Challenges

Chapter 24: Choices

Eiryn found that Saber was late. Only by a day, but late nonetheless. Up to this point, the young scout had told herself over and over that Saber knew what he was doing, that he’d arrive shortly, that there was nothing to worry about. He’d survived so much already, why should she worry after all this time? Only that morning she had this sudden sense of impending trouble, that Saber was in danger. Common sense dictated she was being foolish, but Eiryn simply couldn’t shake the feeling of dread.
Nibani kept her busy with gathering herbs and preparing healing salves, setting her on a blanket amid the circle of yurts to pass the time. Merthisan sat close by, sharpening his sword and trying to ignore the furtive glances the Ashlanders cast in his direction. The tribe seemed to tolerate them, accepting that they were waiting for Saber who was named Clanfriend. Eiryn never could understand the general mistrust Ashlanders had to outsiders, especially in light of her willingness to help if asked. She never shirked duty, and had self-pride on being one who was a hard worker. To Dunmer Ashlander, however, she was n’wah. This was enough to cause some to be suspicious of her.
Ignoring the furtive glances, Eiryn’s worries fluttered from one thought to another, even to the point of chiding herself for following his orders. What if Saber had been killed during the rescue? What if they caught him and now he suffered under torture from the Oridinators? “I should’ve stayed with him, to watch his back.” She muttered more to herself than to anyone else.
Merthisan was less concerned, assuring the young scout the Dunmer’s skill in survival was surmount. “He is only delayed a day, Eiryn.” The swordmaster said with a casual shrug. “Give the boy credit. Saber is very good at getting out of tough spots.”
“Yeah,” A voice startled her from behind. She spun to see the travel weary thief giving her a boyish grin as he dropped his pack to the ground. “Give me some credit.”
“Saber!” She cried out, running into his arms. The force of her slamming into him nearly knocked him off his feet, but he managed to lift her up to swing her around and absorb the blow. He was covered in dust and looked positively disheveled, but Eiryn thought he never looked better. Wrapping arms around his neck she refused to let go.
Laughing, he hugged her tightly. “I take it you missed me?” He teased, not giving her a chance to reply before kissing her on the lips.
“What took you so long?” Merthisan asked, only now revealing his own growing concerns of Saber’s delay.
“I found the Dissident priests and their shrine.” The thief told them. He set Eiryn back on her feet to look for the wisewoman. “Now that I have the Lost Prophecies, we’ll find out for certain if I’m this Nerevarine after all.”
He gave a reassuring hug to his scout before heading towards the wisewoman’s hut. Clearly he wanted to finish this quest and quickly. No doubt, he wanted to complete the tasks given to him, and return to Balmora. Who could blame him? But a nagging thought kept the relief Eiryn felt upon seeing him from being enjoyable. What if he was the Nerevarine after all?

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“The Lost Prophecies!” Nibani gasped, snatching the scrolls from Saber’s hands before he could even speak. “You found them! I cannot believe it! You actually found them!”
Saber wasn’t surprised at her reaction, nor felt slighted in the least bit that her attention poured over the scrolls instead of him. This was part of her people’s history lost to them after all.
“Come.” Nibani said, motioning for him to sit upon one of the rugs laid out for guests. “Sit. You must tell me everything until I know them by heart. Then you must tell me what the priests say about these prophecies.”
Saber sipped a cup of tea she made for him and shared what he knew of the Lost Prophecies, and his adventure up to now. Nibani was transfixed, nodding now and then but otherwise intent on memorizing as much as he could tell her. She’d nod in agreement when he spoke of the translation of the Dissident priests, and then grow quiet when he gave his own opinion on what he’d read. When he finally finished, she had no reaction other than a slight crease of her brow and a faraway look to her eye.
“Well?” Saber finally asked after too much silence.
She blinked as if just remembering he was sitting in front of her. “Well what?”
“Am I the Nerevarine or not?” Saber frowned, wondering what she was thinking his purpose of being here was.
Her posture stiffened as her red eyes looked away. “Sleep.” She told him, jerking her chin to indicate he must leave. “Hunt, Train. I must bring these things into me and place them before the ancestors. When the moons have gone and returned, then I will give you my answer.”
