Title: The True Barenziah, Part VIII
Author: Anonymous
IsNaughty: True
Price: 580
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Content:


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[/center]The True

[/center]Barenziah

[/center]Part VIII



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 Barenziah sat in the hall at dinner, pushing her food about
on her plate, feeling bored and restless. Symmachus was
away, having been summoned to Imperial City by Tiber
Septim's great-great grandson, Uriel Septim. Or was it his
great-great-great grandson? She'd lost count, she realized.
Their faces seemed to blur into one another. Perhaps she
should have gone with him, but there'd been the delegation
from Tear on a tiresome matter that required delicate
handling.

 A bard was singing, but Barenziah hadn't been listening.
Lately all the songs seemed the same to her, whether new or
old. Now a turn of phrase caught her attention. He was
singing of freedom, of adventure, of freeing Morrowind
from its chains. How dare he! Barenziah sat up straight and
turned to glare at him and worse, then realized that he was
singing of some ancient war with Skyrim Nords, praising the
heroism of King Moraelyn and his brave Companions. That
tale was old enough, yet the song was new ... and the
meaning...Barenziah wasn't sure. A bold fellow, but with a
good voice and an ear for poetry and music. Rather
handsome, too, in a raffish way. He didn't look exactly
prosperous, nor was he all that young. Certainly he wasn't
under a century of age. Why hadn't she heard him before, or at
least heard of him?

 "Who is he?" she whispered to her dinner companion, who
shrugged and said, "Calls himself Nightingale. No one seems
to know anything about him."

 "Bid him speak with me when he has done."

 Nighingale came to her, thanked her for the honor and the
purse she handed him. His manner wasn't bold, rather quiet and
unassuming. He was quick enough with gossip about others, but
she learned nothing about him, for he turned all questions
away with a joking answer or a wild tale, yet one given so
charmingly that it was impossible to take offense. "My true
name? Milady, I am no one. No, no, my parents named me Know
Wan, or was it, No Buddy? What doth it matter? How can
parents give name to that which they know not? Ah, I believe
that was the name, No Not. I have been Nighingale for so
long I do not quite remember, oh, since last month at the very
least, or was it last week? All my memory goes into song and
tales, you see. I've none left for myself. I'm really quite
boring. Where was I born? Why, Knoweyr. I plan to settle in
Dunroman when I get there, but I'm in no hurry."

 "I see. And will you then marry Atleshur?"

 "Very perceptive of you, milady. Perhaps, although I find
Inaste quite charming, too, at whiles."

 "Ah, you are fickle, then?"

 "Like the wind, milady, I blow hither and yon and hot and
cold."

 "Stay with us awhile, then, if you will."

 "As you wish, milady."

 Barenziah found her interest in life rekindled. All that had
seemed stale seemed fresh and new again. She greeted each day
with zest, looking forward to conversation and song with
Nightingale. Unlike other bards he never sang her praises,
nor other women's but only of high adventure and bold deeds.
When she asked him about this, he merely said, "What greater
praise of thy charm couldst thou ask, than what thy own mirror
gives thee? And if words thou wouldst have, thou hast those of
the greatest bards of the land? How should I vie with them, I
who was born but a week gone by?" For once they spoke
privately, for Barenziah, unable to sleep, had bidden him
come to her chamber that his music might soothe her.

 "Thou art lazy and a coward, else I hold no charm for
thee."

 "Milady, to praise thee I must know thee and thy spirit is
wrapped in clouds of enchantment."

 "Not so, 'tis thy words that weave enchantment, and thy
eyes. Know me if thou wilt, and if thou dare'st." He came to
her; they lay close, kissed and embraced. "Not even
Barenziah truly knows herself," he whispered softly. "How
can I? Barenziah, thou seekest and know it not, nor yet for
what. What would you have, that you have not?"

 "Passion," she whispered, "passion. And children born of
it."

 "And for thy children, what? What birthright will you give
them?"

 "Freedom," she whispered, "freedom to be what they are.
Where can I find these things?"

