Well, here it is: the sequel to http://www.gamesas.com/?showtopic=928673. I was going to start off by posting one long chapter, but I've been busy with other projects lately, so I decided to split it in two and post a short 'prologue' before getting onto the main story. And without further ado...


Prologue: Trouble In Paradise

As a fighter, I was always taught that you should never let your guard down. If things seem unusually quiet, it’s often a sign that the enemy’s just getting prepared and all hell is about to break loose. If I’d only remembered that, perhaps none of this would ever have happened.

After more than six months of living as the Nerevarine, I was still struggling to get used to being Vvardenfell’s hot new celebrity. For the first few weeks it was fantastic: everywhere I went there’d be people bowing and scraping, saying things like “Almsivi bless you, Nerevarine,” and “how may I serve you, Incarnate?” and “please may I lick your boots clean for you, Nerevar-Born-Again?” But after a month had gone by, and people were still collapsing into stammering incoherence whenever I so much as spoke to them, the excitement was starting to wear off pretty quickly. I even considered visiting Telvanni areas just for the novelty of being treated with polite indifference (or even not-so-polite indifference).

Things just got crazier as time went on. Before long there were people turning up at Bal Isra for pilgrimages – yes, honest-to-goodness pilgrimages. Some of them even seemed to believe I had mystical healing powers of some sort, and could heal their sick friends and relatives just by touching them. I had enormous trouble convincing them that I was just an ordinary mortal rather than some sort of divine being.

“No, seriously,” I would plead. “I’d love to help you, I really would, but I’m useless at magic. You need to go and see a healer.”

I felt so guilty about disappointing them that I usually paid for a healer’s fee, and of course, word quickly got around. Eventually I caved in and learned a couple of spells to cure diseases and suchlike. I managed to persuade the Temple to install a healing shrine so that I wouldn’t have to cure everyone personally, which was not how I planned to spend the rest of my (potentially eternal) life.

Indarys Manor itself was doing quite well. I’d made quite a nice little pile by selling off the Sixth House artifacts I’d collected at Red Mountain (and hadn’t blown all of it on expensive gowns imported from Cyrodiil), so there was plenty of money for improvements. The population had grown to around twenty (plus guards), and we even had our own silt strider port going to Maar Gan and Ald’ruhn.

Things in House Redoran had also improved quite a bit since the fall of Dagoth Ur. The Blight was gone, and ashstorms were a lot less frequent now, making the Ashlands a much nicer place to live in. Arethan Mandas – the ‘Mad Lord of Milk’ – was back in Ald’ruhn under his daughter’s care, and as for Hlaren Ramoran, his relationship with his bodyguard Nalvyna seemed to be progressing nicely. When things got particularly boring in Council meetings, we’d sometimes catch him staring dreamily off into the distance, humming a little tune to himself.

If only the Council business had been going half as well. When I was first appointed Archmaster, I’d dreamed of creating a new House: a House with the honour of Redoran, the enterprise of Hlaalu, and … well, I’m sure there must be something good about the Telvanni. Top of my list of ‘improvements’ was abolishing the ridiculous system of ‘advancement by honourable duel’. If someone thought they would make a better leader than me, they could damn well explain why they thought it instead of dragging me out to the Arena.

But I’d reckoned without the Redoran council – the stickiest stick-in-the-muds ever to gum up the workings of government. I’d propose some trivial change – at least, one that seemed trivial to me – and they’d look at me as if I’d suggested holding a revolution and overthrowing the Tribunal. “But we’ve always done it this way,” were the words I’d come to dread.

I soon sussed out who I could count on to support or oppose me. Athyn Sarethi was generally (though not always) on my side, and together with Brara Morvayn, we formed what I’d come to think of as the ‘liberal wing’ of the Council. Lined up against us were Hlaren Ramoran, Miner Arobar and Garisa Llethri – making a nicely-balanced three on each side, which didn’t exactly help with decision-making. As Archmaster I technically had the casting vote, but I didn’t want over-use it and turn the others against me.

It didn’t help that the other Councillors were still struggling with the idea of a human Archmaster. I wouldn’t have minded so much, except that they seemed to deal with it by treating me as a sort of honorary Dunmer. As a result I had to sit through meeting after meeting, grinding my teeth, while the others whinged endlessly about Imperials and the Empire and what a bunch of greedy honourless bastards we all were. (Not in those exact words, obviously, but that was the gist of it.)

Athyn could usually be counted on to smooth things over when they got too heated. But relations between me and Athyn were slightly strained at the moment, mainly because of Varvur.

Ah, yes. Me and Varvur Sarethi.

******
We spent as much time as we could together after Red Mountain, which wasn’t easy. I was the Redoran Archmaster, living in Bal Isra, while Varvur was training to be a Buoyant Armiger and spent most of his time in Vivec (the city, not… oh, never mind).

Even when we did manage to get together, we still had to find places where we could talk (and other things) in secret. Not to mention getting hold of sterility potions, without tipping off the whole of Vvardenfell that the Nerevarine had a lover. I eventually managed to get some from Sharn gra-Muzgob, after swearing her to secrecy on pain of having her necromantic activities reported to the Temple.

In order to see as much of me as possible on his visits to Ald’ruhn, Varvur came up with the idea of teaching me Dunmeris. After six months in Morrowind I could already understand it reasonably well, but speaking it was another matter. I’d never been much good at languages, but luckily Varvur had lots of patience.

