“Ears are private things,” said Ambassador Orondil. “But mine are not, it seems. First Emissary’s got a claim on ‘em.” He regarded his brandy-snifter, swirling its dregs. “I’m certain you’ll be able to handle yourself, Justiciar-Mage Ancarion?”
His words and mannerisms were those of a dullard; his eyes were keen indeed.
“Ancano,” said that worthy, wincing. He had never thought he’d hear Ambassador Orondil admit, flat-out, just how emasculating it was to be an ambassador in title only.
Auryen Morellus had neatly stripped away the Ambassador’s importunate secretary via the expedient of a “small private reception; major donors only”– Ancano was fairly certain that the fellow was outside the door, straining to overhear.
So, he had said no more than that he must: Ancano was looking into the personal circumstances of a Justiciar who was ill. He thought Morellus might know the family. And Morellus did not speak with Thalmor except with assurances…
At this point the Ambassador cut him off: “Get that steward down here and get on with it.”
Falk Firebeard, of course, wanted an explanation. Jarl Elisif’s steward was particularly interested as to why no one had sent up to the Embassy– why was his name to be lent to these proceedings? And wasn’t this the sort of proceeding that ought to be had with a clerk present?
He had a number of other quibbles.
Nords were supposed to be less litigious than other races.
Ancano did his best to give a comprehensive explanation absent any reference to the matter which was about to be under discussion. Falk Firebeard was looking annoyed.
Ancano was rescued only when the Ambassador broke in, smoothly, and asked if Falk wouldn’t consider it a personal favor?
Forwarned, Falk had brought his seal along. Thankfully. Or they would have had to wait for a messenger and Falk’s secretary.
Ancano had spent much of the previous hours mentally drafting the thing, so it had been no trouble committing it to paper.
Auryen Morellus came forward to review it, going through it with Falk Firebeard.
Falk had almost nothing to say about it– there would have been very little to object to, in any event.
Auryen Morellus was speechless.
“Do you wish for me to take part in this little document review?” called the Ambassador. “We’re all in agreement on the terms here,” cut in Auryen Morellus, immediately. “It isn’t necessary.”
Of course,” yawned the Ambassador.
Falk sank back down on the bench to top off his refreshment.
“And I may trust that, in due time, you’ll generate the appropriate reports? About this poor Justiciar?” Ambassador Orondil stifled another yawn. “Doesn’t sound like a very urgent matter, does it? Just as a matter of form. Alinor demands that we document everything….thoroughly, you know. I’m certain you’ll get around to it. When you get a moment from your other duties.”
Ancano was quick to make assurances that this would be so.
In due time.
“Good, good,” said the Ambassador. He heaved himself to his feet and handed the empty glass to his host. “We’re all reliant on your discretion, Advisor Ancalmo; that’s why we pay you that lavish salary and hm!–housing allowance. Gentlemen, goodnight.”
“Civil service joke,” Ancano explained with a little chuckle, as soon as the door closed.
Internally, Ancano was shuddering; the Ambassador had all but performed a little bird-dance advertising: Danger. And the constant misspeaking of Ancano’s name– oh, that was a signal as well. Alinor would be reviewing the Ambassador’s next report and be asking itself: Justiciar-mage… who was that again?
Terrifying.
To Auryen: “Are you satisfied?”
Auryen Morellus looked up from the document he was re-reading. “In a moment,” he said. “I’ve never seen one of these things before. Astonishing.” And: “I had no idea you could even begin to promise such a thing– the scope of this is–” He coughed. “Unprecedented.”
Career-ending, is what it was. The sort of career-ending that generally ends with a private interview in chambers with the Second Council. The room with the drain in the floor.
Auryen Morellus knew it, too.
Morellus refolded his copy of the agreement and set it back down on the desk with great care.
Ancano came forward, as easily as if this were some routine matter that he handled all the time.
One of the few benefits of Ancano’s own present circumstances was this: he had survived long enough to become fairly senior. Seniority confers discretion; and if he had read the Ambassador correctly, the Ambassador had just given Ancano carte blanche. And even if Ancano was deemed to have exceeded his own allowable bounds–he had– nonetheless: the document itself was in proper form.
It would stand.
Ancano had really stopped caring. What could the Dominion do to him this time? Was there anyplace considered to be more of a hardship post than Winterhold?
What would they do? Re-educate him for a third time? Send him back to the Forsworn?
They would not. He still had friends there.
It was more likely to be Black Marsh. At least it would be warm. And, even accounting for the occasional insectoid entree, the food was better. Arguably
“Do you wish for me to remain?” asked Falk Firebeard, hesitating.
