Chapter Text
He was so immersed in his reading that he didn’t even notice her come in.
“Did you eat anything, Sil?”
Sil nearly dropped his book from surprise.
“Nall! I wish you wouldn’t sneak up on me like that. In my own room, no less,” he said indignantly.
She put her hands on her hips and made an unimpressed face.
“I wasn’t exactly quiet coming in. Anyways, I’m your sister.” She plucked the book from his hands. “Tormenting you is my job. Now, what have we here? Some riveting text on…” She turned it over to read the spine. “...on the principles of accounting? That’s dull, Sil, even for you.”
He crossed his arms, but didn’t get up from his chair. It was a very comfortable chair, upholstered in kresh-silk over cushioning made from muckspunge. Durable, too, if his several hundred hours reading in it were anything to go by.
“Understanding how to track and manage House finances is important, Nall.”
“Important enough to miss dinner and breakfast?” She countered, stern.
He balked. “Gods, is it really that late? Or, ah, early?”
This was the downside of the chair. It cradled Sil’s body in such a way he didn’t get sore from sitting for, evidently, at least half a day. The rest of the room didn’t help with his perception of time, either. Two stories underground, it didn’t have any natural light, so night and day were the same; it was lit by magelights that didn’t burn down, rather than candles that might warn him of the passing hours.
“It’s not even the small hours of the morning, Sil. It’s nearly noon.” Nall’s voice held a tinge of worry in it. “Come on, I’ll have the kitchen make you something.” She held a hand out to pull him up from his chair.
He took it and levered himself upright. For most mer, standing up was a trivial task. For Sotha Sil, it was irritatingly difficult. He had an odd affliction as a child that he never fully recovered from, despite the best efforts of the healers of Ald Sotha. The result was that he was physically weak, tired quickly, and was unsteady on his feet.
“Thank you. I… forgot,” he said as he followed after her. “To eat, I mean.”
“I know you did,” she said as she helped him up the stairs. “Don’t know why you moved down there,” she muttered to herself.
“Because nobody comes down to the third floor except the staff, and they know better than to bother me,” he grumbled in response. He knew Nall hadn’t actually been expecting an answer, but it was the truth.
“Yes, yes, leave my little brother alone to study and brood dramatically. ” She mocked playfully as he sat down in the dining hall. “Nira! I’ve managed to drag Sil up to the first floor, could you make him something?” She called towards the kitchen.
“Of course, dear!” Their head cook called back. Sil knew he was going to get an earful when she came out with his… breakfast? Lunch? For now, Nall sat next to him at the dining table.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said with a conspiratorial lean in.
“Really,” Sil responded drily. “Next you’ll tell me the guar have grown wings.”
“Oh, shut up!” she said with a laugh. “I’m serious, you need to get out of the house. I know you’re concerned with being a proper Sotha, but you can’t do that if nobody ever sees you.”
“We’ve talked about this, Nall.” He did his best not to shrink in on himself.
“Look, I won’t drag you along through town,” she began.
“Good. You make enough public appearances for the both of us,” he interjected.
“But, you need to get some sun and talk to someone other than me. You’re not taking care of yourself, Sil,” she finished firmly.
He didn’t say anything. She was right, obviously. She always was, loath as he was to admit it.
“So. Getting you out of the house, but not into town.”
“Yes, what’s your grand plan?” The town of Ald Sotha occupied the largest island in Ascadia, nestled between Norvayn Bay and Lake Amaya. The Sotha House was on the island’s eastern edge, with the rest of the city radiating out from it. These days it covered the whole island, and a few little houses had even begun to spring up on Elmas Island to the south. There were even talks of building a bridge.
All this to say, the only way in and out of the Sotha House was by walking through the city.
“We go east,” whispered Nall.
“Absolutely not,” he said, stern.
"You're overthinking this. We sneak out, we sneak back in, and no one will ever be the wiser,” she explained.
“We’ll be seen! And you remember how Mother got last time we went.”
“You’re an adult, Sil! You’re fifty —”
“Forty-eight.”
“—and what’s the worst Mother can do? A scolding?” She crossed her arms.
“ Yes, Nall! A great deal of what I do is specifically to avoid her ire,” he said.
She softened her tone. “...Why do you try so hard? To be what you think her and Father want you to be, I mean.”
He was silent for a time. He didn’t want to answer that. This was neither the time nor the place to dredge up his bone-deep insecurities, even to his sister. Especially because it was partially her fault, not that he blamed her.