“Conjugate the verb ‘to love’,” he said to me one day.

“I already know that one.” It was one of the first I’d learned.

“Never mind, let’s do it again.” He began to recite the verb forms in Tamrielic, and I repeated them back to him in Dunmeris. “He loves you. She loves you. They love you. We love you.” He slid his hand under the table and gently closed his fingers around mine. “I love you.”

My heart was starting to race, but I grasped his hand tightly and repeated the words in Dunmeris. “I love you.”

From then on, we were as close to engaged as we’d ever be without announcing it officially. The only problem was that Varvur’s parents still didn’t know about it. When we’d first started seeing each other, we’d held off telling them because we weren’t sure it would last – but now, in hindsight, that was starting to look like a bad idea. How would they react when they found out we’d been shagging each other in secret for months on end?

In my more optimistic moments, I told myself that it would be okay. After all, it wasn’t like I was a penniless nobody any more – I was the Redoran Archmaster and a high-ranking Imperial knight, not to mention a famous hero. I’d have been a pretty good match for Varvur if it weren’t for my low birth and – of course – the fact that I wasn’t a Dunmer. But surely that wouldn’t matter so much to people as kind and tolerant as the Sarethis?

“We’re going to have to tell them some day,” I said to Varvur, as we lay in each other’s arms somewhere in the Grazelands.

“I know,” he said, sighing. “I wish now that we had told them at the start. It would have been more honourable, certainly. But it’s too late now.”

I nuzzled up against him. “Do you think they have someone else in mind for you, perhaps? Some Redoran noblewoman?”

“I doubt it. If they had, they would at least have introduced me to her by now. I think they believe I’m too young to marry.” He paused. “Besides, you are a Redoran noblewoman.”

“Well… technically.” I knew I wasn’t kidding anyone with that one.

“And the Nerevarine besides,” he went on. “If Nerevar reborn is not good enough for them, who would be?”

I didn’t answer for a second or two. Varvur’s words had brought to mind something that had been niggling at me for quite some time.

“Varvur… doesn’t it ever bother you?” I said at last. “That I’m the Nerevarine?”

“No,” he said, looking surprised. “At least, not any more.” He gave me a searching look. “And you? Does it bother you?”

“I… well, it’s just…” I was struggling to find words to express what I felt. “Ever since Red Mountain, it’s like everyone has gone completely insane. People are treating me like I really am Saint Nerevar. And…”

“Yes?”

I took a deep breath. “I just have this horrible feeling that someday, they’re all going to wake up and realise I’m not nearly as great as they thought I was. Even you.”

“No,” he said instantly. He wrapped his arms around me and held me close, kissing me almost fiercely. “No. I love Ada, not the Nerevarine.”

I felt tears sting my eyes. Neither of us said anything else, but we tacitly agreed to put off telling The Folks a little while longer. And of course, eventually the inevitable happened and Athyn found out.

I’d gone to Varvur’s room for ‘comfort’ during one of my occasional bouts of painful homesickness, and Athyn walked in on us. He didn’t actually catch us in bed together, thank Dibella – that would just have been too much of a cliché – but he did find me sitting half-naked in Varvur’s lap, with his arms around me. He didn’t say anything, just stared at us for a moment and then closed the door again, but I think he realised we hadn’t been practising verb inflections this time.

I slid off Varvur’s lap, grabbing at my robe, and made for the door – but he caught my arm before I could get any further. “No, Ada, you go back to Bal Isra. I will talk to him.”

“It’s my job,” I said flatly, but he shook his head.

“No, let me. He’s my father, and it is my dishonour for keeping this from him. I should have told him earlier.”

Before I could protest he was hurrying off after his father, leaving me torn between following him or chickening out and heading off home. I hesitated for a few moments, then poked my head out of the door just in time to see them both disappear into Athyn’s study.

There wasn’t much to do except teleport back to Bal Isra. I felt guilty about leaving Varvur to face the music alone, but at the same time I couldn’t help feeling slightly relieved that the truth was out. Okay, so this was a slightly awkward way for it to happen, but surely a man as fair and reasonable as Athyn would come round eventually?

But my hopes were dashed when Varvur showed up at Indarys Manor the next morning. From the grim expression on his face, I guessed his father hadn’t reacted by breaking out the shein and discussing wedding presents.

“What happened?” I asked, dreading the answer.

“You know my father. He doesn’t get angry, he just…” Varvur broke off, sighing heavily. “He asked if the two of us were sleeping together.”

“And what did you say?”

“I told him that we were, of course. And then he asked why I hadn’t told him earlier, so I tried to explain – but I could see he was not happy about it.”

“What happened then?”

Varvur’s fists clenched. “He started… lecturing me. As if I were a child still. Telling me that I should be beyond the age of ‘infatuations’ with human women. That I should have more respect for you, and not make promises I couldn’t… keep.”

My jaw dropped. “Could you have believed it? I am not fourteen years old any longer! So… well, I am afraid I lost my temper a little.” He heaved another gusty sigh. “I told him that this was not an ‘infatuation’ and we were in love. And that I had made no promises to you, but that if I had, I certainly would not break them.”

“Well… that doesn’t sound so bad,” I said. “Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding. If we can persuade him that we’re really in love with each other – ”

Varvur was shaking his head. “There’s more. He started repeating lies he had heard about you – malicious gossip and slander. I would never have believed it of my father.”

