Oh look, another shocking betrayal. Who would have thought that the Dremora would be working for Dagon and would try to kill us?

To be fair, Sombren had already established a positive working relationship with Xynaa, so he can be (mostly) forgiven for not realizing she'd been playing a long game the whole time she'd been protecting and guiding him. It was a pretty savvy game, too, taking over as caretaker after Sombren was prematurely busted out of his vault, earning his trust until the time was right for her to follow through on delivering him to her true master.

There were risks in venturing into Xynaa's Deadlands lair, obviously, but with the twins' powers rapidly spiraling out of control, it certainly seemed worth taking the trip to meet the mentor that had helped Sombren so much. And even with the way things turned out, I'd say we gained much more than we lost. And not just because Xynaa's attempt to drain the twins' powers inadvertently succeeded in dampening them, however temporarily.

It was awfully thoughtful of her to share so much information with us before she sprang her trap. I'm not sure if passing through the trials of the Path of the Obelisks actually played a part in the ritual she had planned, or if it was all window-dressing, but those visions have given us plenty to think about since we made our escape.

Calia and Destron were of course shaken by the revelation of their origins, how they were handed over for a Dagonic ritual by parents who were sacrificed in the process. It seems that the babies who grew up to be the Ambitions were basically incubators for Dagon's power, entrusted with a share of his energy so that it could grow along with them and mingle with their mortal forms. That's why they're so vital to what increasingly looks like Dagon's version of the Planemeld - they themselves are living embodiments of the merging of Nirn and Oblivion, and by harnessing the power they've been unwittingly storing up, he's got himself a clear path from his realm to ours.

It's a solid plan, decades in the making as it was. Nothing could really go wrong. Not even with the interference of a meddlesome adventurer who's convinced that she could never fail to take down whoever she decides is the bad guy. She can try, of course. But we all know how that's going to turn out. And so now all that's left is to watch her try, and fail, and die.

Such is the future promised by the third vision, heralded by the Obelisk of Inevitability. A future that had already come to pass, from the perspective of the man who had lived through it. And the future Emperor Vandacia seemed to hold those memories quite fondly, even as I glared at him and told him that he hadn't won yet. Because, from the throne where he was sitting, he had. And there was nothing for me to do but go through the motions and live through it myself.

It occurs to me that this wasn't the first time I've been presented with an ominous picture of a future where everything has gone wrong. But when Khali and I walked the Two Moons Path, we knew deep down that what we were seeing was only one possible future. And knowing what had led to that future told Khali what she needed to do to prevent it from actually coming to pass.

But here? Vandacia was all too quick to remind me what "inevitability" means. To assure me that there was nothing I could do, because there was nothing I could do the first time around either. I had tried as hard as I could, and it wasn't enough. And so Dagon became the master of Nirn, and bequeathed the whole of Tamriel to his devoted high priest, while my story came to a permanent end. So it was, and so it must be.

Well. I guess it's been fun while it lasted. I wonder if I'm allowed to give up and go home now that I know that trying is pointless, or if that would mess with Vandacia's perfect preordained future. I'm probably stuck here, so I guess I might as well make the most of my valiant last stand. Maybe I should bring some extra fireworks with me just for effect.

Sigh. You know if Bastian were here, he'd probably say something corny about how giving up is the only way to guarantee that we fail. Actually he'd probably be having a field day with this. I should give him a hard time for missing out on his calling whenever he gets back.

But, if I must, I suppose I can soldier on with the philosophical pondering on my own in the meantime. I mean, Sombren seems convinced that this was only one possibility, not set in stone, and it wasn't hard for me to encourage Destron and Calia not to lose hope despite what they'd seen. Now I just need to decide for myself how much I believe that we have the power to change the inevitable course, or if this is just how the river is meant to flow.

It wouldn't be the first time I turned a premonition on its head, would it. The prophecy I uncovered in the Clockwork City foretold an almost-certain demise, with a miniscule chance of averting it. But even the mechanical prognosticator acknowledged that I had the capability to alter the course of its calculated future. And Sotha Sil, the god of logic himself, saw in me an ability to break through the walls of the prison cell of what must be, even as the odds steadfastly stack against me.

But can I really put my faith in those vague assurances, that this vision of "inevitability" is but a window into a future that we can now set about changing? If I died once, en route to that one possible future, what's to say that's not how it's meant to be? How many chances will we get to see what works and what doesn't? Or should I just do what I think is right, what I would have done anyway, and hope for some kind of miracle along the way?

It's been a long time since I was that scared kid who couldn't help shaking a little every time I had to nock an arrow. It's easy to believe in myself, as the hero who's come through countless battles, that no matter who I fight, I'm going to be the one who comes out alive. Maybe there's even a little bit of arrogance mixed in with my confidence. But... wouldn't it be folly to believe that I'm completely invincible? Isn't it probable, if not inevitable, that I might someday face an enemy that I can't beat?

There was something that came to me once, one of those insidious whispers that sound like Molag Bal, something about how I have to defeat him every time but he only has to defeat me once. That's what this is, isn't it. I keep fighting and fighting, but it only takes one defeat and it's all over. And it's only a matter of time, isn't it.

Well. That doesn't mean this needs to be the time. And it never means I should just give up.

I can see why some consider foresight to be more of a curse than a blessing. But at least in this case, knowing what is most likely to happen just reinforces the importance of making sure it doesn't. By whatever means we might find at our disposal.

For now, that means gathering allies to stand with us in the coming confrontation. I have a couple of ideas, folks we've aided who might be willing to join us, but there are also a few corners of Blackwood I haven't scouted out yet. It's impossible to know if past-future me sought out those same allies, but it can't hurt to have them along now. And that's about all we can do: everything we can think of, to try as hard as we can, to give ourselves every available advantage. And that way, even if we lose, we'll know we didn't leave anything to chance, and whatever will be was truly meant to be.

The moment of truth. That single moment separating life from death. The moment that proves that what has been must be.

When you know that moment is coming, but you don't know when, it makes for a hell of a ride.

I don't remember the last time I was so nervous before a battle. It was an active, buzzing sort of nervous, the kind that made me hyper-aware of everything going on around me. The scores of soldiers and supporters preparing to carry out their designated roles. The calm warriors pacing themselves with some meditative stretches. The commanders quietly discussing their strategies. The quartermasters seeing to their provisions and the healers preparing their makeshift infirmaries. So many people come together in one place, all working in concert toward one goal.