Then Nira came bustling out of the kitchen with a platter.
“Seared slaughterfish a bit of butter, a scuttle-roll, bed of saltrice… They’re big portions, but it’s no proper substitute for missing two meals. Eat up, boy.” She set it in front of him.
“Thank you, Nira,” he said softly.
He hadn’t realized how hungry he was. It was easy to forget, when one was engrossed in a book, that one did in fact have a physical body that needed nutrients. It helped that Nira was an excellent cook, of course. Slaughterfish was tough, but her methods made it as light and flaky as northern salmon.
“You’ve really got to stop missing meals, boy. Gods know you already look more like a Hunger than a Chimer—”
“Thank you, Nira.” Nall cut her off sharply. “Master Sil and I appreciate you fixing him something, we really do,” she said with much less edge in her voice.
Nira flinched back. Nall didn’t throw around titles very often, but she always stood up for her brother, even when Mother and Father were involved. Nira seemed to realize how greatly she overstepped, because she bowed curtly and went back into the kitchen without another word.
“I’m not sure that was—”
“You, eat,” Nall ordered. “And when you’re done, we’ll go out by the loading-dock.”
He made a disapproving sound while taking a bite of the slaughterfish. (Gods, for all her errors in etiquette, the woman knew what she was doing in the kitchen. They’d never let her go, she was irreplaceable.)
“I know, but it’s been a year since we saw them! Don’t tell me you haven’t been missing those towers,” she argued.
He hummed, mouth full of scuttle-roll.
“I know Mother doesn’t like it, but Sil!” She turned to face him properly. “There are three thousand people in this town. I’ve been looking at the same three thousand faces for sixty years, and I think I’m beginning to go quite mad. I’d like to meet someone knew, and I know you want to see some of them again.”
He finished off the last of the rice while Nall waited patiently for him to answer. Sil pondered for a moment before he spoke.
“You’re carrying anything I buy there,” he said.
She threw up her arms. “Yes! Oh, I’ve got to go get ready. Meet me down at the dock!” She paused a moment before leaving the dining room and glanced at him. The implied question of can you get down there yourself? lingered in the air.
“Yes, I’ll be just a few minutes,” he answered.
And, true to his word, the two of them met ten minutes later at the loading-dock at the back of the house. Gondolas bringing supplies for the house and the city could come around and bring their cargo straight inside, via the little pier that jutted out into the waters of the archipelago. This was also a convenient way to get in and out of the house, if one wanted to avoid being seen by an entire city.
“Ready?” Nall beamed at him. There were a couple of servants unpacking some box nearby, but aside from a glance they paid them no mind.
“Ready,” he agreed as the two of them walked out onto the pier. “Could you go down first?”
“Of course,” she said, paused at the pier's end. She held out her hand. “You'd better actually cast the spell this time. This dress was expensive.”
“That was nearly twenty years ago,” he said. He touched her hand and a fraction of magicka flowed to her.
She hopped down to the water’s surface and lifted her arms to spot him, but he waved her off.
“I am not made from glass, Nall. Even if I fall, I'll be fine.” He cast the spell on himself and carefully, with great effort, eased himself from the pier down to the water.
“You know I worry. Anyways, you fall harder than the rest of us. It’s so much further, from all the way up there!”
Sil sighed at that comment, but said nothing. The two of them began water-walking east, towards the towers in the distance. It was a gorgeous day out, warm sun and cool sea-breeze and not a bit of ash in sight. So, naturally, Sil got lost in his own head instead of enjoying it.
“Alright, talk to me. What’s going on with you lately?” Nall stopped. She had noticed his silence and thought-twisted expression, it seemed. Sil pondered for a second, finding the right words, and he looked down when he spoke.
“I always wished I was like you, you know. You’re… beautiful.”
Mother was occupied with the day-to-days of running the House, Father usually busied himself in the shrine, and Uncle Seryn spent as much time as an emissary in Mournhold as in the city. It often fell to Sotha Nall to be the face of the House to the common people. Nall was, objectively speaking, very pretty. Head-turningly pretty. She leaned into it, too, with flattering dresses and tasteful jewelry and clever hairstyles that Sil couldn't begin to understand. He just tied back his long white hair and wore simple, comfortable robes.