“Lies?” That didn’t sound at all like Athyn. “What sort of lies?”

He waved a hand angrily. “They are not worth repeating! And so I said to him. I told him I wouldn’t listen to any more of it, and then I left.”

There was a long silence. I was beginning to see just how badly wrong I’d been when I blithely assumed Athyn would give us his blessing.

“What about your mother?” I asked. “Do you think she’ll be on our side?”

He shook his head again. “I doubt it. I don’t like to speak ill of my mother, but… she is prejudiced against humans. She likes you because you helped our family, but if my father doesn’t want me to marry an Imperial, she certainly would not.”

“So what do we do?” I said at last. “Varvur… I really wouldn’t want to get married without your parents’ approval. Especially your father’s. After the way he’s treated me, and everything he’s done for me… I just couldn’t.”

He nodded. “No, I don’t wish to either. I could never do that to my parents. I suppose we will just have to wait, and hope that they change their minds.”

So we did, and a bloody uncomfortable wait it was. We still had to meet in secret to avoid any publicity, but now we had to do it in the full knowledge that Varvur’s parents knew, and disapproved. In a way it was harder for me than for Varvur – not that he didn’t love his father, but to me Athyn was a friend and mentor, the man who’d made me everything I was today. I knew I’d disappointed him, and I felt terrible about it.

To make things worse, Athyn and I had to see each other practically every day to discuss business. He never actually said anything to me about Varvur, but I could sense the tension between us whenever we met – and to be honest, I couldn’t entirely blame him. I knew I couldn’t exactly be the daughter-in-law he’d always dreamed of.

Sometimes I found myself wondering if it was even worth it. There were so many practical problems in the way of my relationship with Varvur, and not just because of race and background. We came from totally different cultures, worshipped different gods... and then, of course, there was the issue of children. For some reason, the children of mixed-race marriages always take on the mother’s race – so any kids I had with Varvur would be Imperials, not Dunmer. They would grow old and die long before their grandparents, let alone their parents.

In the end, it might have been easier for both of us if we’d just given up and gone our separate ways. The only problem was that I loved him.

Things couldn’t go on like this, of course. Something had to give. But when the crisis came, it happened in a way I most definitely would not have expected.

ARGH !!!! Ada in love!!!!! ARGH !!! A crisis? Oh no, Varvur better stand by her !!!!!!

WOO! :celebration:


:hubbahubba:



Also, the censor for pr ick was rather unnecessary here, silly forum.

Yay
You still make me smile :goodjob:


:ahhh:
Maar Gan!

Oh for [censored]'s sake. (corrected)


Thanks, corrected.

Yay! It is soooo wonderful! Gief more!

You just had to, didn't you? After I stomped my furry feet and held my breath over the new forum layout, you just had to start with Ada's new adventures!

And now I am addicted- again.

You have not lost a step in your brilliant style- if anything, this promises to be even better than the original.

Thanks guys - I'm glad you all like it so much! And while we're about it, here's a screen of Ada in her study at Indarys Manor. Someone's just told her something she's not too happy about...

http://i50.photobucket.com/albums/f332/ecucej/ScreenShot76.jpg

"But we′we always done it that way!"

Hehe.
So why does the description say "Ada does Mournhold" if things are going so well with Varvur? :whistling:

And Haresus wins the caption competition.


Well, you never know when she might meet a http://www.uesp.net/wiki/Tribunal:Calvus_Horatius to tempt her astray...

Yay!
Oooh... Is Calvus Horatius the other man? This will be interesting... Make him completely unbearable and STILL make Ada fall for him! Or do whatever you like! But this will be interesting... I myself had to leave him down with the Dark Brotherhood after I made a hasty retreat with Almsivi Intervention... Poor him...

Helena......


Addictive, Adorable, Amazing, Helena....



....


I shall simply gulp down all you give me. More. M.O.R.E!!!

This calls for a duel!

To the death!

Like I said, you never know...

Chapter 1: A Rude Awakening

It was a hot, dry evening in early Mid Year, and we’d just finished yet another fruitless Council meeting. The Ashlanders had long since accepted that I wasn’t going to be quite the saviour they’d hoped for, but I still felt I ought to do something to help them – and so I’d finally screwed up the courage to bring it up with the Council. Kind souls that they were, they all agreed that something should be done – but their ideas of ‘help’ were along the lines of ‘build schools and temples and bring them all into the fold of Blessed Almsivi’. I had real trouble making them understand that this wasn’t what the Ashlanders themselves would want.

Now the meeting was over, and we were supposed to be enjoying a quiet drink. But then someone brought up the subject of Imperial taxes, and soon the others were back in their default mode of ‘let’s all bash the Empire’. It seemed to be the only thing they could ever agree on.

The worst of it was that they actually had a point. A lot of the trade rules imposed on Morrowind were blatantly unfair – but hearing the Redorans lay into the Empire just made me want to defend my people. And after several months of seething in silence, my patience was at breaking point.

Garisa Llethri was blathering on about favourable tariffs on Cyrodiilic brandy. “But you still drink it, I notice,” I snapped, looking pointedly at the half-full glass in his hand.

Llethri quickly laid down the glass, his cheeks reddening slightly. “That has nothing to do with it!”

“Of course it does!” I hissed back at him. “You guys all buy it up by the crateload because it’s better than the local stuff!” (This was unquestionably true.) “It already costs 100 drakes a bottle; do you want it to be even more expensive?”