And I was just one of the many. I had that awareness, deep down. I had my own role to play and my own job to do. The difference was that I knew I was going to die that day.

Nobody put it in those terms, of course, not even me. The Ambitions and I didn't even really speak about what we had seen in the Deadlands, aside from Calia fretting over what might happen to her and her brother if the soldiers weren't able to protect them. And I certainly wasn't going to tell anyone how scared I was that Evil Future Vandacia might have been right. Not when so much was riding on the big damn hero once again saving the day.

Bastian noticed, I think, that I was more on edge than usual. He had that look on his face every time I glanced over at him, trying just a little too hard to be reassuring. I briefly wondered if I should have told him the whole truth about the vision, about what it had really portended, but in the end I was just as glad that he never asked. He and Eveli didn't need to have those worries clouding their view of what had to be done. It was enough that they knew we needed to try with everything we had to see our mission through.

On the outside, we were as prepared as we could be. As the Waking Flame approached, the Black Fin Legion and the Ivory Brigade stood in their organized ranks, ready to counter the waves of attackers coming to break down the gate. It was impressive seeing how disciplined and coordinated they were, how they all snapped to attention at their commanders' signals. At least the fight outside the fortress was in good hands.

My fight, though, would be within. I, along with my close circle of allies, would be the last line of defense inside the fort, ready to protect the Ambitions from the inevitable portal assault. I'm glad General Keshu had thought of that, so I didn't have to point it out. A strong wall against your back is only so helpful when your enemy has a squad of portal mages at his disposal.

That force would be relatively small, though, nothing we couldn't handle. At least until... well, we would come to that in due time.

We had barely taken our places inside before the influx of Daedra and cultists began. And it wasn't long after that that any semblance of organization gave way to chaos and running and skirmishing as we tried to catch up to the Ambitions charging rashly ahead through the fortress.

When we finally found the three of them, we actually managed to move forward as a fairly cohesive unit... until Vandacia found them too. A new wave of adrenaline coursed through me as he stepped through his portal, and I tried to steady my nerves by considering my options for slinking behind cover and taking a few potshots just to test the waters. It might work, as long as he was focused on his true quarry...

But he was focused, and he knew exactly how to draw his prey out. A few brazen threats directed at Calia was all it took to drive Destron into a reckless fury, primed as he was to protect his sister no matter what. If only "don't do anything stupid" had been part of our pre-battle instructions.

As soon as I realized what was going on, I propelled myself after Destron, knowing that he wasn't going to listen if I just called to him to stop. I was only a step away, just one more good stretch forward to reach him, when a searing heat just about scalded my hand. If Bastian hadn't been right behind me, to pull me back as I was desperately pushing forward, I might have gone up in those flames along with the wayward Ambition. But all we could do was watch as Destron's surge of crackling electricity was repelled and then consumed by the surge of infernal power that Vandacia pulled out of him, a wellspring of Daedric energy finally given release to create a conduit to the heavens.

And then Destron was gone, and all that was left was Vandacia's cruel smile as he presented his gift to his master: Dagon's power returned to him, along with the very ground on which we stood. The sky turned red, and the earth shook, and a meteor came crashing down just beyond the fortress walls.

And then the meteor stood up, and stretched out his four arms, and peered down at us. He was not terribly impressed by what he saw. But boy did he sure make an impression on us.

And so, the Deadlands-flavored Planemeld was upon us. With the power of one Ambition at his disposal, the Prince of Destruction had overlaid enough of his realm onto ours to be free to roam this little corner of Nirn at will. Coldharbour Contract be damned.

Dagon was not, apparently, in a big hurry to scoop up the other two Ambitions, and turned his attention to stomping around swinging his axe outside the fort. Vandacia likewise only took a moment to further taunt us before taking his leave. And then Sombren pulled Calia along with him into the relative safety of the nearest building, leaving Bastian to fret over my singed hand and me to wonder how things had gone so badly so quickly.

We were prepared. We were organized. We knew, more or less, what we were up against. But this... this was already so far out of our control.

But, all was not lost. I was still alive, which counted for something, and Sombren had an idea about how to counter Vandacia and the Dagonic energy boost he'd siphoned on the way by. That conveniently Dagonic book that Eveli's been carrying around all this time held the answers, he thought. All he needed was time to study it and find a way for the two remaining Ambitions to turn Dagon's power to their favor.

I, of course, was the one who needed to buy them that time. Me and Eveli and Bastian, the last line of defense against a threat that was now more present than ever. And so onward we went.

The path ahead of us was a contorted fusion of Oblivion and Nirn. But even then we weren't without allies. Elam flitted in and out of the shadows, passing on the Brotherhood's regards, and I thought I saw a trio of Argonians keeping the rabble busy as we hurried past. Even some of the Leyawiin brigadines had made it far enough to attempt to hold a semblance of a line.

At last we reached the passageway to the main courtyard. Eveli took off to find a vantage point on the wall to cover us. And then it was just a matter of walking into the preordained future waiting for us.

I paused with my hand on the door, trying not to let Bastian see that it was trembling.

Is this what we did the first time? This dance in the courtyard? Just trying to buy time for Sombren to read his book?

Vandacia knew we were coming. He said he'd be waiting there when we were ready to stop running. When we were ready to accept our fate.

Maybe I held back too much. Maybe I treated it as just biding my time. Maybe that's why it wasn't enough.

Maybe I needed to rush in with everything I had. I couldn't give an inch when everyone was depending on me. To hold back now was to admit defeat. I couldn't make it that easy for my enemy to do what he was always meant to do.

No hesitation, no vulnerability. Unload everything you've got.

Just as my hand was tensing to push open that door, I felt a hand coming to rest on my shoulder.

"Don't forget, I'm right behind you. We're all behind you."

Of course he was. It wasn't going to be just me. I didn't turn back to him, but I could almost see that look on his face...

But - huh. The image that appeared in my mind's eye wasn't a reassuring smile, but an exasperated frown. You need to stay closer to me. My healing magic only reaches so far, you know. I'd almost forgotten about that little scolding, the day he'd finally gotten fed up with all of my rolling around. Of all the times for that little episode to come back to me...

I closed my eyes and let out an amused breath. Fine then. We charge in there, we don't hold anything back, but we stick together and dance this dance together, for as long as it lasts.