When the moons have gone-? Saber frowned. No, of course it wouldn’t be easy now would it? Nothing about Morrowind ever was. He must wait for a moon cycle to pass before he’d get his answer. The waiting is going to kill me, he though darkly. Biting his tongue while knowing he’d get nowhere if he demanded his answer now, he left disgruntled and tense. He could only hope this further delay meant all the more he was not, in fact, the Nerevarine. There must surely doubts.
Not unexpectedly, Eiryn was at his heels as soon as he left the wisewoman’s yurt. Her bright green eyes were intent. “Well? What did she say?”
Saber felt his grimace deepen. “Apparently she’s not ready to say just yet.” His tone was tight, his temper flaring. Part of him wanted to pack up and leave right then and there. Why should he continue this farce? He’d already accomplished more than what most had even expected of him! Who could blame him if he simply quit and left?
His gaze settled on Eiryn who blinked against the rising breeze that continually brushed loose hair across her eyes. What would she think of him if he up and renounced this quest? Merthisan’s presence also let itself be known, and Saber didn’t have to wonder what his reaction would be.
“She’s given you no answer?” The young Breton said.
“I have to wait for the moon to have gone before she will give her answer.” Saber said in disgust. He felt filthy and wanted a bath. Here in the Ashlands getting clean was nearly impossible unless you wanted to risk the Slaughterfish along the coast. He wanted to head down to the beach to clean up before the sun set but likely the darkness would make the trek too dangerous. He’d wait until morning.
Merthisan sat not far away and had overheard them. “What do we do in the meantime?”
Sighing heavily, Saber headed to the yurt the tribe had set aside for him. The sun was leaning close to the horizon, and he felt as though he could sleep for a whole week. “Sleep. Hunt. Whatever to pass the time.” He gave Eiryn a quick glance, a mischievous wink of an eye. “Care to do… whatever …to pass the time?”
She suppressed a grin, feigning indignation instead. “You have the manners of a guar in rut.” Eiryn scoffed. “I suppose you’ll need a backrub or something?”
He looked over his shoulder to give a knowing smile. “Or something.”
Sighing, she followed him leaving Merthisan to shake his head and mutter something about regrets of lost youth.


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Eiryn followed the Dark Elf into the darkened yurt, now lit by nothing more than the tiny opening in the roof of the wide tent, and the glowing embers of the firepit. Saber had removed his armor and clothing, wearing only trousers as he shook out water he’d dumped over his head.
“I can’t stand this heat.” He muttered, water dripping off the soaking tendrils of hair. He wiped droplets back, slicking hair away from his face. He grabbed another water bottle, emptying that as well over his head.
“We’ll have to gather more water.” She chided him, unable to tear eyes away from the play of light and shadow across his muscular frame. Every time he moved,

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Time passed quickly, moreso than what Saber had thought possible. In fact, with the pleasant, easy-going manner of tribal life, he almost wished that Nibani would want more time. Days and nights meshed into one another as the three adventurers fell into a pattern with life amid the Urshilaku. From hunting and gathering food, to learning Ashlander customs and lore, to even sparring with the warriors for ‘fun’, Saber couldn’t remember the last time he felt so at ease.
Most of the day was spent gathering food. The Urshilaku admired Eiryn’s skill with the bow, and her ease of bringing down healthy game. They couldn’t understand her light-hearted manner however, being a more dour people. They took life seriously. What humor could be found in the harsh reality of survival? Undaunted, the young scout remained true to herself, and for that, Saber admired her.
Nights were spent in breathless union with the woman, while the days were a casual lifestyle of getting to know her better. The Urshilaku were less than enthusiastic about their relationship. Dunmer here in Morrowind frowned on coupling with non-Dunmer, which ‘spoiled’ the bloodline. Saber didn’t care, only knowing that Eiryn filled his senses like no other woman could.
But it clearly bothered Eiryn. Late one evening as they shared his cloak to watch the stars atop a nearby hill, her gaze would wander back to the circle of tents and the few Urshilaku warriors who frowned back in their general direction.
“Ignore them.” Saber murmured softly. She sat between his thighs as he leaned against a rock, folding the cloak around them both. Her head leaned back against his chest and shoulder. He could feel the tension in her body. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” She exclaimed in surprise. “You don’t see it, do you?”
“See what?”
She gave a soft snort. “Dunmer do not approve of mixing races.” Eiryn told him. “If you’re the Nerevarine, this will be a problem for you.”