“Of course not! We simply wish for equal treatment, that is all. Why should our exports be more heavily taxed than Imperial imports?”

I didn’t really have an answer for that, of course, but I was too angry to back down. “Well, nice to see you taking such a principled stand on the issue, Garisa!”

Garisa raised his eyes skyward. “Once,” he said loudly to no one in particular, “we had an Archmaster who would stand up for our rights in such matters. No longer, it seems.”

This – from Garisa Llethri, of all people – was just too much. I slammed down my own glass, and stood up.

“Ah yes, Bolvyn Venim. I’ll try and be a bit more like him, shall I?” I glared round the table. “Let’s see: I’ll surround myself with handsome young men. I’ll sleep with other people’s husbands and kidnap their children. I’ll challenge people to ‘honourable’ duels at the drop of a hat so that I can murder them without getting punished for it. I’ll bully and browbeat everyone into doing what I want, and every time one of you pisses me off, I’ll send the Morag Tong after you. Sound like fun?”

No one answered. Garisa looked stricken, and I realised I’d hit very close to home with the ‘other people’s husbands’ comment. But at that moment I was too angry to care.

“I’m going home to bed,” I said curtly, flinging my cloak around me. “Goodnight all. Have fun ranting pointlessly about the Empire while guzzling down Imperial brandy.”

With that I Recalled to my room in Indarys Manor, and instantly set about pouring myself some flin. I didn’t usually drink to drown my frustrations with the Council – otherwise I’d never stop – but in this case, it seemed entirely appropriate to soothe my nerves with a glass or two. Or three. Or four.

I barely even remember getting undressed and stumbling into bed. Usually I’d sleep like a log after drinking like that, so I have no idea what it was that caused me to wake up – a sudden noise, perhaps. But without knowing exactly why, I could instantly sense that something was wrong.

I could hear soft footsteps outside the door, as if someone was creeping around just outside. Carefully, trying not to make any noise, I rolled over to the side of the bed and reached for my sword. My hand had just closed around the hilt when the door creaked open and a head, masked in a face-concealing black helmet, peeked round it.

I leapt off the bed just as the black-clad figure flung the door wide open. His arm flew back and a dart of some kind whistled past my ear, so close that I could actually feel the rush of air against my skin.

Instinct took over and I leapt at him, forgetting that I wasn’t wearing anything but a nightdress. He lashed out frantically with a dagger, and I felt the sting of poison as the edge of the blade nicked my arm. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I grabbed his wrist with my left hand while driving the blade of my trusty glass frostsword into his gut. A choking sound escaped him, and blood began to dribble from his mouth.

Within seconds, the house was in uproar as servants and retainers came running to my aid. My steward, Galvene Othrobar, was the first to arrive. “Sera Ventura!” she gasped, staring at the would-be assassin’s corpse in bewilderment. “What has happened?”

Shock and pain made me lose my temper. “What happened?” I snarled. “That guy tried to kill me, that’s what happened!” I whirled round to face Treram Milar, my guard captain. “How did he get past the guards? What the hell do I pay you people for anyway?”

“I am so sorry, muthsera! I - I cannot imagine how this could have happened.” His voice shook. “I have failed you, and I take full responsibility.” To my horror, I realised there were tears in his eyes.

“Look, it’s OK,” I muttered, suddenly feeling guilty for yelling at him. “Sorry for losing my temper like that, Treram. I should save that for whoever hired this guy to kill me.”

“But who would do this?” Galvene asked helplessly. “Who would try to kill the Nerevarine?”

There was a brief, uncomfortable silence as I realised that I had absolutely no idea. I couldn’t think of anyone specific with a grudge against me, but that just meant it could be almost anyone – the Camonna Tong, a Hlaalu or Telvanni, some random lunatic. It wasn’t a pleasant thought.

“Could be anyone at all, couldn’t it?” I said shortly. “Hang on a moment.”

I marched over to the bed, where the assassin’s dart had lodged itself in the headboard, and wrenched it out. It was made of ebony, finely carved and razor-sharp. “Morag Tong,” I muttered. “Who else?”

“I cannot find a writ, sera.” Treram was crouched over the body. “It would a grave crime to make an attempt on your life without one.”

“He probably just forgot.” I glanced down at the dart in my hand. “This is exactly their style. It doesn’t count as murder if you use an ebony dart and howl three times at the moon first, or something. Well, I guess it’s time to pay our friendly local contract killers a visit.”

Galvene looked horrified. “But sera! Have you considered? If they have a writ for your assassination, then – ”

“Then I might be forced to wipe out the whole lot of them? Oh dear!” I flung my dressing gown around my shoulders, then pulled on my boots and grabbed a handful of enchanted jewellery. “Dump the guy in the cellar and get this mess cleaned up. I don’t want any blood left on my floor by the time I get back, understand?”

“But – ”

The protesting voices died away as the sound of my Almsivi Intervention spell filled my ears. The moment my feet hit the Temple courtyard, I strode out through the gateway and up towards the Skar building.

There weren’t many people around at that time of night, but I got some pretty strange looks from the guards as I hurried through the streets. A couple of shady-looking types eyed me from the shadows, but drew back hastily when they saw the glass longsword hanging from my belt. When I finally reached Skar, I had to pause for a minute or so to catch my breath. I took the opportunity to run a comb through my hair – it wouldn’t do to be messy, even if I was about to storm the Morag Tong sanctuary in my nightclothes.