Vandacia was indeed waiting in the courtyard. He was perched on a wall, still occupied with channeling his Prince's energy and completing the merging of realms. I almost thought I saw a twinge of annoyance when he saw us arriving and saw that the Ambitions weren't with us. But enveloped as he was in his master's power, neither my arrows nor those of the Wood Elf and the brigadines on the walls proved more than a minor distraction.

Of course. If I'd blindly rushed in and unleashed the full force of my bow's strongest attack, it would have bounced right off him. This is why we bide our time.

But we weren't going to just stand around watching him giftwrap his master's present. Maybe we couldn't hurt him, but we could still distract him. Merging realms is delicate work, you say? Then you'd better concentrate real hard on not blowing things up while you're being pelted with arrows and falling stars.

I think Vandacia was actually relieved when Sombren and Calia showed up. But if he thought he'd have an easier time of it with their powers on tap, they were fully prepared to defy him. I don't know what Sombren found in that book, but this time when Calia unleashed her rage and grief on her brother's murderer, her fiery bolt was already charged with that Dagonic energy we'd seen consume Destron. And that sudden infusion of energy must have been enough to throw off Vandacia's delicate procedure, and somehow even drain him in the process, spurring him to put his ritual on hold long enough to come down from his perch and face us.

So. This was how our future would play out. Not in the biding of time, but the fires of desperate combat. At least the story would have a valiant end.

But, my enemy was going to work for his promised victory. And we sure did make him work. The hordes of minions were a handful on their own, but each time Calia's energy overload goaded Vandacia back down from his wall, he had some new trick to show off, some new way to try to overwhelm me with his master's power. If a simple deluge of fire wouldn't do it, then maybe a tether drawing me into a burst of flame. If that didn't work, then how about some giant fire-spirit-daedroth-flamethrowers? Okay then, giant daedroth flamethrowers AND another few waves of Daedra?

Through it all, I kept in my periphery a red-headed mage whose healing spells extended only so far, and who even managed to draw our enemy's attention onto himself when I needed to slip inside Sombren's protective barrier to catch my breath. There was Eveli, come down from the wall, and there was Captain Rian ready to give his archers the order to loose. And as Vandacia's efforts grew ever more frenzied, I found myself simply holding steady, doing what I do, just one of the many all doing our jobs together.

And that, somehow, is how we changed the future. Vandacia perished, engulfed in his own borrowed power, and the sky turned blue again, and the conduit to the heavens lost its anchor. The would-be master of two realms found himself unwelcome on mortal soil and was expelled to his rightful domain. And then... it was over.

Well, not entirely over, of course. Our story gets to continue. And the Black Fin Legion is going to have a lot of work to do fixing up that fort again.

But it's a strange kind of release, standing under an open sky, not quite knowing what to do with yourself once you're not about to die anymore. Even with the very real losses we suffered, even with a Daedric Prince's threats ringing in our ears, there's something comforting about just being okay.

And now we get to have a party, and get lauded as heroes by people who are very happy that their homes didn't get trampled by Dagon's giant feet. And that of course means that Eveli gets to stuff her face with cake, and I get to sit back and reflect on what it means for me to not be dead.

Maybe that vision was all a ruse, all a test, to see how we would respond in the face of despair. But that explanation almost seems too easy. There has to be more to it. The possibility existed that I would fall today, but this time, we kept it from happening. And there has to be a reason why.

Maybe I can never know for sure, but an image is starting to form in my mind that I can't shake off. Was the difference that I was nervous? That I hesitated? And my allies noticed, and stepped up to take some of the burden on themselves?

Could it be that I won not because I was strong... but because I was weak?

I think... it's a good thing I'm sitting down and nobody's really paying attention to me right now. It might dampen the party for the guest of honor to randomly start crying.

I sought out reinforcements that I might not have turned to if I had been confident in my own self-sufficiency, and the Winds and the brigadines did their part to thin the ranks and make it easier for me to pass through the fortress without wasting time and energy on grunts. Being on edge gave me that awareness of everything around me, helping me locate threats and dispatch them before they could do too much harm. My hesitation gave Bastian that moment at the door to remind me, however inadvertently, to rely on him and his healing. And in the heat of frantic battle, a sense of my own limits told me when it was time to pull back and let my allies protect me instead of pushing myself too far.

Maybe none of them realized what odds I was fighting. I still haven't told Bastian what was supposed to happen today, and I probably never will. But seeing the walls of that prison cell, being told what "must be," meant there had to be something beyond those walls. And somehow, even without being able to see the way out, we found it.

There will be other fights, of course. Even here in Blackwood, our work isn't done. There's the fourth Ambition to find, and the Waking Flame will be regrouping, and Dagon isn't going to be content to lick his wounds for long. As long as Calia and Sombren are still alive, as long as any of the Ambitions are alive, they'll need to be protected. We'll need to defeat our enemies every time. But they only need to defeat us... well, they'll need to fight an awful lot of battles too if they want to take us down for good. Because there's an awful lot of fight left in us, and we're not going to let any of it go to waste.

Okay. Just... okay. Why would I think it was a good idea to take Bastian home to meet my parents? Why would I even do that?

I mean I know why I did it, because he wanted to see where I grew up, and we've got some downtime before the next phase of the crisis hits, and yeah sure Bastian let's go swing by that little corner of Glenumbra and meet the folks. I'm sure nothing will go absolutely haywire when my mother sees me walking up with a nice-looking man who's only a little bit older than me and no Mother this isn't what it looks like and dammit why didn't I tell him not to mention Darien because politely insisting that he would never impose on a lady who was already spoken for was not the kind of embarrassment-deflecting maneuver he thought it was.

At least Ma thought he was talking about Ian, and we might have gotten away with just that if Ian hadn't been in the process of stifling a knowing grin when Ma shot her daggers over at him, and then he went into his own denial mode, and oh gods what have I gotten myself into.

It's probably a good thing that it was Ian who came across us first, on our way into town, so I could explain right away that no, this wasn't him, we've just been working together for a few months and he's from Glenumbra too so here we all are. I still caught Ian giving Bastian the sizing-up sideeye on the way into town, but hopefully neither of them took it too personally.

And then of course we made it to the house, and you would have thought I was bringing a prize turkey through the door with me the way my mother lit up when she saw him. It was all "well now, what do we have here" and "aren't you a strapping young man" and "I see, I see, so you've been working quite closely with our Ilsabet, haven't you?" I might have felt bad for Ian, except I think he was kind of enjoying it being someone other than him getting my mother's attentions for once.