His first reaction was to refute her words but he realized she might know something more than he did on this matter. “What are you talking about?”
The young scout shifted enough to turn her head to look at him directly. Green eyes were pale in the dim light of evening, her skin a creamy glow. “Don’t you think this quest will be hard enough that you are outlander? And now you are insinuating yourself with a human? They won’t accept it-“
Saber laughed, remembering Caius’ used of the term ‘insinuate’. Her own father hadn’t approved either and yet changed his mind. Why would she care what Ashlanders thought of them? Eiryn’s face pinched into a frown, most likely thinking he laughed at her. He quickly apologized.
“First off, I don’t care what others think of me and what I do. Second, you assume a great deal that I’d be the Nerevarine, and third,” He leaned close, touched lips lightly on her mouth. “If I’m fated to be, in fact, the Incarnate, then sleeping with a human would hardly change that, don’t you think?”
Obviously she hadn’t considered that, as she leaned back against him in a comfortable position. Only some of the tension in her body relaxed. “I suppose you’re right.” She spoke softly, twinning fingers into his own. “I just can’t help but shake this feeling of unease."
He enfolded arms around her. “You worry too much.”
“And you don’t worry enough.” She reasoned. It felt good to be snuggling against him under the warmth of his cloak. The scent of leather and sweat tickled her senses, and she felt as though she could fall asleep like this.
“I worry enough if I can see the problem, but I certainly don’t see the reason to borrow grief.” He retorted. “We’ll take it one day at a time. Relax-“ Saber leaned his lips against her hair. “We have a few days more and this will all be over.”
Eiryn frowned. “You’re that certain that you’re not the Incarnate?”
“I’m not certain of anything anymore.” He murmured in a tone that belied his growing insecurities on the subject. “But I can’t help think that I should know, down to my soul, that I was the Incarnate, and I don’t feel anything of the sort.”
“That’s assuming a great deal.”
“I assume nothing.” He replied. “Everyone else does. And like I said, I won’t worry about it until I am actually named Nerevarine.” He felt it best to not share his own growing trepidation on the matter.

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Fargoth remained in the dark cold, hunkered just beyond a few hills from the happy couple. He was, at first, surprised to see them so close together, but the light touch of a hand, or a soft kiss on the cheek made things evident they were a couple. Fargoth wasn’t sure what to make of it. Eiryn struck him as never wanting to settle down, and the Dunmer ….well Dunmer normally didn’t mix with the other races. They made for an odd pair.
A thin weathered cloak barely kept the chill off of him, and the gritty soil he lay on made him itch. He hated this playing the role of sneak a peek, and what’s more, hated working with that Valos fellow. The imperial was a cruel man, cold and without any remorse. He had told Fargoth of his ‘exploits’, practically boasting of some torture methods he’d used on prisoners to gain information. He was a vicious monster.
This was his idea to watch the Urshilaku camp, which was dangerous unto itself. If the tribe people found him, they’d kill him for certain. They might even torture him to death, being an outsider. If Eiryn or that Dunmer fellow caught sight of him, then he’d face the wrath of the Shadow man. It was, in short, an impossible situation, and once again, the Bosmer wondered if the gold he was being offered was worth this trouble.
The ‘base’ had been set up not far from where he hid, and Fargoth liked that even less. The strange fortress-like structure had once been a Dunmer stronghold. The windows were nothing more than narrow slits, practically barred up to shut out the light of day, and what made matters worse, was they discovered some horrid undead had taken up residence there. Valos made short work of them, even showing that interest of his of the undead and using the bodies for experiments in the dungeon he’d set up for himself. Fargoth tried to ignore the number of devices that appeared too closely as tools for torturing and inflicting pain.
The Shadow man had finally shown up as well, establishing the stronghold as his ‘base of operations’, whatever that meant. It wasn’t as though there was anything here to work with!
He wasn’t even sure why they would need a stronghold, but the Shadow man had brought in other questionable criminal types to this endeavor. What could they possibly want with this Dark Elf, and what’s more, what did they mean by ‘victims’?
So far he’d seen nothing in the way of ‘victims’, though the others in their group were dangerous looking types. Many appeared to be mercenaries of sorts, or bandits. Was the Shadow man hoping to make war on the tribes? For what purpose?
