Cycle of the Serpent

The storms slid their veil-grey hands along the ridges of the distant mountains, paths drenched in rain. Slick stones gave no mercy to merchants or horses hooves, or to the absent footfall of someone not looking where they leapt. What had once been dry plains now drowned under the downpour, and most of Roriksteads residents had enough sense to stay inside.

The hearth burned evenly in the middle of the inn, crackling comfortably as it ate up the logs thrown into its pit. Mralki and Erik went on about something, or perhaps nothing, usual banter between father and son in this small town filling up silences. Athenath would chime in here and there, joking with Erik, sometimes even mentioning vaguely their travels through Cyrodiil as a bard on the road. Emeros sat with the Alik'r Warriors, his own voice hushed as he spoke with them, a conversation only they could hear. In their shared room, Wyndrelis sprawled out on the bed, his head aching, thoughts racing, the prior day unable to leave his mind for a second.

It bothered him, how much space this occupied. Not the image of someone bloodied and in need of help, that much he could handle. No, it was the nagging suspicion of something wrong. Someone pulling a trick, sleight of hand like a jester in the streets of the Imperial City, deceiving himself and his companions. That moment the scraggly Altmer had made the tiniest flick of a weakened wrist - the smallest thing that Wyndrelis seemed to be the only one to notice - the sour taste of metal latched to his tongue. Magic cast when someone was desperate. A spell from a mage without much left to give. And when he'd held a hand near the other, his own magicka had been met with a repelling force like the Dwemeri magnets he'd studied once with an old colleague. The ends opposing. A force meeting force, an uncomfortable sensation that pushed back against his hand. And what had he said about Illusion magic?

The thick, dark clouds lowered into their slow graves in the hills, ground marshy and squelching under the boots of the farmers who checked now on their animals and their crops, returned to duties put off for the weather. Wyndrelis preferred to stay in the trio's room for the day, the sight of the hearth so near to him making his palms shake. He laid there in the dim, a book left behind by a former patron of the inn propped against a bent knee, reading silently as he struggled to distract from his unease. The sun sloped into the inn's high windows, or the half-alive vestiges of it, the light weak against the forces of the torches and hearthlight. Footsteps interrupted his thoughts, but he kept his eyes locked on the book, turning a page quietly.

"You okay?" Athenath asked, leaning casually against the doorframe. Their arms folded over their chest and dark eyes locked on him, the Altmer gave the mage a quizzical look as he faced them momentarily before his gaze once more landed on the pages before him.

"Yes."

Athenath looked to be suppressing the momentary twitch of a frown. "You sure?"

The Dunmer waited a moment before pushing himself up out of his recline, shoving his fingers through his dark hair until it was tousled and feathery. Explaining to the younger elf the situation seemed like an effort not worth taking. He doubted they would understand why he was concerned. The sights of the bodies, the putrid stench of death, all of it had jostled their nerves enough, no use telling them anything else, let alone that they may have sent something awful Whiteruns way with a handwritten note and a wave.

He combed the strands into place with his hands. He couldn't find anything to occupy his attention other than the questions that burned holes in his ears no matter how hard he struggled. Could he even begin to explain the thoughts worming through his mind, burrowing deep into the subconscious parts, eating their fill on his suspicions? He couldn't. He rubbed at his shoulder. He shut his eyes and breathed in the warm air. His mind stagnated on the idea, how to explain, what to say. He wondered if Emeros held the same discomfort in his chest about the blond elf.

"It's a long story." He settled on his reply, words dripping out from his lips on the trail of a long exhale, Athenath traipsing easily over and plopping down into one of the creaking chairs in their room. Slinging their arms on the rests, he craned his posture lightly forward, intrigue in the knit of his brow.

"Wanna get into it?"

The offer could have been genuine, but the Dunmer had no faith in it. Mostly, he had no faith that they would even listen, or be interested. Wyndrelis shook his head. "No, no thank you."

Athenath shrugged, tugging his amulet from under his tunic, examining it, light from the hearth spilling golden hues to the ridges, the embossing, the tiny details. He turned it over, humming idly, chin against the heel of their palm as they swung their foot in small motions. Their cream-gold thumb traced the indents in the back, eyes locked to something Wyndrelis couldn't see.

"I may have taken a look at your amulet this morning," the Dunmer confessed through tight teeth and stumbled speech, eyes avoiding the sight of the other now. Athenath looked up, blinking a few times as their expression shifted through several forms of amusement, before rolling his eyes with a mischievous grin.

