5th of First Seed, 3E 432, Alinor, Summerset Isles, Ascension Day
Rynandor was introspective today. The gathered crowds of onlookers and worshipers were excited, but he was introspective. Well, no, he wasn’t introspective, he was tense and terribly nervous, but he hid it under a practiced façade of scholarly introspection. It was far easier to answer the many “what do you think”s and “who will make it”s asked all throughout this five-day ordeal that was the Pilgrimage of Novitiates for the Order of Auri-El with calm “we shall see”s or “Whatever is Auri-El’s will”s than to scream “leave me alone while I sweat holes in my robe from the bloody nerves!” He glanced to his left, towards Chancellor Ocato. The younger, refined Mer was showing the aged Emperor the various features of the Temple. You cut your hair, Cato, Rynandor noticed, the muscles in his lips threatening a disapproving frown. It does not make you look more Imperial. I can still see your ears and I miss the little goatee. The frown disappeared as soon as Rynandor perceived it and he lifted a hand from the security blanket that was his indigo robes to stroke his long beard. Everybody thinks you are completely calm when you stroke your beard.
“I am still trying to understand, forgive me, Chancellor, but it is true then, that this is the back of the Temple?” Emperor Uriel Septim VII asked, his lined blue eyes narrowing as he leaned forward over the balcony of the Temple’s Imperial box on his walking stick, trying to get a better view. His eyes were focused some distance away towards the edge of the circular cavern of a room that was the Temple’s main sanctuary. Towards the back of the imposing moonstone and gold statue’s head. “A curious thing, not to see the face of your god.” He observed.
“It is our way, my Emperor. The pilgrimage is meant to determine those who are worthy to see his face. The final stage before becoming a Priest or Knight-Paladin of the Order.” Ocato smiled as he explained, but Rynandor could tell he was a little annoyed. He saw the tiny clenching of the Altmer’s hands underneath his gold-embroidered crimson robes.
“I see. So only they are allowed to see the face?”
“Yes, my Emperor.”
“And how many Novitiates started this pilgrimage through the Great Chantry?”
“One hundred, my Emperor.” Rynandor answered, allowing himself a small smile. “One hundred worthy souls.
The Emperor looked back at Rynandor for a moment, tilting his head to the side in thought. “And how many are left?
“Five.” Answered Rynandor, barely able to mask his sense of dread.
“Only five?” Emperor Uriel questioned, his brow shooting up. “For a maze? Surely it can’t be that hard.”
Rynandor could see the air blow subtly from Ocato’s flared nostrils; see how the Mer’s lips pursed a touch. The Emperor, as great a man as he was, didn’t understand. The hardest thing about the relationship between Mer and Men was that they had trouble fundamentally understanding each other. To Men, the Chantry looked like a mere maze, massive and complicated, but only a maze. But to the Altmer, it was a profound puzzle of faith, a testing ground to those devoted to Auri-El, the true path to his face a mystery to be solved by the Novitiate’s devotion. His or her blind faith alone found the right path through it. Make a wrong turn on the complex maze during your pilgrimage and your faith was not strong enough; your journey to become a priest of the most demanding Order in all of Tamriel delayed for another year.
From Rynandor’s understanding, the ancient Snow Elves had been even stricter, their pilgrimages grueling affairs involving treks through a frozen wasteland full of wild beasts and brutal conditions. No food, only the water of the ancient Ewer to sustain them as they searched for the same five Wayshrines. It was like a maze, only with the prospect of death thrown in. Rynandor could not fathom the faith one needed to make such a journey and he considered himself a Mer of strong faith.
“Only five.” Ocato repeated, choosing only to clarify rather than expand. He locked eyes with Rynandor for a moment and the Archmagister could see the strain on the Chancellor’s face. He took his duty to the Empire extremely seriously, as any Altmer would take any task seriously. Ocato was loyal to the Emperor and what the Empire stood for, the stability it provided Tamriel. He had gone through the trauma of Jagar Tharn’s trickery through the Simulacrum and it was almost as if the Mer was making up for being fooled by the Imperial Battlemage like the rest of the Elder Council was with his current above and beyond service. He was still an Altmer, though, and the Emperor’s words, however innocently delivered, however good of a friend he was, still smarted. When this was all over, Rynandor would owe the harried Chancellor a bottle of fine Shimmerene wine and an ear of sympathy. They were good friends and the strain that was the day-to-day running of the Empire showed on the Mer’s features.