He could sense the tension.
“No, thank you, Steward Firebeard; if you could just see to it that the original is recorded, I would appreciate it…that would be all for now… please, enjoy the rest of your evening. Let me just put this up.” Auryen picked up his own copy of the document and left the room alongside the Nord, ensuring that the door was fully closed behind him. Likely he was showing the man out and then heading for some well-hidden safe.
“Change your mind?” asked Ancano, on Auryen’s return, indicating where Falk Firebeard had been sitting.
“Once you saw fit to offer blanket immunity…” Auryen smiled and shrugged. “I no longer needed an advocate of any sort.” He gave a thin-edged smile. “One’s tempted to come up with all sorts of confessions.”
Which would, of course, be guaranteed to be sheltered from all prosecution. Forever.
Advisor Ancano resolved to keep this interview relatively focused.
“Do you have your questions ready for me?” Auryen asked.
“I do,” said Ancano.
“Permit me to suggest a different approach,” said Auryen, consideringly. He nudged the drinks tray a bit closer. “I think that we might be able to get through this more quickly, if you don’t mind, if you tell me what you observed from the very beginning.” He sat back in his chair. “I would hate to give you the wrong idea or the wrong impression. I think I know what is going on– this has been a very chaotic situation–but I could be mistaken. So. Begin.”
Ancano hesitated.
“Surely you Thalmor are accustomed to debriefings?” observed Auryen, dryly. He reached for the brandy bottle and poured for both of them.
Oh, this was a challenge: How badly do you want this information, Justiciar?
The answer was– very badly. Ancano did not have time to posture about in a dogfight. What point would there be in attempting a battle of wills with this mer? Auryen Morellus had been of an age to demand deferential respect since well before Ancano’s own birth.
And– it was very good brandy.
So Ancano began, just as he would have to his own superiors: “On Middas before last, I was in my chambers at the College when one of the former instructors– who happens to be Altmeri– came in to advise me that there was talk of a Thalmor officer who was very ill at the town inn.”
“So who was this Altmer? Someone you knew?” Auryen’s whole attitude had changed; he was suddenly receptive. Listening closely.
“Nelacar of Lillandril,” said Ancano. “Specialized in Enchanting. Used to teach Destruction magick to the first-year students; left the College after some blow-up at a faculty meeting. Didn’t get along with the Archmage. Keeps a room at the local tavern and conducts his research in the Arcaneum. Nothing exceptional about him.”
He drank. “Not one of our people,” Ancano said, meaning the Thalmor. “I didn’t take him very seriously at first. There are always rumors about Thalmor. The last time it was some Bosmeri con artist who liked to shake down travelers. But I checked my own records and the last dispatches and– there was nobody recorded as missing.”
Well, that had sparked Auryen’s interest: “That’s odd,” said the older mer. “No one at all?”
“There are always a few people noted as being on frolic,” said Ancano. “But I didn’t think any of them matched the description I had gotten out of Nelacar. In any event, he was persistent, so I went down to take a look for myself.”
“Same day?”
“Mm. A few hours later. Nelacar had left and come back again. He was upset. The jarl had gotten involved, and there was this huge Redguard– well. There was commotion, in town.”
“You would think they would be celebrating,” commented Auryen. “They don’t much care for Thalmor in Stormcloak country.”
“That was the other thing I felt was unusual,” agreed Ancano. “I would have expected them to take care of such a problem via the Sea of Ghosts. But, when I got there, this mer was in the longhouse, and had been granted guest status by the jarl, so–” he shrugged. “Made things easier for me. I didn’t ask. He was in bad shape by then.”
Ancano drank more of his brandy. “But there was another sick person present who was worse off, so I put our friend down into stasis– his condition was quite poor but relatively stable– and dealt with the other.” He tilted his goblet, examining the tawny liquid.. “This is truly excellent. Is it the Colovian?”
“Single-batch, from a little place up in the Kreath mountains,” said Auryen. “Have some more of the cheese biscuits; they’re just going to go to waste otherwise.” Auryen reached over and took a handful for himself.
“In any event. The jarl’s small child– who is very ill, a congenital defect that had become exacerbated– was going into a respiratory crisis. As there was no other healer available–”
“Really?” interrupted Auryen. “That makes no sense either. College of Winterhold’s renowned for its program in Restoration magick. Not to mention Alchemy. Where were they at?” Auryen frowned. “Where was the jarl’s wizard?”