She of course completely ignored me when I pointed out that we were working together professionally, and when we called ourselves partners it was in a professional capacity, and it wasn't until Pa came in and Ma couldn't wait to have him meet ILSABET'S NEW PARTNER that Bastian thought it wise to speak up on my behalf before Pa started asking him about his intentions toward his daughter. Just in case there might be any misunderstanding, he said, he wanted to make it clear that we were working together as friends, and he didn't have any intentions beyond that, and my mother didn't even try not to sound disappointed when she asked him if he was sure. And then of course, HE WOULD NEVER and grrarrrghhghgh couldn't he have found a way to phrase it that didn't include the words "spoken for"? Or anything else that would give my mother ideas that she didn't already have?

At least Ma wasn't quicker than my draw when I dragged Bastian away to privately explain why yes it was kind of a problem because they didn't know I had someone which is why they all thought he was my someone and if she thought I actually had a someone I'd never hear the end of it. And yeah I might have to just tell her but how do you tell your mother, who has the highest hopes for you and your eventual happiness, that the someone you've found isn't actually technically your someone, and on top of that he might be dead?

See you might think I might have thought about that, since the first time I had that debate in my own head, but even if I had the obvious conclusion still would have been just don't say anything. Which was working great until this exact moment and yes I know Bastian thought he was helping but we really need to have a conversation sometime about just not saying things when you think you're helping.

So it was pretty obvious when we came back into the room that my mother was not going to let me pretend it was nothing, so then of course the trick was how much to say and how to say it, especially since Ian was still there valiantly trying to withstand my mother's interrogation and I had to try to remember what I'd said to him so as not to make him think I hadn't been honest with him while still making it clear that I wasn't engaged or something. And that all turned into okay so this isn't actually an official thing or anything but remember when I told you about Coldharbour the place where everything was dark blue and gloomy and we stopped those things from crashing out of the sky, well this guy was there and helped me do it, and even before then we'd done a lot together and we hadn't really made anything official yet but he was a pretty great guy and yeah that was pretty much where we were at.

Ma of course wanted a name, and Pa knew of a Gautier family up in Camlorn, and Ian remembered General Gautier being in charge of putting things back together up there after that werewolf business, and so yeah that's his dad and it's probably lucky that Ma didn't make the connection that Darien was some kind of Camlorn nobility or something, and I decided not to make a big deal of the guard captain thing since somehow this whole being excited about my man was turning into trying to make it as not-big of a deal as possible.

Then Ma wanted to know if Bastian had ever met him, which of course he hadn't, and I think he was starting to say something about being familiar with the Camlorn Gautiers by reputation, but by then he had figured out that the less he said the better so that was the extent of that. But he had every reason to believe that Darien was an honorable man and he thought they could trust in my judgment on that concern.

And then she comes out with "well should we be making plans for a visit to Camlorn" and oh my gods Mother can it not just be enough for me to say admittedly awkwardly that he's not officially my I mean we're not but if I had to be, with anyone, it would be with him, and no we're not going to Camlorn because I do not need anyone going up to General Gautier and asking him about his son's intentions toward their daughter and oh my gods if she tries to pull something like that after I'm gone I might legitimately need to burn something down.

But thankfully I got something out about Darien being off doing his own thing for a while, no I don't know exactly where, and yeah I wish I could be with him but sometimes people just need to be doing things apart for a while and it was going to be okay and thank the Divines that was enough to get her settled down even though she did give me a bit of that look like she wasn't sure if I was making excuses again, but then she said well she hoped he'd be making good use of his time away and she was looking forward to hearing all about his work whenever I had the chance to finally bring him around to meet my family who was looking forward to finally meeting him and oh my gods that entire song and dance was exhausting. I mean how is it that spending a solid day fearing for my life left me feeling less drained than however long it took to face down my mother about a son-in-law she may never have?

"Your mother certainly cares a lot about you," was Bastian's first comment once we were free of her clutches and out of earshot of anybody who might report back. I'd managed to convince Ma that we didn't really need to stay overnight since we needed to be getting up to Wayrest to see Bastian's sister, and he played along well enough that we actually made it out of town far enough in advance of sundown that we could plausibly make it to Aldcroft before we needed to find rooms (two SEPARATE rooms, Mother) to bunk down. And that gave us enough time for Pa to show Bastian around the stables, and Ian to make his getaway back to his patrol, and me and Ma to sit there painstakingly talking about anything other than marriage and relationships. But she was happy to see that I had someone looking after me, who really did seem like a very nice man, and quite a gentleman besides, so if that was the best I could do at this point then she was happy to know I was in good hands.

I can only assume that the menfolk outside managed to have a relatively tension-free conversation in the meantime, and while Ma was holding herself back from giving Bastian some kind of overly affectionate motherly farewell, Pa just shook his hand and asked him to do his best to keep up with me. And that was the end of the visit back home.

At the time I could only respond to Bastian's pronouncement with an exasperated eyeroll, but upon reflection I can see where even an agita-inducing episode like that might seem like a welcome change of pace for someone whose parental figures didn't much care whether he was there or not. I mean I'm sure Quistley's mother had a few things to say about his prospects for an advantageous match, and I can only imagine what kind of scrutiny Quistley's fiancee will be subject to, but Bastian's never mentioned any such interest in his own love life. And maybe that suits him just fine, but there was something a little wistful in his look after he made his observation. And I think I can understand why. My mother might drive me crazy sometimes, but I can't deny that she and Pa care about me.

...But I'll still be thinking twice about who I bring around to meet them from now on.

Author's Note:

Today I have fallen into a hole of Picrew portrait makers, so please enjoy these artistic approximations of Ilsabet (and her man).


Tiefling Maker (not just for tieflings tho)


Elnea Doll Maker (help help I'm dying from the adorable)


Girl Maker (heart eyes cuz Darien)


Flowers and Girls


Gao maker

That's probably enough for one post.

Less fancy but still fun:

And some bonus shameless OTP action BECAUSE I CAN:

(I cannot stop laughing at that last one. I am not sorry.)

Okay. Now I'm... probably done.

()

VaranisArano wrote: »

Ilsabet wrote: »

Whelp, bye-bye Bastian.

(Since I've been running with Mirri, it's been delightful to read Ilsabet's adventures in Blackwood with Bastian for as much as they were a odd non-couple couple.)

Welp indeed.

As I've probably mentioned elsewhere, I've been enjoying seeing how their lawful/not-so-much dynamic would develop, and I have to thank a certain early Deadlands plot point (which is never really elaborated on in terms of the Vestige) for planting the rather wicked idea in my head to see what would happen if that dynamic got a little more... dramatic.