“And you’re well-liked. And kind and sweet and loving and beloved. They love you, they all do. And you deserve it, obviously. I can see how hard you work at all of it—”
She cut him off with a hug. He did his best to return it with his upper arms pinned to his sides.
“You don't need to be me, Sil,” she whispered.
“Perhaps not, but the alternative is being Sotha Sil, and he's dreadful,” he muttered in response.
She released him with a laugh, but he kept talking.
“I am, though. Look at me, Nall. Look at us. A pair of siblings more different, you could not find.”
And it was true. As beautiful as Nall was, Sil was an ill-proportioned mess of a mer. For all the kitchen’s efforts (and his own) to get him to eat properly, Sil was still spindle-thin. He didn’t mind it, in a personal sense, but it was unseemly for the youngest son of the House to be so narrow. Rumors about the family starving him swirled around the city, and even the House staff remarked on his odd appearance from time to time. Nira’s comment about him looking like a Hunger was ill-timed and inappropriate, but it was not untrue.
The gods were fans of irony. Those with bodies weakened by illness were also usually stunted in growth. For someone like Sil, ever avoidant of public appearances because he hated the pitying eyes and charged remarks, being short in stature might have been something of a blessing. So, naturally, Sotha Sil was the tallest mer in the city, head-and-shoulders above almost any man or mer he had ever met. One would be forgiven for thinking he was from Summerset at a first glance, but he could have seen over the tops of the heads of all but the tallest highborn Altmer.
“Even besides my appearance, I’m not like you. Your way of speaking with people, connecting with them, it’s something I could never match. I know you don’t want to be ruler of the House, but you’ve already settled into your role so comfortably. I can hardly hold a conversation with most people without using speech so formal it borders on off-putting.”
She took his hand and began tugging him along. Important as this conversation was, they were still burning daylight. If they wanted to spend time there and make it back to the city before nightfall, they ought to keep moving.
“You’re their perfect daughter. I’m… me.”
“You’re their perfect son,” she countered. “You’re brilliant, incredibly studious, and a better mage than any of us. I’m friendly, sure, but when you speak everyone listens. You’ll be the next Lord Sotha, in a few hundred years, and you’ll be the best patriarch the city’s seen. I’m sure of it. Now come on, we’re nearly there!”
Nall pulled him along more quickly now, towards the great towers of the citadel before them.
Mzahnch.
The two of them made landfall and approached the armored hatch at the front of the city. The Dwemer would have seen their coming, and they knew Sil and Nall, but there were still protocols that had to be followed when a noble went somewhere. Sil spoke up, loud enough to be heard through the listening-pipes.
“Du chal chend tuazel, vvard bthar thuamer th duamer.” [We ask passage into your city, to strengthen the bond between your people and ours.]
Silence, for a moment, and then a hum and hiss of steam, and then the door split and pulled aside.
For all his melancholy, Sil couldn’t help but grin. Nall saw his smile and brightened up herself.
“Looks like you’ve still got it,” she said.
“Indeed.”
She saw the gate officer on the other side and immediately jumped forward to wrap him in a hug.
“Mhaz! It’s so good to see you!” She released him and stepped back. Mhaz looked surprised by the sudden contact. “...Um, ngalft thu?”
Sil tried to stop her before she said that, but he was too late. Mhaz wasn’t offended by the ‘thank you,’ as Sil expected, far from it. He laughed broadly, and the little bell hanging in his beard jangled.
“Du chal fahl ngark, che du fahlbthun ur.” [We do not ask for thanks, for we do not believe in it.] He turned to Sil. [But we do not reject or begrudge gratitude offered freely.]
Sil relaxed. [We thank you for this new understanding. It is strong mathematics.]
“I missed… most of that. I heard something about giving a city?” Nall asked him as they began to explore the bustling tunnels. Her Dwemeris wasn’t nearly as good as his, so he always did his best to translate when they were in Mzahnch.
“Not quite. That first sentence started ‘du chal fahl ngark.’ You’ve mistaken fahl for fell - fahl means ‘not,’ fell means ‘city’ just as in Chimeris,” he said, “although usually ‘ze’ or ‘zel’ are used instead.”
“See? You’re the smart one.” She smacked his shoulder.
“Yes, yes, you’re—oh, is that him?” He gestured to a Dwemer up ahead who was conversing in a market area.
“I think it is,” said Nall, growing excited. “Thought he’d run off for good!”
“Bthuand!” called Sil.
The short Dwemer turned to see who had addressed him, and his face lit up when he saw the two of them.