“He has none. And the Arch-mage had previously forbidden the College mages to work in any professional capacity in the province itself,” said Ancano. “I don’t recall why that was– it was during the time that I was gone– but it certainly created a ruckus. A number of individuals left the College. Nelacar was one of them. Sadly, he has no healing.”
He frowned. “This is a very small child– not yet old enough to be away from her mother’s side. One could hear her struggling to breathe from across the room.”
The thought of it angered him enough to propel him from the chair. He took a few restless paces across the room. Morellus set his cup down and followed him; and after a few moments touched his sleeve.
Ancano turned to meet Auryen Morellus’ suddenly-sympathetic gaze. The mer’s eyes were crystalline blue– human blue, the whitened sclera clearly demarcated from the iris. Must’ve had them cosmetically altered, Ancano thought suddenly. These humans trust him. He himself could feel the charismatic draw of the mer.
Illusion, he told himself.
Illusion and Alteration.
Be wary.
“It isn’t right,” Ancano said abruptly. “For me to give those people false hope. I should have told them that they were better off letting events take their natural course. But… “
“You needed the jarl’s good will,” said Auryen, soothingly– he understood. “Go on. Did you get to take a look at our young one that day?”
“I did not,” said Ancano. “By the time I felt I could turn my attention to him, it was full dark. So I sat up with the child, and waited until light. Even from what I could see preliminarily, he had injuries that warranted a close examination.”
“What did you see when you did?” asked Auryen.
“Male, and I would say of noble-caste or somewhat better.” Ancano touched his own face, and Auryen gestured his understanding; features sometimes told the story of one’s breeding but not always–Ancano had just admitted himself to be a sport.
“Certainly well-to-do in the past,” Ancano went on. “Feet and hands well-formed– no hard labor. And his teeth–one had been recently broken, that had to have hurt– but otherwise were perfect. Well-tended in youth. I’d say he’d been well-nourished until recently too– broad-shouldered and reasonably tall. Perhaps a little taller than myself?”
Auryen nodded.
“Young, as well,” said Ancano. “Very young. Not even into his mid-forties yet, if I’m any judge. Barely out of the Academy. That reminds me, I should check his name against the graduation lists while I’m here. He does carry the indicia of a Justiciar; it was implanted in both of the usual places, and it passed the check.”
“I’m not familiar,” said Auryen Morellus. “I mean, I’m generally aware that you all have some method of credentialing, so we can take that as read.”
Ancano let it go.
“So– he has the indicia but nothing else,” said Ancano. “No rank designations; no seniority rate– not anything else either, not even any caste-mark. His cosmetic enhancements were in tatters though, so I’m not surprised. Everything but the indicia would have become disrupted.” He sighed. “Wouldn’t make much sense to tell you what his coloring and complexion are; it was plain he’d changed all that.” He rubbed his nose. “I couldn’t get eye color. Hair reddish blond. Maybe a pale sort of auburn. But filthy, so who knows.”
“Any clue there?” asked Auryen. “From what was left of the cosmetic alteration?”
“Not really. It was a fairly substantive one from what I could discern–hair, eyes, skin and so on– but that’s all I could get. Darker hair, maybe? Or more reddish? I thought there might be freckles. And I’m somewhat guessing at what his appropriate weight should be; he was in such terrible condition.”
Auryen was frowning: “Offhand, I can’t think of anything powerful enough to break a cosmetic enhancement,” he said, going to retrieve his cup. “Normally those are fairly robust.”
“Magicka burn,” said Ancano flatly.
Auryen winced.
“Hand me that, will you?” Auryen directed. Ancano handed over the decanter, and Auryen topped off the brandy for both of them before Ancano could refuse.
“My best guess is secondary to overhealing himself, but it’s impossible to know,” said Ancano, glumly, settling himself back in. “It’s certainly complicating his presentation.” He brooded. “There’s something else as well,” he said. “And I can’t discern whether it’s doing him harm or good– and nothing I could do would touch it.”
“Ah?” said Auryen.
“Some sort of sigil on his lumbar region,” said Ancano. “Nothing I’ve seen before. Looks like a mundane tattoo, but whatever-it-was was tied into both his cosmetic enhancement and to ground. So it certainly isn’t.” He sighed. “I thought at first that it was sapping his magicka so I tried to cut it off, but nothing I could do would even begin to touch it. But it wasn’t– he has no capacity to regenerate or retain magicka now. It’s not parasitic– it’s operating under its own power, tapping ground-rootlets.”
Like a cosmetic enhancement applied to a non-mage.
“One of those new religious orders– some kind of initiate’s mark?”