(Now that you mention it, our stories kind of complement each other that way. I get my Mirri fix reading about her and Varanis after I've spent all my own time thinking about Bastian. )

Author's Note:

I almost forgot to post what happened like two days after I wrote this entry.



Bastian we talked about this, and no I most certainly did not.

Maybe it's just as well that I never took my Psijic studies too seriously after Loremaster Celarus decided to let me be a Psijic. I mean he probably took one look at me and decided that I was less of the "study esoteric mystical theories for decades" type and more of the "tromp around Tamriel doing grunt work that only requires literal grunting" type, and he wasn't wrong. But fortunately there's a place in the Psijics for people like that too, apparently, as long as they're sufficiently noble of heart and in good with the Ritemaster.

Being generally clueless about mystical theories does have its benefits, though, such as having only mundane reasons to get myself torn apart in the Deadlands. It's easy to say that if I were practicing subjecting myself to the most powerful of the Eleven Forces I'd be super careful about not getting split up into a bunch of pieces that could all get lost if I wasn't paying enough attention, especially knowing how easily I get sidetracked when there's only one of me, but really it's better that I don't even know enough to attempt it. Especially after seeing what it did to someone who actually knows what she's doing.

Valsirenn would have been pretty high on the list of people I wasn't expecting to see in the Deadlands, but there she was, or at least there part of her was. You should have seen the look on Bastian's face when he realized we were talking to an actual Psijic mage, and the even better look on his face when he realized I was an actual Psijic too.

I'll probably have some explaining to do about why I never mentioned Artaeum to him. I guess I figured taking him to Eyevea would be enough to satisfy his mage's curiosity. And if I'm being honest, there was probably something in my subconscious that didn't want to face the possibility of getting my hopes up about the Dreaming Cave yet again only for them to be shot down yet again. I've come to terms with needing to bide my time, right? And Val would get in touch with me if that portal became available for me to use, right?

It really wasn't the time to be asking about that, with her body missing and her psyche and senses all hither and yon. It was enough of a trick just staying in sync well enough to communicate, so the focus needed to be on getting her put back together before she got even more out of touch with our reality. And we did it, eventually, with a few lessons on that Eleventh Force along the way.

Turns out the Deadlands is an epicenter for the Force of Change, since all of that destruction and revolution stuff boils down to changing the old way of things into something new. I found a book recently that explained the Dagonist philosophy pretty well, lauding destruction as the pathway to change. In that light, when something that exists is removed, something even better can take its place. And so where Argonians would let change happen, Dagon and his followers seek to make change happen. As violently as possible, apparently.

I'm less convinced about the "lesson" that ultimately led Val to reclaim her whole self from the surging tides of that Force. She had to learn to resist the need to resist, and accept that she couldn't control what was happening to her. It was a concentrated case study in accepting the inevitability of change, and not thinking she could just strong-arm - strong-mind? - her way out of it.

But relinquishing the stubborn urge to futilely deny the currents of change doesn't have to mean giving up will and agency and becoming helpless. I learned that much in Murkmire. The reeds that allow themselves to sway with the river's currents also keep their roots strong so they won't be swept away. And those that do find themselves carried downstream can still make what they will of their journey and destination. They do what they can wherever they find themselves, alone or together, knowing that sometimes just getting through the rough spots is accomplishment enough.

Hmm. I guess that all means I'm more cut out to be a ku-vastei than a Dagonist. And that suits me just fine. And I hope that Val is able to find the nuances she needs as she treads more cautiously along with her new guide. Maybe her real lesson was simply a means of finding balance between the foundation of where she's been and the flexibility to navigate where she's going.

...She would have told me if I could use the Dreaming Cave, right? I mean she must remember how anxious I was to get to the Colored Rooms. She wouldn't just forget all about it, especially if she... used it... to get here... unless, I suppose it's possible that she didn't...

You know what, maybe I'll just go take another swing around the Plaza of Portals. I didn't see one conveniently labeled "Colored Rooms" before, but maybe it's just not in an obvious place. Couldn't hurt to look around again, right?

The Order of the Waking Flame sure does like their melodramatic titles. Now would I rather be a Doombringer or a Devastator? Maybe a Disastrix? Doombringer Ilsabet sounds like something Skordo would come up with. I bet he'd approve.

I did bring my share of doom today, much to Arox's delight. I know he would have loved to be the one raining down fiery death upon Valkynaz Nokvroz, but under the circumstances I'm glad I could do it on his behalf. And I hope he got his fill of fiery death in the all-too-brief time he was restored to his true form.

To think that this entire time, I've had Mehrunes Dagon's fiercest general riding around in my pack. This is why you respect your allies, no matter how small or verminous they may seem. Arox's loyalty to Dagon was repaid with indifference to Nokvroz's treachery, and now I'm the one he calls master. Fortunate for me, and I'd call it an upgrade for him, even if I don't have four arms and a giant axe.

Those ruminations on change earlier were apparently just a prelude to what I've seen and learned since then. And we can start with Arox, Terror of the Deadlands, diminished in form but never in ferocity. It must have been maddening to find himself so much smaller, so easily dismissed, after standing atop the pinnacle of Daedric stature and strength for so long. And to have no idea how it happened, no hint at the curse inflicted by the cowardly usurper, must have only fed the simmering furnace of frustration.

But I'd like to think he made the most of his diminished form, putting his newly enhanced nose to work alongside the knowledge and savvy he'd retained, becoming a master of shredding bonds if not barriers. And when he realized that he could contribute more toward our shared goal of eliminating Nokvroz by joining the Bladebearers in their assault of distraction, even if it meant giving up his best chance to undo the curse keeping him bound to his verminous shape, there was no hesitation in his choice. After all, he has practically forever to find another means of restoring himself, and the patience to go with it.

That sense of longevity, even permanence, has been a recurring theme in my interactions with the Daedra of Fargrave and the Deadlands. The concept of mortality, of at any point ceasing to exist, is a quaint notion to most of them, a curious inconvenience for those who are unfortunate enough to be created man or mer. What we would consider death is merely a time-out for them, as they wait to rematerialize and pick up where they left off. Even Nokvroz will return someday, though hopefully too deflated to cause much trouble.