“Sil th Nall! Little bchendmer, little thandmer! How you are?” It had been decades since they saw Bthuand. He had welcomed them in the first time they came to the city as children, and had taught them some Dwemeris. His own Chimeris was quite bad, but between them they had enough language to converse, especially now that Sil had time to properly study the language.
[It has been a long time, friend. We are well,] said Sil.
[Yes! We are good!] Nall added.
[I call you small, as I have always done, but I can see you are not so any longer.] He made a show of leaning back to look up at Sil, who laughed good-naturedly. A handbasket full of oddment
[Where have you been?] he asked.
[Let me tell you the story. Follow?] Bhuand gestured for the two of them to keep up as he went about his business. He was someone of import, Sil knew that much, but he wasn’t sure what his station was exactly.
[I am older now, and have retired to scholarship, but only a few months ago I was helping build cities,] he explained. [Eventually, one day, the King says ‘Bthuand, you should lead the construction on a city.’ So I architect it, make the plans and organize the building, but I tell them all, ‘you must not name it after me.’]
Sil nodded. [Making works for the reason of making works, not for gifts or to be known.]
Nall shot him a look. “Wow, that’s boring.” Bthuand either didn’t understand or didn’t care about Nall’s comment, because he agreed with Sil and continued on.
[And when the city is done, the people say it is strong. They say it should be named for me, and so they do. For a time I stay, but eventually I grow weary and leave, because I tire of their (reverence/scrutiny). I go back to the King, who says I should build another city. I build another city, and it is strong once more. And I tell them, ‘you must not name it after me, because I do not want it and because another city already bears my name.’ So what do the people do?]
He paused for a moment to open the door to his home, and waved Nall and Sil inside, following behind. He was always a gracious host, distracted though he was by his stories.
[They name it after you?] Sil posited as Nall helped him down onto a sitting-room chair.
Bthuand threw up his arms in exasperation. [They name it after me! We all have two names, so they called the second city Bthuand.]
Nall leaned over to Sil. “Just checking, he’s frustrated they named two cities Bthuand?”
Bthuand looked embarrassed. “No. No. Second one Bthuand. It is same as… first one call Sotha, then other call Nall,” he tried to explain.
[What is first city?] she asked.
He smiled knowingly. [After they name the second city after me, I decide I will build no longer. I go home, to the first city I built, which is why I am back here.]
Sil tilted his head. [But this city is Mzahnch.]
Bthuand nodded. [As am I.]
Sil stopped to digest what he was hearing. Bthuand, the short, stout Dwemer who had welcomed them into the city and taught them his language, was Bthuand Mzahnch. Legendary scholar and philosopher, friend to the Dwemer king, and architect of cities and centurions alike.
The revelation was rather like learning that the Lexi girl your father had insisted should come stay with the family for a few months when you were young was, in fact, Indoril Almalexia. Not that Sil would know about that sort of revelation, of course. Not at all.
He looked at Bthuand in awe, but he just looked tired.
[And now you see the reason I did not want the names or the honors,] he said. [For now our relationship has gone from one of friendship, to one of discipleship. And I do not want this.]
Nall stood and walked over to him. “I only understood about half of what you said, Bthuand, but I still think you’re excellent.” She gave him a side hug in his chair. “Have you got much food around? Sil didn’t eat much today.”
She always managed to say the right thing, even when she didn’t know what was going on. Where she drew her boundless charm and kindness from, he did not know. Bthuand seemed to feel better already, and Sil shook off the star-struck sensation as quickly as he could. He was still Bthuand, even if there was more to him than Sil had realized.
They all talked for a while after that, about the Sothas and the Nords and whatever else came to mind. On their way out of town, they stopped through the marketplace. When they left, the sun was nearing the horizon and Nall was carrying a broken spider Sil had bought. The two of them walked back to the House in comfortable silence. Nall broke it, as they got close.
“Looks like someone told on us.” Lady Sotha was standing at the end of the pier, arms crossed.
“Indeed. I’m bracing myself for the scolding you promised me earlier,” Sil said with a small chuckle. His mood was vastly improved from what it had been when Nall hauled him up from the basement that morning. But as they got closer, and could see her face, Sil knew at once something was wrong.
Sotha Nen was a fierce woman who had earned her title as head of the House. Her appearance was always carefully composed, her words chosen with cutting precision. Occasions were very rare, and very private, where she would show such emotions as sadness or fear. Right now, she looked practically anxious, an expression that was relieved only slightly when she saw her children walking back from the citadel.