“No,” said Ancano. “None that I know. My suspicion is that it’s Daedric. And whatever-it-is, it’s fully active. I can’t imagine they let him through the Academy with that thing visible– or even with it concealed under an illusion. There are inspections…but I suppose one never knows these days.”
“Naarifin, Thonela, Arannelya–” agreed Auryen, setting down his glass and making gestures that suggested Daedric glyphs. “Well, you know. The rumors.” He stood up: “I couldn’t say that I’m any expert in things daedric, but as you know I have some small interest. There’s… “ he scanned the room. “Looks like I haven’t gotten around to cataloguing them yet, but I have some resource materials that I just picked up in Mournhold. So, assuming you still feel the need, you’d be welcome to conduct your own research…”
Auryen went to shift a couple of books around on the shelf, prised one out of the stack, and came back with it to sit down.
“I do have the Arcaneum to draw upon,” mused Ancano. “But thank you, a more focused approach might be beneficial.” By which he meant: if he could keep Master Urag and the Archmage from sticking their noses in Thalmor business, all the better. “Really,” Ancano said, “I’m just satisfying my own curiosity. It’s more than likely some family-tradition thing that it’s best not to inquire into too closely. I’m far more concerned, at present, about his physical and magickal injuries.”
“Mind sharing?” suggested Auryen, after a moment. “It might help to talk it through.” He was leafing negligently through the book, but Ancano wasn’t fooled.
Auryen Morellus was still listening. Keenly.
“Where do I even begin…” Ancano rubbed his chin. “I’ll start at the bottom of the list, least dangerous to most. Flitworm; living in the wild, you know– undercooked freshwater fish.”
“I’ve had it,” said Auryen. “Working in field conditions, you know how it goes. Unpleasant-tasting medicine. Go on.”
“After that I would say the bruises and other external injuries,” said Ancano, consideringly. “Normally I’d say those would be the least bad, flitworm can be awful, but– honestly this was bad enough that in some places it looked like post-mortem lividity.” He drank. “So. Thighs, back; in interesting clusters across the insides of his elbows and wrists; his ankles… also a large swathe across his upper right abdominal area– blunt object at some great force– and what looks like a couple of boot prints across his left lower back. Nasty.”
“Did you ever train in any forensic pathology?” asked Auryen, interested.
“Not formally,” Ancano admitted. “But– if you’re asking whether I’ve seen this sort of thing before–” He shook his head. “We’ll leave it at that,” he said, distantly.
“Let me see– The more minor problems are: malnourishment and dehydration, both on the verge of becoming moderate.. Some sort of kidney infection or insult, probably from the same injury which caused that bruise on his flank; a nasty bout of the rattles; and possibly the worst case of intestinal impaction I have ever seen, bar none.” Ancano scooped another bit of cheese onto a rusk. “We have one of those chirurgeon-alchemists in residence,” he confided. “I had him busy setting up to deal with it when I left. Better him than me.”
Auryen snorted, quietly. Then he asked another question.
“What?” said Ancano. “Oh, his traveling companion–that Redguard– didn’t have any details about his identity and so on; but he was able to regale me with the the tale of their journey, including the particulars of their diet, such as it was, traveling with the Khajiit. Frankly I’m not surprised, given the amount of moonsugar they were stuffing into him to keep him upright.”
“Anyhow,” he went on, “All of that is resolvable; assuming the best, we’ll deal with it. In the meantime my greatest and most salient concern is whatever inflammatory process is going on in that abdomen. I’ll know more once I review Evrard’s report.”
“Won’t bringing him out of stasis to accomplish, ah, that procedure– pose its own risks?”
“Oh, yes,” said Ancano. “And, er, the procedure could provoke an intestinal rupture, or an overwhelming sepsis. He’ll have to be brought partway out of stasis for it to be accomplished– and if he panics again, and flails around… That could get ugly.” He sipped his drink. “But, it has to be done. Evrard’s just waiting on my go-ahead.”
“I’m surprised you did not stay to supervise.”
“The current climate is one of plausible deniability,” murmured Ancano, into his glass.
“Ah.”
“If I’m wrong about what’s going on with him,” said Ancano, “… well, all of the differentials are essentially fatal, so I could be of no further help in any event. Evrard can handle palliative care as well as I can.”
He looked at Auryen Morellus. “My motives are not merely selfish,” Ancano added. “Any subsequent investigation would doubtless have to be handled out of my office. We don’t have any other facilities in the area. And if that happens, I would prefer to direct what goes on– so far all I’ve done is examine, not treat. I could fall back on my role as Justiciar. Better than, say, watching myself be pushed to the side and then having the Third Emissary rifle through all of my cabinets.”