The nature of any given Daedra, the essence of what makes them who they are, is also supposed to be permanent. Immutable. That's why Lyranth was so intrigued by the cataclysts' ability to transform Daedra - it shouldn't be possible to change the unchangeable. Now I suppose that's not to say that Daedra can't evolve over the course of their interminable existences, in the sense of learning and growing and perhaps even shifting their principles from time to time. But there is a core identity that remains, that lasts through each reconstitution, that can never be truly altered or destroyed.

Well, almost never. And that's why the cataclysts were so horrifying to the Dremora who realized their true mechanism. The Daedra who were fed to the machines had their entire essence absorbed into the resulting Incarnates, leaving nothing to return to Oblivion and reform. They were just gone, forever. And in a way, that must be even more terrifying for an eternal being than it is for those of us who know it's an inevitable outcome of our mortal existence.

It's strange to think that a Daedric Prince, who ought to share that natural immutability, should be so invested in the force of change that change itself is his nature. I mean we know that Daedric Princes do what they do because they can't not do it, because their obsession with domination or pestilence or throwing really raging parties or whatever is just who they are. But can Dagon himself change? Or is he just all about changing the things around him? And if he is as unchangeable as any other Daedra, does it gall him that he can't bring his nature to bear upon his very self?

It would be pretty hilarious if that's the real reason he's so angry all the time. Makes me think of Vivec, too, who can never become the everything that he truly wants to be. But in either case, they make do, doing what they can, and maybe it's just more motivation for Dagon to work even harder to make the destructible universe outside himself bend to his will.

I wonder if it's a source of fascination for eternal beings, watching things change around them. They are the constant, spending centuries and millennia and eons existing in the midst of a shifting cosmos. They can watch mortal kingdoms rise and fall, the struggles and glories that consume mortal lifetimes, and still they remain as they are, observing or attempting to influence as they see fit. They may claim to be above caring about what we mere mortals do or think or want, but I bet we're more entertaining than they give us credit for when the alternative is spending centuries sitting on a rock waiting for lava fish to bite.

And of course, we mortals do our share of changing, whether on our own or under duress. The Anchorite is doing her best to come to terms with what she's learned about her identity, her parentage and the intended purpose for her existence, but ultimately it's up to her to decide who she wants to be and claim her right to be that person. Her old self was essentially erased when she donned Elegian's mask, and replaced with a new self that she had to create from scratch. I can only imagine how simultaneously freeing and terrifying that kind of process must be - you can make anything of yourself, without anyone telling you what to do, but without any context or guidance or anything else that we take for granted from our upbringing.

Of course, when your upbringing is "hey so you're the emperor's kid and we're gonna need you to help us destroy the world," it's not hard to do better than that. And the former Mairead did indeed do better, and had become happy with the identity she created for herself as Fargrave's darling of the alleys. And then, of course, that whole past came crashing back to her, and I can only blame her a little bit for rushing off recklessly to assert herself in those heady first moments of trying to reconcile past and present.

She's lucky, though, and we're all lucky that things turned out as well as they did, even with her royal blood empowering the Perfected Cataclyst's first and final Perfected Incarnate. In the end, even Valkynaz Nokvroz was willing to sacrifice what he was to embrace what he was able to become. Perhaps he knew that his true self, the being he had always been, was not enough to stand against us. Or maybe it was simply the desire to see his work come to the greatest possible fruition while he still had the chance. Either way, his empowerment outweighed whatever aversion he might have had to giving up his immutable identity, not that it did him much good in the end.

My suspicions about the Anchorite haven't gone away, and I wouldn't be surprised if there's a reason for Dagon's sudden interest in her now that he remembers who she is. But there'll be time for all that after we congratulate ourselves for another crisis thus far averted.

What was it that happened the last time someone told me they wanted to put an end to the Three Banners War? Oh right, dragons invading Elsweyr. Well at least things haven't gone that haywire this time around. Yet.

Maybe I shouldn't be so pessimistic. I mean it's not like we've tried this whole treaty conference thing before too, only to watch it devolve into a royal slap-fight while the people who had to do the actual work tried to be the grown-ups in the room.

Sigh. Less pessimistic, right. Maybe certain royal personages have done some growing up over the years since the Planemeld loomed over them. Jorunn was certainly more amenable to the idea of making nice with his age-old rivals in Western Skyrim, and Ayrenn even reached out to her counterparts when faced with imminent catastrophe back in Summerset. (What ever happened with that armada, anyway?)

I suppose the fact that they're even willing to show up for new peace talks is a good sign in itself. And I can't say that bringing about world peace isn't a noble goal. So sure, if they want some extra muscle around to keep the baddies from interfering, I can get on board.

Because of course there are baddies trying to interfere. I haven't been able to decide yet if this Ascendant Order just really likes the idea of keeping the war going, or if they saw an opportunity for a little light assassination and figured hey why not. And their medallion-sabotaging scheme was actually quite clever. We're honestly lucky that we got out of it with only one undue murder. I probably shouldn't be relieved that "at least" it was "only" a leader of the Mages Guild that I'd never heard of before, but I really don't want to think about what would have happened if we hadn't been able to get to the alliance leaders in time.

Given how those leaders' subordinates welcomed me in recognition of my service to their alliances, I guess it's time to just accept that I'm not just the champion of one alliance anymore. Maybe this is Meridia's old horizon-broadening plan come to fruition (remember when we thought Meridia just wanted to help?). Or maybe being friends with pretty much everyone will help me play mediator more effectively this time around.

But even if those old concerns about whose "side" I'm on don't really come to anything... there is one old fear that I'm going to have to face head-on. I mean I kind of already am, ever since we stepped onto that island off the coast of Daggerfall. How long has it been that I've been tiptoeing around Wayrest, when I couldn't stay away altogether? And yet there we were, charging right into High King Emeric's private sanctum, where at any moment we might find ourselves suddenly face to face with the man I've spent years avoiding.

I wish I could say I went without hesitation. I mean I wasn't going to let those old anxieties stop me from doing what needed to be done, especially when my King's life was at stake. But I could feel that weight on my heart with every step I took. There was a reckoning to be had, just up those stairs, just around that corner, just behind that door. At any moment I could see that once-friendly face curling in contempt at the sight of his presumptive rescuer.

And even the fact that nothing came of it hasn't set my mind at ease. Maybe this time King Emeric stayed safely hunkered down behind his protective wards, and the fight never got far enough to reach him. But presuming that Lady Arabelle mentioned who had accompanied her into the estate, he knows I was there. He knows I'm involved. And if he's going to be further involved, whether as an actual delegate to these peace talks or as an authority behind the scenes, then it's still just a matter of time before that reckoning comes.