"Yeah? What, you wanna marry me?" He teased, leaning on folded arms over the table. Wyndrelis cackled, clutching his hands over his mouth.

"Gods, no, maybe try your luck with Emeros," he taunted back, giving a small arch of his brow. Athenath craned their neck downward, peering at Wyndrelis through his brow with a mock-frown.

"Aw, am I not good enough for you?" He batted his lashes dramatically, knitting their fingers together under their chin.

"No, you're not," he tutted in reply, watching Athenath throw his hands up like he were grasping at an invisible support. Their arms dropped again to their lap, a large grin on his face.

"You're rude," Athenath prodded in a fake huff.

"Only sometimes." Wyndrelis leaned back against the pillows with a satisfied, impish smirk, folding his palms neatly over his middle and locking his fingers together. The sound of the door to the inn creaked through the small building, footsteps following close behind.

"Apologies, those warriors forgot something when they left," Emeros explained, peaking his head into the shared room, "I wanted to be sure it returned to them. I suppose I got carried away in conversation."

As though not hearing him, the Altmer swung around in their chair, facing the door with a gleam in his eye. "Hey, Emeros?" Athenath held up the amulet of Mara, "Wyndrelis said I should try my luck with you, so what'd'you say?"

Emeros' jaw fell open, brow pushing upward high enough it created hard lines in his forehead. A moment later, he turned on his heel and eased out of the room, his pair of friends left cackling wolf-loud into the evening light. He returned a few moments later, dragging his cupped hand down his face, other palm resting against his hip.

With a wag of his finger, he sternly stated, "absolutely not."

"It's a joke," Wyndrelis tittered, waving a grey hand absently. "Don't worry, we're not serious."

Emeros exhaled dramatically, making slow, cautious steps into the room, ignoring the creeping warmth against the tips of his ears. He watched the amulet carefully as Athenath rested it back against their chest, running fingers through his dark hair. The Bosmer thought back to this morning, and with a tinge of caution, spoke up.

"What's that, then?"

"What's what?" Athenath turned, facing the Bosmer who leaned himself against the dresser.

"The back, something's written on it, I was just..." he trailed off as Athenath tugged the amulet from his neck, curls ruffling at the quick motion. They smoothed their thumb over the inscription, a pang of nostalgia running through him.

"It's from a friend," he explained, "back when we were kids, before I started traveling on my own."

"Are you quite certain that wasn't a marriage proposal?" Emeros quirked a brow, arms folded over his chest. Wyndrelis watched the Altmer as they continued to rub the inscription lightly, the edges smoothed by the years.

"Yeah, we talked about it. He just wanted me to have something to... I guess to remind me of home, and y'know, our friends. And, I mean, I've been a devotee of Mara for a long time, he thought it was weird I didn't wear her amulet, something like that."

Emeros hummed lightly, giving a small nod. Curiosity propped itself up on his features, the unusually tall Bosmer rubbing at his jaw with the crook of his thumb. "The inscription's in Ta'agra. Was your friend-"

"A Khajiit, yeah. All of my good friends back then were. He wanted to make sure I'd never forget them when I was on the road."

The tone Athenath's voice dimmed, all his taunts and teasings taking leave from their tongue as he inhaled deeply, the bards life before all of this hovering over their face. Before Helgen, before his travels and whatever came before even that, whatever tiniest fragments the other two had gleaned of their life. Emeros cleared his throat, snapping Athenath's gaze to the alchemist.

"What does it say?" He asked, intrigue pinning the words in place. Athenath looked down at the metal surface, the glinting in the light.

"It's just a little note. It's uh, 'from your loves, to your love'."

While Wyndrelis returned to his reading, Athenath explained the nuances of Ta'agra, how the first instance of love carried the weight of a familial meaning, the second to be romantic, as though the amulet was to be given to whomever Athenath saw fit to wear it. The comfort of it all brought light back into his dark eyes, and when the other two seemed satisfied with the explanation, he tucked the amulet back under the neck of his tunic.

"Well, anyways. We should probably get something to eat, and then try to rest." They rose, stretching, arms high to the ceiling. Wyndrelis shrugged.

"I think I'm going to check on the soul gems I found in that barrow." He pulled his knapsack up onto the bed, tugging out the crystals, twisting them in the light of the fading day.

"And I'm going to check on my experiments." Emeros found his own bag, beginning to dig through it, bottles clinking against one another in the leather material. "If we make it to Solitude by tomorrow, they'll hopefully still be stable enough that I can find a courier and deliver them to Nurelion."