“Keep the liquor in the top drawer,” advised Auryen, snidely. Auryen Morellus held the same opinions as to the overall competence of the esteemed Third Emissary. “Look, it’s not worth me putting this thing up three-quarters empty, is it?”
Auryen lifted the bottle.
Ancano, obligingly, held out his cup. He was going to be very drunk. “…And, of course, finding out whether I should be continuing to bother with any of this; or instead turn the whole problem over to the Third Emissary to deal with.” Ancano finished his drink, savoring the last bit of its mellow aftertaste and nearly sighing with regret.
“Amongst other things, he deals with disciplinary issues amongst the field agents.”
Or, more accurately, was widely known to shirk that duty.
“Assuming that I have misread this situation and that there was some disciplinary situation which led to this Justiciar abandoning his post…” Ancano hesitated. “If it’s that sort of thing, headed towards severe inquiry… I’ll have Evrard hold off, and mark it as “found obtunded; death imminent”–rather dig a quiet grave,” he mused. “Hence my original thought to start with an unofficial inquiry. And I know little of what’s been going on out here in Haafingar-the-hold. Other than what I get in my briefings. Haven’t been out here since I came through to take up my post.”
“Hm,” said Auryen, and Ancano rather thought he’d smirked. Ancano knew very well that the last few weeks in Solitude had been sheer unbridled chaos.
“I want to hear a little more about why you think his condition is so serious,” requested Auryen.
Ancano sighed. “Those original injuries– that was a severe beating. Fists, both ends of some kind of whip, butt and tip. A thin implement– a quarterstaff or stick. He has scars from healed lacerations on his arms and chest and back. A crushing injury to the abdomen– that’s the most serious issue– that bruise must have taken days to surface. Frankly I am surprised he could walk.” Ancano modulated his tone of voice: “I’m sorry– I do not mean to take this out on you. I am very angry.”
Auryen nodded, to indicate that he had not taken offense. “He must have some talent for Restoration magick,” said Ancano. “Some good training. Of course he then healed and overhealed himself till he could no longer arrest that process. Which is when he went into crisis.”
“Is that what’s killing him?” “Not precisely,” said Ancano. “I believe that he had a significant abdominal blunt-trauma injury– I assume from the beating– which has actually healed up somewhat. I believe that its sequelae have set up an intense localized inflammation. In essence, his flesh is seeking to digest itself. Probably spurred on by the overhealing.”
“Similar to what happens with magicka-burn.”
“Precisely. And with this condition occurring alongside magicka-burn– I could keep pouring more healing– more magicka into him, but it’s like dumping boiling water into a cracked cup. At best it drips back out, leaving no benefit. At worst–” Ancano spread his fingers–”the cup shatters. One of these conditions could perhaps be remedied; the two together– well. I don’t mind saying that I’m out of my depth.” He turned the cup about in his fingers. “When I return, I will see what I can do to get Collette Marance to consult.”
And what a joy that would be.
“There is a young Justiciar gone missing,” said Auryen, suddenly. “And it surprises me to learn that he was not on any of your lists. There was a search for him that created all kinds of fuss, just prior to Orondil’s little flit to Jehanna.” He stared at the last few drops of his own of his own brandy and finished it, seeming to resolve himself: “I left at around the same time; it seemed like a good time for a mer to be gone. Went with a colleague to Morrowind to attend a series of lectures on Chimer geomancy and stone-carving, and almost didn’t make it out ahead of the winter weather. Would’ve been stuck for the entire season in Blacklight or Solstheim.”
“Better weather than Winterhold,” commented Ancano.
“Mhm. Lonely Netch was the name of the ship, in case you want to establish some sort of timeline. Left towards the end of Last Seed; just returned this past Morndas.” Auryen’s eyes were clear and guileless; there was a lie there, Ancano knew.
He didn’t care about it.
“Do you know much more about this Justiciar– do you think he’s the same as mine?” Ancano asked.
Auryen Morellus nodded. “He is. And I do. To what extent do you wish to become involved? Because I fear this will become ugly.”
Ancano said: “I’d rather not be involved at all. But, I’m one of the few who would be relatively impervious to any of the political ash-droppings, as they say. They’ve had me in the Druadachs ten years. No-contact, no-support. Now they have me stuck out at Winterhold dancing attendance on Savos Aren, of all people. What could be worse? Black Marsh? Feh.”
Ancano straightened up in his chair and met the older mer’s gaze: “So. I’m not about to run away crying at some reprimand,” he said. “Tell me.”
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