I’d never been inside the Tong guildhall before – in fact, I’d made a point of not going there. I loathed them, ancient Dunmer tradition or not, and I enjoyed pissing off the other Councillors by referring to them as the ‘Murderers’ Guild’ and the ‘Hitmen’s Social Club’. It didn’t surprise me at all to find the place dark, smoky and bathed in eerie red light, as if they were actively trying to live up to the stereotype. If I hadn’t been so angry, I’d have found it hilarious.

The only person visible was Goren Andarys, the local Guildmaster – an ugly-looking customer if I ever saw one. He looked surprised to see me, but not disconcerted.

“Archmaster Ventura, “he said smoothly. “A pleasure. I hadn’t expected to see you here, especially at this… unusual hour. Are you in need of our services, perhaps?”

I couldn’t believe the guy had the gall to speak to me like that. “Oh, cut the crap, Andarys,” I snarled, flinging the ebony dart down on the table. “You know damn well why I’m here. This look familiar to you?”

Andarys picked up the dart and examined it carefully – or pretended to. “I’m afraid you have the advantage of me, sera,” he said at last. “I have no idea what this is, nor have I ever seen anything like it.”

“Oh, give me a break!” I snatched the dart back from him. “One of your assassins just tried to kill me with that thing – as you’re perfectly well aware. I want to know who hired him, and why.”

“A Morag Tong agent?” His brow creased into a frown. “Then he had a writ? Do you have it with you?”

“No, he didn’t.”

Andarys shook his head. “Then I very much doubt that he was Morag Tong. I handle all writs for the Ashlands area, and I would certainly know if any had been taken out against you. And besides,” he added, “you are the Redoran Archmaster and the Nerevarine. The cost would be… prohibitive.”

“I don’t believe you,” I said flatly. “How many other assassins’ guilds are there round here? If you didn’t send the guy, who did?”

Andarys’ face had gone rigid, and I could tell he was struggling to keep his cool. “I have no idea. If I may say so, Archmaster, someone in your position is bound to make enemies. I suggest you talk to a guard.”

“You’re lying,” I said. “I’ve heard all about your ‘grey writs’. I know a professional assassin when I see one. The guy was Tong.”

His lips tightened. “I tell you, Nerevarine, there is no writ on you. Yet,” he added pointedly. “If there were, what would stop me from summoning my thralls to attack you here and now?”

“One of your stupid rules of ‘honour’, perhaps? The ones that don’t actually stop you killing people, but do set down a load of arcane rules about exactly when and how you can do it?” His expression didn’t change. “Fine, go ahead. Deny it. But I’m telling you this: if you send another of your thugs after me, I’m going to come down here with Clan Redoran and slaughter the whole bloody lot of you. Do you understand?”

“I shall look forward to it,” he said coldly. “Now I would appreciate it if you would leave my guildhall… and please, Archmaster, try to drink a little less before you pay us another visit? Thank you.”

I could honestly have murdered the guy at that moment. (Ironic, I know.) In the end I just turned and stalked off without saying another word.

Unsurprisingly, I didn’t get much more sleep that night. Two guards were stationed right outside my door, but even so, every little noise had me waking in a cold sweat. It was almost a relief when morning came and I could hurry over to Sarethi Manor to pour out my woes.

The Sarethis were horrified to hear about the murder attempt – so much that the tensions between us seemed briefly forgotten. “But who would want to kill you?” Domesea asked in disbelief, echoing Galvene Othrobar. “You are the Nerevarine.”

“I don’t know,” I said with a sigh. “It could be almost anyone, couldn’t it? Anyone with enough money to pay for a writ, in any case.”

Athyn frowned. “Are you sure it was the Morag Tong?”

“Well, yes,” I said in astonishment. “Who else could it be?”

He shook his head. “I am not sure, but I think you should wait before jumping to conclusions. In the meantime we must increase your guard, of course.”

“We won’t let them harm you.” Varvur slid his arms around me. “She must stay here tonight,” he added, with a defiant glance at his parents.

Domesea narrowed her eyes, but Athyn simply nodded. “Yes, indeed she must. Though I hardly think the assassins would dare to attack twice on successive nights.”

I spent the rest of the day at Bal Isra, trying my best to forget about the attack, but I was constantly on edge. Every time I heard an unexpected sound or saw a movement out of the corner of my eye, I thought it was another assassin. By the time I got back to Sarethi Manor with my night gear, I was completely exhausted.

Athyn had prepared a room for me, and I joined the family for dinner, though I couldn’t eat very much. Once the meal was over I went straight to bed, keeping my sword close to hand. I had thought I’d have trouble sleeping, but in the event I was so tired that I dropped off almost immediately.

I was awakened by a sudden loud yell. Grabbing my sword, I leapt out of bed and flung open the door to the hallway. The sight that greeted me made my heart stop. Varvur was standing there, half-naked and carrying a sword that was dripping with blood. Beside him on the floor lay the body of another masked, black-clad assassin.

“I thought they might make another attempt.” He was breathing heavily. “So I settled down to wait instead of going to sleep. When I heard a noise outside in the corridor, I went to see what it was and found him standing by your door.”

A chill ran through me. If Varvur hadn’t been so cautious, I’d probably be dead by now. “How did he get in?” I asked helplessly. “Why didn’t the guards spot him?”