The Emperor had been full of questions ever since he stepped into the Temple of Auri-El. He had asked about the Market Plaza, the avenue of white-blossomed Alinor myrtles that lined the austere marble steps, the significance of the Temple’s placement in Alinor’s city layout. He even asked about the eagles that made their nests high in the Temple’s spires. Whether they could be trained for falconry. Rynandor had to pinch Lilandtar hard to prevent the Old Mer from releasing the guffaw that would have resulted in the destruction of the good—well, good was an overstatement, more like begrudgingly civil—relations between the Empire and its most ancient province.
Truth be told, Summerset only just put up with the Emperor’s visit, more for Ocato’s presence rather than the Emperor’s. Views on the Chancellor ranged from tolerance and even a measure of respect to barely veiled hostility, mostly from the small, but vocal Thalmor contingency of government. It was a difficult situation, but Rynandor clearly saw that the Emperor attending Ascension Day festivities, seeing the Novitiates walk the Chantry as a gesture of goodwill. And then there were others… Rynandor, sighed, feeling a presence near him, a warmth punctuated by expensive, strong cologne and the scent of alcohol, and he felt the Mer’s breath against his ear. You have been sneaking Alto wine, Lilandtar, Divines help us.
“One more question and I think Ocato will explode.” Quipped Lilandtar, clearly inebriated. He was going to ruin everything…potentially.
“You have no sense of decorum, do you?” Rynandor whispered back, giving his dear friend a sidelong glance, trying not to look like he was engaged in conversation rather than intently watching for the appearance of the Novitiates.
“No, it is more fun this way. Look at him, he’s about to pop!” Those apple-green eyes widened, twinkling with mischief. It was maddening.
“He’s under a great deal of stress. The Emperor’s visit was short notice.” Rynandor explained.
“Ha, today, all of Summerset has a pole sticking up its arse. By the biggest cock of them all, our lord Auri-El. I much prefer to do the sticking my—“
“Lilandtar!” Rynandor hissed. He said the words ‘arse’ and ‘cock’ and insulted their God-King and he was being lewd, at Temple no less. On this most holy of days. Did Lilandtar hold nothing sacred? Both Mer then quickly flashed their best ‘placid’ looks when Ocato shot them a look through narrowed eyes. Elven ears hear everything. Well, you had once said ‘confounded’ in the Temple. Is ‘confounded’ a curse? Not really, but then Rynandor felt a tiny bit of heat creep to his face. He was one to judge, he had nearly said ‘Xarxes’ arse’ in the Temple’s hallowed ground. His eyes then smiled at the memory, his heart swelling with pride.
The day you met that Dusken oaf. Well, not such an oaf now, he thought. His first walk of the Chantry and Calianwe’s third. He had cause to be nervous. They were young Mer.
“Just discussing the proceedings, Chancellor.” Ryandor quickly stated. Satisfied that a crisis within the Empire had been avoided, the Chancellor issued a stern warning with his eyes and then turned around to see to the Emperor. Do not fret, friend, I will purchase the Shimmerene myself and I will handle the irreverent one myself. Rynandor’s old, gnarled hand then snaked to his side, finding just the right soft spot on those Gods-awful purple and green robes Lord Larethian was wearing, the encrusted amethysts, emeralds, and diamonds casting mini rainbows of light onto the box’s floor. He pinched hard and the two old Mer then engaged in a subtle pinching duel as they stood behind the Chancellor and the Emperor. To be honest, his private fight with Lilandtar was alleviating his own tension to some extent, though the back of his arm was now sore. Bastard let his nails grow again.
“Ah yes, I remember.” The Emperor nodded, still not facing them. “You know some of the Novitiates, yes, Rynandor? A niece, was it?”
“Great grandniece, my Emperor.” Rynandor answered with an elegant nod, giving Lilandtar a good final pinch that determined the victor of their internal squabble once and for all. I can still pinch better than you, you old shit. The little spark of shock magicks thrown in had been the deciding factor. Lilandtar couldn’t do that yet. This is what the extra forty-nine years of magical studies, have given you, Old Mer, the ability to cast in a pinch. He chuckled to himself. That was a good joke! Ronnie would love that. Don’t think about Ronnie right now.
“Well, do you see her yet?” The Emperor pressed.
