each other.
Atypical, even for Chimer who were as close as they were. But nothing about Voryn Dagoth was typical in the slightest. Voryn wouldn’t admit it to anyone but Nerevar, in the quietest hours of the night, but he didn’t ascribe fully to the daedra’s ideals, or the popular conception of what a Chimer ‘should’ be.
Not that he didn’t learn from them. No, he wielded the daedra’s gifted weapons of subterfuge and assassination like any other Chimer. Better than most, even. The only difference between him and them was that his heart just wasn’t in it. It was a shell. A shell concealing a man unlike any Nerevar had ever met. And therein lie his fascination with the mer. The fascination inherent to one who wholly and truly thought for himself, spurning the ideals of the common populace. Even to what could be his own detriment.
Nerevar didn’t understand it. Not in the slightest. But he was still drawn to it. And so he accepted the scarf as it was. A simple, kind gesture.
—
They arrived at Kogoruhn just after the hours of dusk, being shown to their quarters. Their separate quarters, to his displeasure. True, there was only a door between them, as was typical. It was dangerous to be without one’s guard, especially the night before one’s ceremony of ascension. But Nerevar had grown used to having Voryn right there. Being able to look over at him and assure himself of his safety at any moment he wished.
Maybe Voryn was right, and he worried too much. He turned in his bed, flipping the pillow over, trying to close his eyes. It only lasted a moment before he shifted around again. He was so lost in his worries over his friend’s safety, he almost didn’t notice when the shadows moved.
Almost. He bolted out of bed, swords in hand, pinning the would-be attacker to the wall before he could process who it was.
“I knew you were paranoid,” Voryn teased.
“Fucking- don’t do that!” He hissed, voice barely above a whisper. Who knew who was listening in. “I could have killed you!”
Voryn snorted, looking down at Nerevar where he still pressed him into the wall, “Sure you could have.” They were an equal match, but that was besides the point. It was still dangerous to scare a trained killer.
Nerevar sighed, releasing him from the wall, running a hand through his now-disheveled mohawk, “Worried about the ceremony?”
“A little,” Voryn admitted, leaning against the wall, face flushing as he added, “I also just wanted to come see you.”
Ah, so he wasn’t the only paranoid one here, it seemed. He had to admit, it was nice that he wanted to stay so close. Not only to ensure his safety, but also because, well. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he liked having Voryn around.
To make sure he was safe, of course.
Nerevar put his swords back near his bedside, hearing Voryn’s footsteps follow. A hand reached out to touch his bare shoulder, and he looked back to find a hesitant Voryn looking at him with those wide, pretty eyes. He looked away, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Voryn nodded, and Nerevar sat on the bed, Voryn joining him, hands clasped in his lap, intently studying one of his rings, twisting it around his finger nervously.
“I don’t want to lead House Dagoth,” he whispered, quiet as a secret told in the dark. Which it was. Such a thing was unthinkable to admit, not only an obvious sign of weakness, but far, far too honest. “With the war going on, I just… I don't want to. I’m going to have to-” Kill people. He didn’t need to say it. Voryn was going to have to command legions who would cause the deaths of legions more, if he was good at it. Which he would have to be, otherwise it would mean his own death instead.
“I know.” If he could have the power instead, he’d take it in a heartbeat. Voryn would likely let him. But he was Indoril-born, not from House Dagoth nobility like Voryn was. It was tenuous at best to even be his personal guard. There was already talk, and he’d likely have to leave him after the ceremony. It pained him, but it was the way things were. He slumped over, running his fingers over the fine red fabric of the bed, “I wish I could help you.”
“You can,” Voryn reminded him.
He sighed, he knew what Voryn was suggesting, appointing him High General. A position many in the house, including the formidable and well-connected Dagoth Gilvoth were already vying for. “I’ve told you before, it would be too risky-”
Voryn scoffed, “Damn the risk!” he said a little too loudly, looking around anxiously before repeating the statement more quietly, “Damn the risk.”
And that’s why Nerevar was always so worried the mer would get himself killed. He looked down at the embroidery of the bedsheets, running fingers over the carefully stitched patterns. He wanted to be the High General, he wanted it just as much as Voryn wanted it. But he couldn’t accept it. It would mean Voryn’s likely death. If it were anyone else’s life on the line, he would have no qualms taking the power and running with it. He could get a good position in House Indoril with knowledge of House Dagoth’s inner workings and military plans, after all.
“I know why you won’t take the position, Nerevar.” He looked up to find intense amber eyes meeting his own, both of Voryn’s hands reaching out to clasp one of his, “But it’s my life on the line. And I’d cut it short without a second thought if it meant I could spend the rest of it with you.”
He was speechless, unmoving except for where his eyes tracked over Voryn’s face, which was deadly serious. The thing that frightened him most was that he felt the same way. To be a Chimer was to make sure the others died first. It wasn’t this… weakness. This… kindness. He had no stronger word for it than that, not for lack of trying. Kindness was limited, transactional. This was boundless and deep. All consuming. Weakness was likely the most apt descriptor, but he didn’t like it. He looked into Voryn’s eyes, full of hope, pleading. He supposed the only word for it right now, was, “Okay.”
Voryn smiled, bright and beautiful as the sunshine, “Really?”
“Yes,” Nerevar swallowed the lump in his throat, “I’ll do it.”
The sentence had barely left his mouth when Voryn pounced on him, wrapping him up in a hug, using his taller frame to bury his face in his hair. Nerevar hugged him back, lightly at first, before allowing himself to grip on tightly, just this once. “Thank you,” Voryn whispered into his hair. “Thank you.”
Sleep still came uneasily that night, but it was better with Voryn at his side.