Unable to make sense of the situation, Fargoth simply did as he was told. Following orders was safer than the alternative for the time being. This time, the orders were simple; watch the camp and bring word should the Dunmer leave the haven of the tribe. Fargoth had no idea what they had planned for this fellow, but it couldn’t be good, not with Valos on board. The Bosmer almost felt sorry for the Dark Elf.
He remembered meeting the Dunmer briefly in Seyda Neen. Apparently, he’d just arrived in Morrowind and seemed so very different than the other Dark Elves in the village. While Dunmer were dour, grim sort of people, this one was rather friendly and even smiled. He found Fargoth’s lost ring and returned it to him. He seemed a pleasant sort of Dunmer, and it seemed tragic anything bad might happen to him.
But better him than me, Fargoth scowled to himself.


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Eiryn woke one morning to find Saber had already left the yurt. Her first thought was perhaps he’d left her behind again, but thankfully his things were still sitting in their pile near the door. She dressed in her usual breeches and tunic, braiding her hair back from her face, and entering the dawn to find Saber.
Merthisan was sitting with one of the warriors, adding resins to Chitin bows they made. “Good morning Eiryn.” He said to her with a smile. Eiryn could see some beads worked into his silver hair, no doubt a gift from some of the children of the tribe. With his offer to help gather food and provide a few lessons to the warriors had obviously helped in some of the tribe accepting him.
“Where is Saber?” Eiryn asked him.
He looked northward. “He went down to the beach. He’ll be back soon- Ah, there he is.”
Saber was walking back with bow in one hand, and sacking in the other. Hair was wet, slicked back from his face from washing up, and he wore only his trousers with his shirt slung over his shoulder. A half-healed wound on his arm revealed he’d fought something in his absence and Eiryn frowned her condemnation.
“Nix Hound.” He commented when he was close enough to see her disapproval. He lifted the sacking to show he’d killed and dressed the meat. Water still dripped from his wet hair, and he looked perplexed to why she’d be so disapproving. Before he could add anything further, his gaze found Nibani standing behind her with a hard look on her face. The wisewoman lifted her chin and her small stature stretched to impose itself. By now all of the tribe had alerted to her presence and settled into a semi-circle around them to listen to her words. She’d come to make her judgment.
“The ancestors and stars have given me clear signs.” She spoke slowly, speaking the words clearly to be heard by all. “The lost prophecies leave no doubt-“
Eiryn looked at Saber who was as still as a statue, his face locked in an odd expression.
“The Incarnate shall be an outlander.” Nibani continued, pointedly looking at Saber. “You, blessed by Azura, must lift the seven curses of Dagoth Ur.”
All was silent save for the gentle blow of wind and wind chimes rattling in the distance. Saber slowly shook his head, denying her claim, but the wisewoman continued. Her voice rose in pitch as she announced his Fate. “Prophecy has shown the seven steps of the Nerevarine's path, and I have been chosen as your guide for each step on that path. I will read the signs, and show you the way. It is time for you to walk the path of the Seven Visions, and pass the Seven Trials of the Seven Visions."
Saber took a step back to look at the number of eyes looking at back at him, the expectation clear in their eyes. He was being named Nerevarine, and he hadn’t thought it possible. He was a thief, an outlander- How could he be Nerevarine? He’d wanted Nibani to see thru the Emperor’s lies and speak the truth, somehow, he could hear the reality of her words.
"You are born on a certain day to uncertain parents. So you have passed the first trial. My dreams show me that you also fulfill the second trial, that 'neither blight nor age can harm him/The Curse-of-Flesh before him flies'. I have read the signs, but I cannot understand. Can you explain this to me?" All eyes of the tribe fell upon the thief, who lowered his chin, and seemed to avoid her gaze.
“I’ve had Corprus.” He murmured. “Cured by the wizard Divayth Tyr” He then explained without embellishment or emotion the ‘side effects’ he’d been told the cure had upon him.
He dared glance at Eiryn when he finished, and she let his words sink in. They were further voiced when Nibani spoke once more. "That you have overcome the Curse-of-Flesh is strange enough, but that it should protect you from blight and age is past belief.”
Eiryn was dumbfounded. Protect him from age…? He’d never age? Never get sick? The guilt in his eyes as she stared at him verified what was meant. Immortal? She thought. Why didn’t he tell me?