“No, my Emperor, I do not see her yet.” Replied Rynandor the Bold, taking a deep breath. Bold, my arse. Despite all the distractions, the Emperor had, in a sentence, renewed Rynandor’s anxiety. So, stroke your impressive beard and look at the pretty lights. He had to admit, the Temple did look grand today, though that both moons were full added an unexpected low point to an otherwise incredible display of what was good about Altmeri society. You cannot help what phase the moons will be in and you cannot change Auri-El’s Ascension Day on account of the moons. His people could look at it this way, the old corpse was on display, a reminder of the God-King’s accomplishments in full view against the brilliantly clear diamond sky.
Like almost every building that surrounded the Market Plaza, the Temple was designed to capture and harness the light of the outdoors, spreading and intensifying the light that filtered in through a series of strategically placed crystal walls, and glass windows supported by archways and columns of pristine, smooth pale grey marble. The shining achievement was the crystal-domed roof, the younger, smaller sister to the grand one that graced Crystal-Like-Law. And underneath the dome, was the great robed statue of Auri-El, holding the sun suspended in his hands, surrounded by a shallow fountain of clear, pure water. It was there that they would take their final drink from the Sacred Ewer and officially become His priests. If they managed the confounded maze, that is, Ryandor thought with a frown. They were so young. So young, and to be doing this! And to have taken the front-most positions. She was bearing the Ewer, and he… He bore the standard of the Order.
“Do not fret, friend Rynandor.”
Ryandor felt a hand rest on his thin shoulder and turned to see that Chancellor Ocato was now by his side. They exchanged glances and the Chancellor continued. “I am positive the Lady Calianwe will still retain her place at the head of the procession. Especially if I know anything of the family she comes from.” It wasn’t a practiced smile from the Chancellor this time, but a sincere one.
“Hmph! Of course she’ll make it,” Interrupted Master Lilandtar, “There is no question of that. The one I’m curious about is the one who made the daft decision to wear full plate armor to do the pilgrimage!” Rynandor gave a sharp look to Lilandtar and the green-eyed mage furrowed his brows in annoyance. “Oh don’t chide me with that look of yours, Rynandor, wearing that armor was a mistake if he ever intended to complete the pilgrimage successfully. You and I both know that. He had enough bearing the standard.”
“It was a gift from his mother, Lilandtar, and a gift from me, for it bears mighty enchantments. He will be there, for I know his spirit.” Rynandor spoke those words with confidence, but inside he was worried. Äelberon had not made the journey easy on himself. It was his first attempt, while it was Calianwe’s third. More than likely, he would fail. All did their first try. It was such a difficult trial. There was no shame in failure, for the faith needed to be intensely strong, but he knew the knight, Äelberon would be heart-broken if he failed.
“Are you two referring to that the Tower Knight you told me of?” Asked the Emperor, furrowing his grey brows, “What was his name? The archer? Äelberon of Dusk?”
“Yes, my Emperor.” Replied Ocato. “That is the one we were discussing.”
The Emperor nodded. “Is armor a poor choice for this?”
“It makes it more of a challenge, my Emperor. In addition to the profound mental stress of this procession of faith, the young Mer has now also introduced a physical element as well.”
“Well, there’s always next year.” Offered Lilandtar with a sympathetic shrug, now almost teetering from the wine. Oh, where is that bottle? Under your robes, no doubt, you impossible Mer, Rynandor scowled. He would have to have young Vingalmo do a search before they let the old Mage into a public place again. Drinking alcohol! In a sacred ceremony for an Order that does not drink it! Rynandor rolled his eyes, who are you to talk? You are going to split a bottle of fine wine the Chancellor as soon as you are able. The Order of Auri-El may forgo alcohol, but they certainly drove other Mer to drink. Rynandor paused, realizing something when he glanced at Lilandtar. “You do care”, he mouthed. He had wanted young Ronnie to do well also. Lord Larethian only quietly huffed and turned away, pretending to observe to proceedings.
“I think I see them approaching,” Observed the Emperor. “Over there. That is it, isn’t it? The standard?” Rynandor closed his eyes tightly for a moment, he dared not even hope. No one had EVER completed this in their first attempt. EVER. There was no shame in it. One simply tried again next year as Lilandtar pointed out. The din of the crowd was driving him mad with worry. That any made it through the walk was cause for excitement, but there were also exclamations of surprise and yes, he could hear it, of disapproval too. Were they speaking ill of it? Of him? Was he even bearing the standard? With his heart pounding in trepidation, Rynandor the Bold opened his eyes, and then let out a sigh of relief. Never in all of his 728 years had he seen what he saw today.