“I’m not sure. A Chameleon spell perhaps?” By now the entire household was gathering in the corridor. Athyn’s face was drawn, and I saw Domesea turn pale and grasp his arm tightly. Of course, I realised, they both had all too much experience with the Morag Tong – oh gods, the Morag Tong!

“Oh, those guar-molesting – ” I slammed my sword back into its scabbard. “Right. That’s it. I’m not just going to kill them all, I’m going to douse their precious guildhall in scuttle oil and set it alight.”

“One moment.” One of the guards had knelt down by the dead assassin and was searching the pockets of his leather armour. “There is no writ.”

“Doesn’t surprise me. The last guy didn’t have one either.” I made for the door, but Athyn caught at my arm.

“Ada, I do not think these people are Morag Tong,” he said softly. “I know you find it hard to believe, but they do follow a code of honour, and it would be most unusual for them to act without a writ. Besides, this is not their traditional dress.”

I clapped a hand to my forehead. “Oh, of course! He can’t possibly be Morag Tong, he’s not wearing a Morag Tong uniform. How stupid of me to think that an assassin might possibly choose to dress as a slightly different kind of assassin.”

“Ada, calm yourself.” Varvur laid a hand on my shoulder. “At least wait until morning before you decide what to do. I will stay with you tonight, and guard you against any other attacks.”

He had a point, I had to admit. I was tired. And maybe four a.m. wasn’t the best time to plot revenge against a bunch of professional assassins.

“Okay,” I said wearily, and turned to his father. “Sorry for having a go at you, Athyn. I’m a bit… on edge right now.”

“No matter,” he answered mechanically. As the guards began to drag away the body, he slipped an arm around his wife and led her back towards their room. I returned to my own room with Varvur, who carefully wiped his sword clean and settled into a chair facing the door.

“Sleep,” he said, in answer to my questioning look. “I’ll be here.”

He was still there when I woke up the next morning, sitting upright in his chair, looking tired but still alert. I reached out to touch his bare arm, and he turned sleepy red eyes towards me and smiled. At that moment I knew for certain that there was no way I could ever give up on him – on us. However long it took, we had to find a way through this.

“What will you do now?” he asked, as I began to dress. “About the assassin?”

I hesitated. Somehow, in the cold light of day, I didn’t feel quite as certain about the Morag Tong’s involvement as I had before. Last night I’d been too tired and angry to think clearly – but now, when I thought back on my conversation with Goren Andarys, I realised he hadn’t come across as if he was lying. I guess he could just have been a very good actor, but…

“I think I’ll go and talk to the Legion people over at the fort,” I said at last. “Might as well take advantage of being the Imperial Dragon, after all. If they don’t have any ideas… well, I’ll worry about that later.”

Varvur hauled himself to his feet. “Would you like me to go with you?”

“No, sweetheart, you go to bed. I’ll be fine.” He looked doubtful. “Really. I killed a god, remember?”

He couldn’t hide a smile. “All right. I’ll see you later.”

A short while later I was pouring out the whole story to Imsin the Dreamer, the local Legion commander, in her office at Fort Buckmoth. When I showed her the ebony darts I’d taken from the assassins, a rather grim expression crossed her face.

“Yes, I think I’ve heard of these,” she said, nodding slowly. “It’s not good, ma’am. This looks like the work of the Dark Brotherhood.

I blinked. “The Dark Brotherhood?”

“Yes. Er… haven’t you heard of them, ma’am? I thought you came from Cyrodiil?”

“Yes, of course, but…” Why the hell would the Dark Brotherhood be trying to kill me? I hadn’t even realised that they existed here in Morrowind.

Imsin cleared her throat. “Could I make a suggestion, ma’am? Apelles Matius might be able to help. He’s recently arrived from Cyrodiil, after all.”

“Good thinking.” Apelles Matius was my deputy, brought in to handle the day-to-day business of the Legion. I’d only met him a couple of times, quite briefly, but he’d seemed like he knew what he was doing. If anyone could help me with my little assassination problem, he was a good bet.

I travelled to Ebonheart with a combination of Guild Guide and Divine Intervention spells. It didn’t take me long to find Apelles, who was inspecting the battlements. He wore a shiny suit of armour made of adamantium – a silvery-grey metal which was apparently only found in parts of mainland Morrowind. I always felt a bit envious of him when I saw it.

“What’s this about the Dark Brotherhood?” he asked, when I gave him a quick run-down of the situation. “You say you’ve been attacked by them? The fact that you’re standing here seems to suggest otherwise.”

“I’m not in the mood for jokes,” I said sharply. “Have you heard anything about Dark Brotherhood activity in Vvardenfell?”

He shook his head. “Almost unheard of… but I do know they have a large contingent back on the mainland – in Mournhold itself, actually. If you’re feeling particularly suicidal, I guess you can check it out for yourself...”

My heart sank. Mournhold was Morrowind’s capital city, deep in House Indoril territory – it would take at least a week to travel there, not to mention all the time spent preparing for the journey. “I don’t suppose you know any way to get there quickly?” I asked, without much hope.

“Well…” He scratched his nose. “You could talk to Asciene Rane in the Council chambers. She’s a mage who arrived here the same time I did, special appointment to Duke Dren. Nice woman. She might be able to help you out.”

I thanked him and went to speak to Asciene Rane, a friendly middle-aged Breton. When I told her I wanted to be transported to Mournhold, she looked doubtful. “That’s highly irregular,” she said, pursing her lips. “Even now that the Blight is gone from Vvardenfell, they’re still worried about possible contamination. What’s your reason for wanting to go to the city?”