The wisewoman splayed hands. “Yet the signs of my dreams are clear. You have passed the second trial. But the third trial is unfulfilled. The mystery of the third trial is not my secret to share. Go to the Ashkhan, Sul-Matuul, the guardian of our cult, and he shall tell you of the third trial. When you have fulfilled the third trial, return to me for guidance on your next steps on the path of the Nerevarine."
For a several long moments Saber seemed to stand stiff in the wind, muscles taut and flinching. Nibani expected him to speak, or ask questions, or respond in some way. Perhaps she also expected him to walk to the Ashkhan’s yurt to ask about this Third Trial, but instead, he simply dropped the sacking in his hand and returned to the yurt set aside for them.
Eiryn and Merth cast a shocked look to one another, and the scout decided she best go speak to him. She didn’t know what to expect to find, but finding him packing his things was not one of them.
“What are you doing?” She asked, watching him move angrily within the confined tent.
Saber moved with purpose, shoving his remaining belonging into the backpack while simultaneously getting dressed. “What does it look like I’m doing?” He snapped back.
“You’re leaving?”
“Your powers of deduction are extraordinary.” He muttered, continuing his forceful retreat. That’s what this was, Eiryn recognized immediately. He never expected to be named Nerevarine, and now was panicked and wanting out of this mess. He moved like a caged animal.
“So you’re just giving up? You’re leaving?” The young woman felt something akin to fright that Saber found this so easy to pack up and leave like this. “You’re just going to run off-?”
He turned to glare back at her, and for a brief moment, Eiryn felt the shock of being the focus of his temper. She’d never seen him so angry, and with eyes glowing like hellfire, he was imposing indeed. “Can you blame me?”
“What are you going to do then, head to Balmora, leave Morrowind?” Despair choked off the rest of her rant she wanted to lash out at him.
His eyes shifted off her face, the muscles in his jaw clenched. “I don’t know.” Saber admitted, focusing now on finishing packing his things. “I’m going anywhere but here. Morrowind is a big place. I’m sure to find plenty of things to do that doesn’t include Red Mountain, or Dagoth Ur.”
“And leave us to Dagoth Ur…” She murmured, not looking at him. Eiryn felt his attention upon her, his silence almost deafening until he spoke.
“You can come with me-“ Saber began before she shook her head.
“And do what? For how long? How long do you think Morrowind has before Dagoth grows powerful enough to breach the Ghostgate?” She challenged him, letting her own anger fend off his. “No, I’m staying. You go and run. Do what you have to do-“
“That’s not fair, Eiryn.” He snarled in renewed anger. “I didn’t ask for any of this. Its not my fault the Sixth House has grown in power. Its not my fault a bunch of savages name me some prophesied hero-“
He suddenly stopped short, his attention shifted beyond her as they both realized the wisewoman stood at the doorway of the yurt. Standing with the curtain used as a doorway, she let it drop as her expression pinched into a frown. It became obvious she’d heard everything.
Her gaze was sharp and unforgiving as she glared at Saber, but shifted to Eiryn instead. “It is his decision to make.” She spoke in a rigid tone, trying to control her anger. The red eyes shifted back to Saber who at least had the decency to look ashamed of his harsh words. “And you’re right, we are a simple people, living off the land as we have for centuries-“
“Forgive me, I didn’t mean…” Saber began but her hand waved him into silence.
“And I understand your fear.” She continued. “There were others, like you, who were named Nerevarine, and they failed. To be named the Incarnate doesn’t necessarily mean you are the Incarnate. So much is still not known, so many Trials to be completed. This is not a quest for the feint of heart, and nothing in the Prophecy speaks of the Nerevarine surviving the ordeal, only his success at defeated Dagoth Ur. It is your right to refuse this path.”
“But if he is the Nerevarine-“ Eiryn started to speak.
The wisewoman shook her head. “If he is, and he refuses to go, then we are all lost.” She drew in a long sigh. “But, nonetheless, it is his choice to make. And he wouldn’t be the first who had made that choice.”
Saber visibly cringed under their combined scrutiny, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other. Entangled with the conflicting decision of fight or flight, he felt as though a noose was tightening around his neck.
“Fine.” He snapped, suddenly angry again. “I will speak with Sat Matuul.”