It, in some ways, over-shadowed the achievement of his great grandniece, for it was indeed Calianwe’s third attempt and to make it on the third attempt was also impressive. They were both young Altmer. If they represented the future of his people, then Rynanor was very, very pleased. He smiled; she was truly what his People considered the pinnacle of their race, with fine, angular features, tall and slender, fine of bone and graceful of movement. She wore the flowing grey and white robes of the rest of the Novitiates, the flowing cloth rippling delicately as they moved slowly. Everything about her was as gold, a true daughter of Auri-El. Her long, wavy hair like spun gold, her clear skin; the pale golden hue so prized by her people, her serene eyes a light golden yellow, like pale honey in the sunlight. She bore the Ewer with grace, tall, straight, and proud; staring straight ahead, unblinking as she walked towards the great statue.
Rynandor’s gaze then fell upon the one who walked at her side, the one who bore the standard.
If Calianwe Laurennayne represented the grace of Auri-El, Äelberon represented His Might.
“That,” Observed Emperor Uriel VII as he gazed upon Äelberon, “Is a grand Mer. Surely, he cannot be Altmer. His coloring is most strange. Most strange.”
“I assure you, my emperor, he is Altmer.” Replied Rynandor, though if he had made that statement outside of the Imperial box, outside the sphere of friends, he would have received stern looks of disapproval. There were those who questioned the young Mer’s bloodlines. Did it matter? He was Elf, was that not enough?
“A rising star among our people.” Lilandtar grinned, no longer hiding his drunkenness and Rynandor gave him a warm glance. You are not a terrible Mer, you know that? “They grow everything bigger in Dusk.” He quipped.
Aye, he was indeed Auri-El’s Might, thought Rynandor with a smile that betrayed his swelling pride. If priests of Auri-El were rare, His Knight-Paladins were rarer still. Pelin-EL… Rynandor mused, letting his mind wander, his eyes moving away to gaze at the night sky. How big they were tonight. His eyes roamed the sky aimlessly to study the stars and then looked away. No star-gazing tonight and his eyes stared at the moons.
Pelin-El… The Holy Knight. The Star-Made Knight.
It was better to focus his attention on young Ronnie. Forget moons, forget stars.
While she was as gold, he was as silver, like the morning sun shining upon unblemished snow. Clear, pure, and bright, his armor reflecting the light of the two moons. Over his armor, he wore a grey and white tunic that bore the golden sun of Auri-El upon his chest. Slung upon his back was a great golden bow and at his waist was the longsword his mother had made him. A marvel of shining steel, silver, gold, and moonstone. Part of his silver-white hair was bound in the severe top-knot of the Order, the rest hung loose and long, to the middle of his broad back. His pale, stoic face made paler still with the white paint of the Order, making the red-orange of his eyes stand out all the more. And those eyes… Those intense eyes… Unflinching, unwavering as they focused upon the goal of his pilgrimage, the statue, bearing the standard of the Order in his strong arms.
Rynandor gazed at both of them as they slowly drank from the Ewer. They had made it. She drank first, and then she brought the Ewer gently to Äelberon’s lips and he too drank from the clear waters of the fountain at the base of the statue. Five had made it. A good year for the Order. A good year.
With that final sip, two priests were now born into the Order and Rynandor had already pulled his rank at the Tower with the Elders of Summerset to arrange their further union. Their disapproval be damned! Let them be bound by both their Order and by marriage. Äelberon was celibate, but he would come to understand the logic of the arrangement as would Calianwe. It was a strong, strong match. It was the future. King Mithlian of Cloudrest would understand.
Rynandor watched as most gathered in the Temple cheered the five new priests. Others observed the proceedings silently. He picked out Justiciar Cyrenar in the crowd, his black Thalmor robes austere amid the finery of the Temple. He was whispering something into the ear of another high-ranking Thalmor. They did not seem to disapprove, but they were observant.
He was also present, just as austere, but in a completely different way. Their oldest current Knight-Paladin, standing next to the Arch-Curate of the Order. One of the eldest Mer in the room. An imposing figure, clad in the nearly roughspun off-white robes and trousers favored by Order members from Dusk. His long, pale hair arranged in braids that betrayed his Ayleid ancestry. The Vestige, a silent presence, the Ancient Aldmeri greatsword still sheathed at his side after all those years. His keen, calm eyes never left the youngling, the face betraying his deep pride.