Neetei
The caverns of Mamea ran deep, and Neetei could feel the warmth from the core of Mundus prickling at his skin as he descended deeper. He’d dealt with most of the Sixth House agents with no problem, but even though he’d checked nearly everywhere, there was still no sign of Hannat Zainsubani. He was about to give up his search, when he heard the clanging of metal. He knew that sound well, the sound of a cell door, rattling as if someone were trying to rip it from its hinges.
Creeping up to the source of the noise, he saw him. The resemblance was uncanny, this was Hannat. Now if only he would stop rattling the damn gate, attracting attention. He could deal with the ash-monsters one-on-one, but a horde might overwhelm him. Thankfully, the rattling soon ceased, and he crept over to the door. “Hannat,” he whispered, still keeping his distance, avoiding going out into the wide-open hallway in front of the door. “Hannat.”
The man looked around, confused. On closer inspection, he was rather disheveled, eyes wide and unfocused. Cursing to himself, he checked the hall, making sure no one was there before rushing across, “Hannat.”
The man noticed him, coming over to the bars, speaking as if memorized, at far too loud a tone, “My name is Hannat Zainsubani. I entered this cavern seeking shelter from the weather, and these madmen stripped me and imprisoned me here. While I've been trapped here, I've had the most terrible dreams.” He looked around himself, spell breaking for a moment as he admitted, “I... don't know if I can trust my own eyes and ears. Please. I need an armed escort to the cavern entrance. They have left me nothing. I cannot offer you reward. But-”
“Shh! Shh!” He quieted his pleading, “I know. Your father sent me. Be quiet, act natural.” He wasn’t sure he could handle more guards right now, least of all the leader of the group, who was undoubtedly still lurking around here somewhere.
Something seemed to get through to the man, even through his obvious haze, and he nodded, sitting back down in the cell, as Neetei broke out his lockpicks, keeping an eye out for anyone else who might have come to inspect the ruckus. After a few tries, he was able to get it open, and let the door swing slowly inward. Hannat seemed to have forgotten he was there, or he was really just that good at acting natural. “Come on,” he whispered.
The mer startled at the voice beside him, “Oh, you came to rescue me! I’m Hann-”
“Hannat Zainsubani, I know. Your father sent me. Come on,” he grabbed the man’s wrist, dragging him along, and hurried to the entrance with the other man in tow. He hadn’t expected him to be this… shaken up. Though he supposed they did inflict some apparently severe mental torture. Hopefully he would be alright when he got back to his father.
Hannat seemed to lighten as the daylight hit their faces, sighing, “Thank you… what was it?”
“Neetei.”
“Neetei, thank you. I owe you my life. I don’t have anything to give you, but go see my father, Hassour Zainsubani. Tell him I am well, and will come see him as soon as I can.”
Shocked, he looked at the mer, “No. No, you’re coming with me. You shouldn’t be on your own right now.”
“Why not? I’m free. I need to get back to my duties.”
“I mean this with all respect, Hannat. But you’re clearly in some kind of.. Shock. You said you could not trust your own eyes or ears, yes?”
“I can’t, I underwent severe mental torture,” he said brightly, but assured him, “I’m sure I’ll be fine, though.”
“Right. Shock, that’s what that does.” He’d seen it plenty of times before in prison, usually after the guards beat them. Some people would insist that they were completely and utterly fine, even as they were nearly bleeding out. Suffice it to say, he knew what he was talking about. “You’re not fine, trust me.”
Hannat smiled politely, “I think I know myself… What was your name again?”
“Neetei.”
“Right. I forgot, sorry. Now, what were we talking about?” He was more mentally damaged than he’d expected.
But he could work with that, at least for long enough to get him back to his father. He said, “You were going to accompany me to Ald’ruhn. I don’t know the way, and I can’t go alone in the wilderness.”
“Oh.” Hannat frowned, “Right, that makes sense. Ald’ruhn is this way. Don’t worry, we’ll have you there by the evening. I know these roads like the back of my hand…”
Despite his recent issues, Hannat led the way back to Ald’ruhn easily, both soon arriving at the Ald Skar Inn, where a very worried Hassour awaited the both of them. “Hannat,” he rushed over to the stairs where they entered, grabbing his son up in a hug, “I was so worried about you.”
Hannat laughed a little, “Oh, don’t worry about me. It was terrible. Awful. I’m fine, though. I just wanted to stop by and check in.”
Hassour looked over at Neetei with a worried expression. All that he could give in response was a simple nod.
After asking Hannat to grab them some drinks, Hassour addressed him privately, “Has he been like this the whole time?”
“Yes, I’m not a healer, but I think he’s in shock. I was only able to convince him to come back by telling him I needed help getting to Ald’ruhn. The cultists really did a number on him. He said something about dreams, he couldn’t tell what was real.”
Hassour listened gravely, before saying, “I am in your debt for bringing him back, even in such a state. I’m glad to have any state of him, better than not here at all.” He sighed, “Hopefully the healers will be able to fix it. But that’s not your problem,” he shook his head, reaching into a pocket, “Here, take this for your troubles,” he handed Neetei a ring, “It should help you in your travels.”
Neetei bid the pair goodbye, leaving them to their business. No doubt they would be busy for quite some time. It was already beginning to become early evening, but he had work to do. Heading to the Mages Guild, he soon found himself in Balmora. The way to Caius’ house was nearly ingrained into his feet by now, and he walked there without thought.
He entered without knocking, finding Caius slumped over the table, pouring over stacks of notes. It would be one of those nights, then. No matter, he didn’t mind sleeping with the lights on. “I’ve got the notes from Hassour.”
“Good, good. Just ah, yes. Right there, thank you.”
He left the imperial to his work, slipping out of his armor and climbing into the hammock suspended in the corner, curling up with a sigh.