I couldn't help thinking, as I stood at the ship's rail watching Daggerfall harbor fading into the distance yet again, that those days when I could definitively call myself the Champion of the Covenant seem so far away now. Whether it's divided (expanded?) loyalties, or just not giving that much of a damn anymore who ends up on the Ruby Throne, I'd have a hard time throwing myself into a Three-Banners anything with the same gusto I once had. Honestly I kind of wish they would all get over themselves and find something productive to do with everybody's time. But maybe that's what this peace conference is trying to achieve. And maybe it'll actually work this time. I guess we'll see.

I should probably at least try to lighten up before I worry Bastian. He was pretty quiet during that whole mission, but he did come up to me while I was musing at the ship's rail.

"Hey, Ilsabet, could I..."

"Hmm?"

"...No, nevermind. It's... not that important."

Maybe I should have encouraged him to speak his mind, but it's probably just as well that he could tell I was distracted. I'm not even sure how I'd explain my worries at this point. And it's going to be on me to pull myself together and keep the game face on, so there's no point in burdening him with my issues.

He's liable to have his hands full, anyway, keeping tabs on our rogue associate. As much of a handful as Jakarn usually is, I probably should have predicted that the two of them would not get along especially well. Neither of them really said anything directly, but I don't think it was an accident that Bastian immediately planted himself squarely in the middle of whatever cramped seating we were all squeezing ourselves into, and I caught Jakarn grumbling about a "chaperone" at one point when Bastian's back was turned.

Really I should probably be doing less introspective moping and more enjoying the personality dynamics at play here. Between the two of them and definitely-not-Investigator-Vale Lady Arabelle, this could actually be a more entertaining enterprise than most. And I will absolutely take a swanky noble Breton resort island over another horrific plane of Oblivion any day.

So then, optimism it is. Let's see where it gets us.

I have discovered that wearing a dress to blend in doesn't work so well when everybody already knows who you are. At least I looked good while I was schmoozing. And sneaking. And shooting. Not that the dregs of the Ascendant Order's castle-infiltration squad would have appreciated my fashion sense, but I wasn't looking for their approval anyway.

Did the Ascendant Magus pick me out in my pretty blue dress, while he was giving his grand proclamation from the balcony? Or was his attention focused on Lord Bacaro as he issued his "join us or die" ultimatum?

At least now we can be reasonably sure that Lord Bacaro isn't secretly the Ascendant Magus. I mean he could have had someone else dress up in the costume and give the speech, but it would have been harder to fake the firmament-rattling storm magic. Bacaro himself was awfully rattled by the attack, which I'd like to say is a point in his favor on the "Potential Ascendant Lord" scorecard, but there's still the chance he's just a really good actor. So I'll continue to reserve judgment on him.

We can probably eliminate the Duforts from suspicion, though, since it seems unlikely that they would wreck their own castle and ruin their own dinner party. And Duchess Elea has been carrying out her own investigations, which indicates that she knew as little about the Ascendant Order's operations as anybody else. Fortunately for us, though, she knew more than we did, and even more fortunately she had her findings all compiled into a nice convenient bodice-stashable packet. (Side note, I should probably see about getting pockets sewn into my dresses. There are certain places you really don't want to be getting paper cuts.)

And so now that the skies have cleared, we've got more work to do. Three Ascendant Order hotspots to investigate, that will hopefully get us closer to finding our missing royals. After I get changed back out of this dress, that is.

Dammit, I didn't even get to stuff my face with fancy banquet food. Should have grabbed some noshies on the way by. Ah, well. Bigger things to think about now.

Very pleased to see this thread still going. I was gone a bit, and finding you still writing on here felt like, well, home again. Your writing, and your humor, is very enjoyable. Thank you much much!

Why am I so stupid? Why am I so self-centered and thoughtless and oblivious and...

Dammit. I should have known I wasn't the only one bearing burdens of the past when it came to High King Emeric. Maybe if I'd been able to see past my own stupid guilt complex, I could have been what Bastian needed me to be, without him needing to ask. The way I assumed he'd be for me, because apparently I'm just that selfish.

I was actually doing pretty well keeping my mind off Emeric during our preliminary poking-around on Amenos. I might have felt a flicker of apprehension as we approached the shipwreck on the northeastern shore, but that gave way to relief as soon as I saw Caska sprawled out next to what was left of the Perfect Pounce. I was happy to know that she was okay, of course, but if she was the "big cat monster" who had been terrorizing the local prisoner gang, then that also indicated that our first royal encounter would be with Queen Ayrenn.

But then Ayrenn sent us looking for her Covenant counterpart, and even marked the spot on my map where she'd seen him last. And so Bastian and I dutifully set out, and I even made it most of the way there before my footsteps grew inevitably heavier.

Just across those shallows, just beyond that rise, just amongst those trees...

"Ilsabet, wait."

Bastian's voice broke through my self-absorbed reverie. I turned to him, having almost forgotten he was there, and the expression on his downcast face could have been a mirror to my own.

He took another moment before going on. "I wasn't sure if I should say anything, but... given who we're about to see... it might be best for both of us to be prepared. As much as we can be."

"You mean High King Emeric."

He nodded solemnly, and his eyes met mine. "You can probably guess why I'm a bit... hesitant to walk right up and shake his hand."

Oh. Oh no. The realization was a lightning bolt to my gut. How had it not occurred to me...

"You know about my father," he continued. "What he did - what he tried to do. I doubt the High King has cast those memories aside, even after all this time."

"But... you don't think he'd blame you for what your father did? I mean you were just a baby."

"Aye. And the King was merciful enough not to condemn the traitor's family to share his fate... but wouldn't it be a delusion to expect the slate to be wiped completely clean? How naive would I have to be, to hope for a cordial greeting once he's seen my face and heard my name?"

I didn't know what to say. Dammit, I should have thought about this. To be scrambling for a solution now, when the problem was waiting just up ahead, just around the bend...

"Do you want me to go on ahead? If you don't want to face him..." I managed.

"I considered that. To be honest, I've been debating with myself ever since we found out about the High King's involvement in Lady Arabelle's venture. But I told myself I'd stick with you through thick and thin, and that means not letting my personal demons get in our way."

Personal demons, was it. And here I'd been thinking I had enough of those for both of us.