Lilandtar’s robust laughter diverted Rynandor’s attention from the ancient, stoic Mer and Ryndnor could not suppress the chuckle as he witnessed the Lord of House Larethian knocking young Vingalmo on the head with his knuckles as if they were school boys. The Emperor shook hands with Chancellor Ocato, nodding in approval, mentioning something about all of them meeting with Summerset’s High King at the palace. Rynandor groaned inside, he hated the palace. He continued to scan the crowd and she caught his attention almost immediately. She was unmistakable; for she was colored as her son was, save her crystal blue eyes. She wept silently while Ronnie’s father cheered loudly within the crowd.
Weeping? Why she was weeping, he wondered. Suddenly he disappeared from the Temple and was surrounded by a void just as Äelberon embraced his mother. Black was the void, but red was the fire, the darkness impossibly cold to Rynandor. He saw the flash of an angry black maw and the shimmer of scales, like the embers of a cooling forge. And he felt dread, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. The maw snapped at him, the horns cruel and twisting. What manner of Daedroth was this? It zoomed closer and closer to Rynandor in the void and he began running, running as fast as he could while the fire chased him. He felt the crunch of snow under his feet as he ran. Terrified. The tears running down his face blinded his path, but he kept going, fleeing the heat of the demon behind him. Rynandor slammed hard into another form and looked up. Scaled as well. It was large and grey, like stone dusted with ash, the smoke coming steadily from the new demon’s nostrils. A nose ring of bone and ebony shaking softly with each exhale. It ignored him and faced the black demon with eyes that made Rynandor narrow his in confusion. Unflinching, unwavering eyes.
Because they were Äelberon’s. He screamed when the black deadroth approached, and just when the Deadroth was about to swallow him, he saw the grey beast lunge to attack and then Lilandtar’s massive hand swatted both demons away…
“Wake up! Rynandor! The Emperor and Chancellor Ocato have already stepped away from the Imperial box to congratulate the new priests, and here you are gawking like you were being seduced by my mother! And gods, the face you had would be the exact face. Absolute terror. Besides, Steel Plates’s not that good-looking. He’s actually rather ugly, too hard-featured and that nose, ugh, like an eagle’s beak. I pity the bride he’ll be assigned to.”
Rynandor blinked, still clearing the rest of the vision from his head and patted Lilandtar on the shoulder. There was nothing that killed a vision better than a vision of Lilandtar’s mother, the Hag. “I forgot myself, let us go, friend.”
Äelberon was, by now, embracing Vingalmo, his face exhausted from the strain of the pilgrimage, but full of joy. The visions did not cease, however, as Rynandor walked towards Äelberon. It was now a lone, starved silver wolf, being chased by a pack of black hounds into mountains Rynandor didn’t recognize. The visions were jumbled and confusing, but they were dark, dark omens. Dark omens to join his continued nightmares of the Daedra. He approached Äelberon and the young Knight-Paladin smiled warmly at him. He looked so tired, but so content. So ready to do his duty. After the poor lad slept for about a week, Rynandor smirked. He reached out to the young Mer, to grab his forearm…
He almost jumped out his skin when Äelberon turned to him at his touch, his eyes now a strange deep yellow, piercing and cruel. He heard a crash and saw that a worshiper had knocked down a small shrine to Auri-El that was placed in one of the entry ways. It was hastily picked up.
“Master?” He said sofly, his voice hoarse from lack of use. “Are you alright?”
He looked up and they were the youngling’s eyes again. He shook his head to clear his mind.
“I think you are more tired from this pilgrimage than I am.” The young Mer quipped and the humor brought Rynandor out of his disorientation. They embraced, but the boy was right, the visions had left him suddenly drained.
“Aye, spent the whole time praying you would not drop the standard. I am tired.” He dismissed the youngling with a flick of his wrist. “Go, go find your family and don’t worry about an old Mer like me. See, the Emperor is waiting. Go meet him.” He gave Äelberon a slap on the back and almost saw stars. Damn it, old Mer, don’t slap that silver armor, you’ll break your hand! “Where is my great grandniece,” He began to bluster. “Where is my Calianwe?”
Äelberon was suddenly dragged away by Lilandtar towards the Emperor. Enjoy this day, youngling, Rynandor smiled. Aye, Äelberon will be His faithful servant, but he couldn’t help but feel sorrow instead of the joy he was supposed to feel and he didn’t know why. He took a deep breath and he feigned his best smile when Calianwe fell into his arms, finally allowing herself to be exhausted.
Straag Rod ToC
Part 1, Chapter XLI
Part 2, Chapter I
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