I didn’t want to tell anyone else about the Dark Brotherhood attacks just yet. “It’s… private.”

“Well, I certainly didn’t mean to pry,” she said apologetically. “I simply can’t send you there without good reason… even if you are the Knight of the Imperial Dragon. I’m sorry.”

I decided to think it over and come back later. It wasn’t like I could head straight off to Mournhold in any case; I needed to go back and explain everything to the Sarethis and the other Redoran councillors.

The whole thing just felt so surreal, I thought, as I walked back from the Council chambers. I’d never in a million years have imagined that the Dark Brotherhood would come after me. In fact I’d always considered them a bit of a joke, with their cloak-and-dagger image and their Night Mother rituals. It didn’t seem quite so funny now that I might be a target.

The worst of it was that I’d already accused Goren Andarys of trying to kill me – and accused him of lying when he denied it. I’d insulted his honour, I realised, and now I was going to have to make a grovelling apology. To the Morag Tong. There just weren’t enough swear words for this situation.

Well, I differed from Bolvyn Venim in one important way: I was willing to admit when I was wrong. And there was no point putting it off; might as well get it over with straight away. I returned to Ald’ruhn, where I entered the Morag Tong guildhall under Skar for the second and hopefully last time.

There were quite a few Tong members around at this time of day, and none of them looked pleased to see me. From the way they casually laid their hands on their weapons as I approached, I guessed that Andarys had warned them about my threats. Gritting my teeth, I paused at a safe distance and gave them a formal, apologetic bow (traditionalist Dunmer are very big on bowing). I straightened up to find them looking at me in blank astonishment.

“Muthsera,” I said to Andarys. “I’ve come here to apologise for what I said to you the other night. It seems it wasn’t the Morag Tong trying to kill me after all. I shouldn’t have accused you without proof.”

“I accept your apology, Archmaster” he said stiffly. “If you will excuse me, I am very busy – ”

“No, really,” I said. “I’m extremely sorry. It turns out the assassins were sent by the Dark Brotherhood.”

His head jerked up. “The Dark Brotherhood? Here in Vvardenfell?”

“Apparently.” He and the other Tong agents were exchanging worried glances. “Is that so unusual?”

Andarys was shaking his head. “I should have known,” he murmured, almost to himself, and then looked up at me. “The Dark Brotherhood are our sworn enemies. They are a depraved perversion of the ancient law-abiding order of the Morag Tong.”

I nearly choked. What the hell did you have to do for an assassins’ guild to consider you ‘a depraved perversion’? Carry out all your hits dressed in a leather corset and stiletto heels?

“Well, no argument there,” I said, forcing myself to stay polite. “Anyway, I’m going to Mournhold to track down the person who hired them. I don’t suppose you’d know who might be, um, depraved enough to do that?”

“I fear not, sera. Still, I wish you luck.” His anger seemed to have died away, which was certainly a relief. Even so, I was glad he didn’t offer to shake hands with me; I’m not sure I could have brought myself to do it.

When I emerged into Under-Skar I ran straight into Varvur, who was crossing one of the rope bridges in the other direction. “Ah, there you are, Ada! I went to the fort to look for you, but they said you had left for Ebonheart.” He lowered his voice. “Did you find out who is trying to kill you?”

I nodded grimly. “Dark Brotherhood.”

“The Western assassins’ guild?” I nodded again. “But… why? Who would send them after you?”

“No idea,” I said with a sigh. “I’m thinking of travelling to the mainland to try and find out. But I want to talk to your father first and ask his advice.” That was the thing about Athyn: no matter how bad things got between us, I knew I could always trust him to help me. Nothing could change that.

There didn’t seem to be anyone around when Varvur and I entered Sarethi Manor. I headed for Athyn’s study, assuming he was working there – but as we neared the door, I could hear several voices behind it speaking in Dunmeris. It was Athyn and some of the other Councillors, and they sounded like they were having a pretty heated discussion.

I froze. My Dunmeris was good enough by now to follow most conversations, and even if it weren’t, the words ‘Varvur’ and ‘Ada’ would have tipped me off as to what they were discussing. Varvur took a step forward, but I caught his arm and held him back, pressing my finger to my lips.

“…seems I have no choice,” Athyn was saying. “I admit that it isn’t what I would have wished, but…”

“But Athyn, have you considered?” That was Domesea’s voice. “Their children will be human!”

“Of course I have, Domesea.” Athyn’s voice sounded tired and strained. “But what can I do? Both are of age. What reason could I give for refusing my consent?”

This prompted a long, voluble rant from Garisa Llethri. He was speaking too quickly for me to understand, but Varvur’s face had turned pale with fury. “What’s he saying?” I whispered.

Varvur ground his teeth. “He said that he can think of a dozen reasons. And now he is listing them.”

A woman’s voice – probably Brara Morvayn – said something I didn’t quite catch. “Politically it would be an excellent match, of course.” I’d never heard Athyn sound so unhappy.

“But Athyn,” Miner Arobar wailed, “she has no courtesy!”

I couldn’t speak. I could hardly even breathe. How dare they? Who the hell did they think they were to talk about me like that? Bloody Dark Elves, saying I had no courtesy!