"I did... have an idea, though. If you'd be willing," he said, and I nodded for him to continue. "You were the High King's champion, weren't you? That was how you got your start as an adventuring hero, if I recall correctly."

"I... was given that honor back in the day, yes."

"Then... maybe you could vouch for me. Let him know what we've done together. I'm sure he would have faith in your word that... well, that I haven't taken after my father in any of the ways that would concern him."

It sounded nice. And I wanted to reassure him that yeah, sure, any friend of mine is a friend of my friend the High King. Except that I didn't have any delusions either, when the only thing I had any right to expect was my own condemnation.

But... dammit, that didn't matter now. I had something more important to protect than my own fragile ego. My word might or might not be worth a damn in my King's eyes anymore, but I wasn't about to watch the most honorable man I know take the fall for any traitor. Myself included.

A newfound resolve welled up within me, that felt an awful lot like being really pissed off. "I'm not sure what'll happen when we all come face to face. But... I'll have your back, no matter what. For whatever that's worth."

Bastian's expression relaxed, and he even managed a small smile. "That's all I need to hear. Let's go rescue our King."

Our King, as it happened, made us do a fair bit more chasing around before we all came face to face. I wasn't scared anymore of walking right up to him and taking whatever he had to say to me. And when he recognized who I was, and greeted me as I approached... it was with the words "my friend" and a quip about not remembering banishing me to Amenos.

Well. If I'd still been fixated on my own guilt, I might have flinched at the talk of banishment. But... no, that was just Emeric's old wit, undulled, and the relief easing the furrows on his brow was genuine. He was actually happy to see me, after all these years.

All those years, all that angst, and just like that...

But again, this wasn't just about me. And Emeric had not failed to notice the redhead trying to remain inconspicuous behind me.

"I see you've brought an accomplice," he said, once we'd exchanged our opening remarks. "Is an introduction in order?"

"Of course. This is my adventuring partner." I steeled myself. "Bastian Hallix."

King Emeric's eyes flitted back to Bastian. "Hallix, you say? Yes, I see the resemblance."

He was making a point of not betraying too much emotion, but I could sense the slight hardening behind his eyes when I said the name, the slight lift in his bearing as he turned to the image of the man who had sought to depose him.

For his part, Bastian was also doing his best to remain unruffled. "It's an honor to meet you, Your Majesty. Or... Your Grace? I confess I'm not well-versed in addressing royalty."

Something akin to amusement crinkled the corners of Emeric's eyes. "'Your Majesty' will do nicely, though there's little need to stand on ceremony out here in this vermin-infested jungle. Perhaps after we've tracked down our wayward prince, further pleasantries can be exchanged in a more pleasant setting."

Bastian nodded deferentially. "As you say, Your Majesty."

Emeric turned back to me, with a hint of a wry smile. "Well, he is polite, isn't he. Now why don't we see what Irnskar might have left behind here before he was hauled off again."

Emeric moved past us to inspect a dead prisoner, and Bastian and I just looked at each other like wait, that was it? But yes, that was it. At least for now. There was still the matter of Orsinium, but if the King wasn't going to bring that up then neither was I. Not when there were more important things to attend to.

Those things turned out to include infiltrating the old fort where the prisoner gang was likely holding Irnskar, which meant doing a bit of acting. I wonder if High King Emeric would have agreed to play the captive so readily if Ayrenn's giant cat friend hadn't been staring him down?

Bastian and I were the obvious opportunistic ruffians of the scene, even without our cast-off prison rags. Bastian seemed understandably hesitant about the idea of "apprehending" the King, so I gave him an affirming nod in Emeric's direction.

He nodded back, and tentatively moved to Emeric's side. "If I may, Your Majesty..."

Emeric already had his own wrists halfway bound. "Oh, just be about it, lad. A proper brigand doesn't ask for permission. Just don't wrench my sword arm. I'll have further need of that before the day is through."

The actual brigands were all too eager to let their new prize through the door without even checking our credentials, and from there it was the usual taking out bad guys en route to claiming our own prize. Irnskar wasn't having a good day, but he brightened considerably once he had his father's axe in hand, and he directed us to what might have been an even bigger prize if arrows weren't entirely useless against portal spells. I just hope one or two of my caltrops bonked the Ascendant Bigwigs on the head before they made their strategic withdrawal.

Then it was up to a balcony to signal our rescue ships, and an impressive display of Maormer sea magic from Ayrenn, and we were all safely aboard the successor to the Perfect Pounce and leaving the wilds of Amenos behind.

The trip back to Gonfalon Bay provided a well-earned breather, as well as a chance to catch up with our rescued monarchs. I saved Emeric for last, knowing that this was the conversation that would finally put those old demons to rest, one way or another.

He recalled the far-off days when I acted as his agent on behalf of the Covenant, and reiterated how good it was to have me by his side once more. And then a pained expression came over his face when I brought up Orsinium. It had been a hard day when the news of his friend's death reached him. But he understood the complicated nature of both Kurog and the political situation he had created. And he saw my role in that situation as... understandable. Maybe he wished, as I did, that things didn't have to go the way they did. But he didn't fault me for doing what had to be done.

All is not lost within the Covenant, either. Emeric and Bazrag have met and shared ale on a few occasions since power shifted in Wrothgar, and the alliance doesn't seem to be any worse off. For now, the Covenant endures.

And so life goes on, with one more shackle of the past cast off behind me. It all seems so easy now. I didn't even seize up when Emeric asked about rumors of my involvement with the Thieves Guild within earshot of Bastian. I thought my answer about helping out friends in trouble was pretty savvy, and then Emeric and I got to share a chuckle as he observed how economies would fall apart without the outlaws doing their business behind the scenes. I'll have to remember that one the next time Bastian gets twitchy.

I saw the two of them having a quiet conversation after I'd excused myself. Bastian didn't really say anything about it afterward, but he seemed more at ease, like he'd been given some things to think about but didn't need to feel anxious about any of them. It makes me curious what he learned about the father he never knew, but I'll leave that for him to bring up if he feels like it.

I'm just glad we all survived our excursion to the inhospitable jungle, whether literally or otherwise. It occurs to me that I still don't know what the deal is with that "processing" that's supposed to keep prisoners from being able to leave. I wonder if High King Emeric knows anything about that.

For now, though, I think maybe I'll treat Bastian to a nice hearty dinner at the Ancient Anchor before we all regroup at Lady Arabelle's place. I think we've both earned it, and it's the least I can do for my friend.