“Come along, you two. Dinner is waiting,” she said curtly. Nall helped Sil onto the pier before hoisting herself onto it. Nen made no move to help either of them, but waited until they were both standing before turning back to the house. They followed close behind, straight to the dining room. Nall would have complained about not having time to get ready properly, but her and Sil both knew that this wasn’t the time. Neither knew what was actually going on, of course, until they saw Father in the dining room.
If Sotha Nen was the face of terror, Sotha Ket was the face of inspiration. He was the more jovial and clever of the two, ever with a witty remark or an uplifting hand. As well as being Nen’s husband, he was also the chief priest of the city and tended the shrine. Most would take his work as a grim task, but he found appeasing the Second Corner a light enough burden to bear. He was seldom seen without a smile on his face, even when slaughtering a guar or a slave to placate Mehrunes Dagon. It wasn’t that he found joy in the work, but that he didn’t find it tolling enough to damp his disposition.
He was at his seat at the dining table, now, eyes wide and unfocused. His smile had vanished, replaced by lips pressed tight to one another. Nen’s brother Seryn sat across from him, leaning forward and trying to coax conversation from him.
“Has something happened, Ket? Have you seen something?” He asked carefully as the three of them walked into the dining room.
“Can you feel it?” His eyes flicked to a spot on the ceiling. “Isn’t it beautiful? Or isn’t it?”
Nen steeled her expression even as her children faltered. “It is indeed, Ket. Shall we eat?” She took her place at the head of the table.
Nall looked to Sil, confused. He met her eyes with the same bafflement.
“Yes, dear. We ought to eat indeed. And eat indeed.” His voice was distant, somehow, even though he was barely an arm’s length away from them.
Nen called Nira to bring dinner, which she did without daring to say a word. The tension in the room was so thick you could swim in it. As they ate, each of them did their best to prompt a straight answer from him. Ket didn’t touch his food.
“What do we feel, Father?” asked Nall, first.
“Hope, Nall. And hope.” He didn’t move his gaze from the ceiling.
“Have you heard any news lately?” Sil asked after a minute of strange silence. Perhaps his father’s odd behavior stemmed from something happening on the mainland.
“No. Not yet. I can’t—I can’t hear it, not yet.” He shook his head in confusion.
Seryn wrung his hands. “Can you hear anything , Ket?”
“Seryn.” He snapped to Seryn. “I hear you, Seryn. Can you feel it?”
“Thank you, dear, we hear him too.” Mother was nearly finished with her meal. “Who told you?”
“Or who didn’t. Was it you?” Ket still didn’t even seem to know there was food in front of him.
“What’s happened to him?” Nall’s voice was soft, but it was the question her and Sil were both wondering.
Nen shot her a vicious look before turning to Ket. “It’s time to rest, dear. Come on.”
Neither Sil, Nall, nor Seryn moved as Nen coaxed Ket to his feet and began leading him out of the dining hall. Right before he crossed the threshold, he turned to each of them and met their eyes.
To Seryn. “Serjo.”
To Nall. “Sunna.”
To Sil. “Kena.”
And to Nen, he whispered something they couldn’t hear as the two of them went down the halls.
As soon as they were out of earshot, Nall and Sil both turned to Seryn. It was Sil who spoke first and spoke firmly.
“Seryn. What’s wrong with my father.”
He shifted uncomfortably. “That’s… a complicated question.”
Nall quirked an eyebrow. “He’s a complicated man. And also our father. He’s not mad, is he?”
“Certainly not. I’ve known him for centuries, and Ket has only had these… episodes a few times. They’re a warning, of sorts. I think. They always pass.”
“A warning for what?” Sil heard a fraction of panic in his own voice.
“I’m not sure. Neither was he. Sometimes they mean nothing at all. The last one was three days before Mournhold was sacked. We didn’t tell you because you were children. The one prior didn't seem to forewarn anything. Listen, it’s—it’s late. And tomorrow might be difficult. You two should both get some rest, alright? I’ll tell you more in a few days.”
Seryn stood, and that was final. Deeply confused but trusting their family with whatever came next, Sil and Nall parted ways and went to bed. He hadn’t slept at all last night, so despite the very odd evening he was out like a light.
A few hours later, in the dead of night, Sil was woken up by the screams.