I grasped the handle of the door and yanked it open. A circle of shocked, slightly guilty faces stared back at me. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came: my mind had gone completely blank. But it didn’t matter in any case, because Varvur got there before me.

“How DARE you?” I’d never seen him this angry before; he was practically shaking with fury. “How dare you speak of Ada like that? You insult and abuse her when she isn’t here to defend herself, and then you accuse her of discourtesy?”

Athyn took a step forward. “Varvur – ”

“And you, Father! You are the worst of all of them!” He turned blazing eyes on his father. “You tried to turn me against Ada. You preach about how we shouldn’t spread rumours and gossip, and yet you believe these – these wicked lies about her being an Imperial spy! You are a hypocrite!”

Oh, sweet Akatosh. “Uh, Varvur?” I said with a embarrassed cough. “I’m afraid your father’s actually right on that one. I am an Imperial spy.”

“What? No, you are joking!”

“I’m serious.” I lowered my voice, trying to speak calmly. “I was recruited into the Blades as soon as I arrived in Morrowind. That was how I found out about the Nerevarine prophecies. Apparently the Emperor somehow got wind of them and decided I was the one to fulfil them – or at least, someone who could fulfil them. That was why he had me shipped to Morrowind in the first place.”

Varvur’s mouth was hanging open. “Then you knew all along that you were the Nerevarine? You told me that – ”

“No, I didn’t know it! All I knew was that I was having weird dreams and getting attacked in the streets by wild-eyed lunatics. By the time I found out what was going on, it was too late to back out – and even then I didn’t really believe it until I found the Moon-and-Star.” So much for staying calm; my heart was pounding so hard that I could feel the rush of blood in my ears.

Varvur squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, pressing his fingers against his temples. He was clearly finding this hard to take in. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”

“Because your father told me not to!” I hissed, turning back towards Athyn. “Care to explain why you suddenly changed your mind on that one, Athyn?”

The look on Athyn’s face made me stop short. In all the time I’d known him, I’d never seen him so close to losing his temper.

“Why I changed my mind?” The forced calmness in his voice was almost worse than anger. “Because my son had fallen in love with you, that is why. Tell me, Ada: have you ever considered what you would do if the Blades were to force you back into service? If they ordered you to return to Cyrodiil?”

I looked at him in disbelief. “I’d tell them to get stuffed, of course!”

“Would you, indeed? I wish it were so easy.”

Okay, this was getting ridiculous. “None of this seemed to bother you when you asked me to become Archmaster!”

“No,” he said quietly, “but an Archmaster can always be replaced. With my son’s wife, the case is a little different. Wouldn’t you agree?”

I was about to reply, but then I saw Varvur’s expression and the words died on my lips. The others looked stunned by what they’d just heard, but he looked devastated. The dream had shattered, just as I’d predicted, and I couldn’t bear it. I had to get out of here.

I took a deep breath. “I’m going to Mournhold,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “To find out who’s been sending Dark Brotherhood assassins to kill me. I don’t know how long I’ll be away, or when I’ll be back. Athyn, since you seem to think you can do so well without me, I’m leaving you in charge.”

No one replied. “Goodbye,” I said shortly. “If I don’t see you again… Almsivi bless you all.” The last thing I heard as I Recalled back to Indarys Manor was Varvur beginning to yell at his father.

My first instinct was to fling myself down on the bed and sob, but I fought it back; right now, what I needed most was to stay calm and collected. Even so, I couldn’t help being furious with myself. Why hadn’t it occurred to me that that might be Athyn’s reason for objecting to me and Varvur? Why hadn’t I thought to tell Varvur, the man I was thinking of marrying, that I was a Blade?

The answer in both cases was simple: I hadn’t even thought about the Blades since I’d had that discussion with Athyn. But Varvur wouldn’t see it like that, I realised, with a sinking heart. As far as he was concerned, it was yet another secret I’d kept hidden from him when we were supposed to trust each other. “I forgot” wasn’t going to cut it.

Oh, Nine help me. I’d really screwed up this time, hadn’t I?

At the end of the prologue I feared you might let a DB assassin kill Varvur to kick off the storyline, but this is better! :blush2:

Killing Varvur would be just as good as killing Ada... It would completely break the story. Either she would break down COMPLETELY and would be unable to do anything OR she would become a mindless killing machine, easily maneveured by (spoiler for those who havnt done the Tribunal main quest and who doesnt want to know who the main figure/s is/are in the expansion pack) for his/her/their/its own goals and gains...


And Helena isnt the sort of writer who writes about a mindless killing machine in a state of... Big -ness.
She is more of the comic sort of writer who throws in a bit of fun here, some serious there, some sad there, and then something with a bit of everything and then something completely extreme...

You're right, a revenge driven plot for Tribunal wouldn't really have worked well with Ada. Not sure why I ever considered it.

Oh, it's going to be revenge-driven all right... just not for that reason. Besides, as Ada herself would point out, killing off the love interest is such a cliché.

And that's why you're writing this, and not me.

I see now
:goodjob:

What happened to your avatar, povuholo? o.O

By the way, I finally managed to find a face for Ada that's closer to the way I originally imagined her (actually one of the Nord heads from UQF's Master Face Pack, with some minor UV tweaks). On the other hand, I've kind of got used to the old one, and I certainly can't be bothered to redo all those screenshots. What do you think?

http://i50.photobucket.com/albums/f332/ecucej/MGEScreenshot040.jpg

Ada is back...[censored] yeah.