 "They lie beside you and beneath you if you dare stretch out
your hand to take them."

 "But Symmachus..."

 "I tell you, in me lies the answer to part of your quest
and below us in these very mines, lies that which will grant
us the power to fulfill achieve it. That which Moraelyn and
Edward between them used to free High Rock from Nord
domination of their spirit. Properly used, none can stand
against it, not e'en that power which the Emperor controls.
Freedom, Barenziah, freedom from the chains that bind you.
Think on it, Barenziah." He kissed her again, softly, and
withdrew.

 "You're not going?" she cried out, for her body yearned for
him.

 "For now," he said. "Pleasures of the flesh are nothing
beside what we might have together. I would have you think on
it."

 "I don't need to think. What must we do? What preparation
must we make?"

 "Why, none. You can enter the mines freely. Once below I
can guide you to where this thing lies and lift it from its
resting place."

 "The Horn of Summoning," she whispered. "Is it true? How do
you know? 'Tis said it's buried 'neath Daggerfall itself."

 "Nay, long have I studied this matter. Ere his death King
Edward gave the horn for safekeeping into the hand of his old
friend King Moraelyn, who secreted it here in Mournhold,
under the guardianship of the god Ephen, whose birthplace
this is. Now thou know'st what it hath cost me many long years
and weary miles to learn."

 "But the god?"

 "Trust me, dear heart. All will be well." Laughing, he
blew her a last kiss and was gone.

 On the morrow they passed the guards at the great doors that
led below. Barenziah made her usual tour of inspection but
instead of leaving afterwards, she and Nightingale entered
a long-sealed door that led to an ancient part of the
workings, long abandoned. The going was treacherous, for
some of the old passages had collapsed and they had to clear
a passage or find a way around. Vicious rats and huge
spiders scurried here and there and sometimes attacked them.

 "We've been gone too long," Barenziah said. "They'll be
looking for us. What will I tell them?"

 "Whate'er you please," Nightingale laughed. "You are the
queen, aren't you?"

 "Symmachus--"

 "That peasant obeys whoever holds power. Always has,
always will. We shall hold the power, love." His lips were
the sweetest wine, every touch of fire and lightning. 

 "Now," she said, "take me now. I'm ready." Her body seemed to
hum, every nerve and muscle taut.

 "Not yet. Not here, not like this." He waved around at the
ancient dusty rubble and grim rock walls. "Just a little
longer."

 "Here," he said at last, pausing before a blank wall. "Here
it lies." His hands wove a spell and the wall dissolved to
reveal the entrance to an ancient shrine. In the midst stood
a statue of the god, hammer in hand, poised above an
adamantium anvil.

 "By my blood, Ephen, I bid you wake! Moraelyn's heir of
Ebonheart am I, last of the royal kin, sharer of thy blood.
At Morrowind's last need, with all elvendom in peril of
their souls, release to me that which thou guardst! Now do I
bid thee strike!"

 At his words the statue stirred and quickened, and the blank
stone eyes glowed red. The massive head nodded, and the
hammer smote the anvil, which split asunder with a
thunderous crash, and the stone god himself crumbled.
Barenziah clapped her hands over her ears and crouched down,
crying aloud. Nightingale strode boldly forward and
clasped what lay among the ruins with a cry of ecstasy,
lifting it high.

 "Someone's coming!" Barenziah cried. "Wait, that's not the
Horn, it -- it's a staff!"

 "Indeed, my dear, you see truly, at last!" Nightingale
laughed aloud, then -- "I'm sorry, my darling, that I must
leave you now. Perhaps we'll meet again one day. Until then
-- ah, until then, Symmachus," he said to the mail clad
figure who'd appeared behind them, "she's yours."

 "No!" Barenziah sprang up and ran toward him, but he was
gone -- winked out of existence -- just as Symmachus, sword
drawn, reached him. His blade cleaved a single stroke through
empty air, then he stood as still as if he'd taken the stone
god's place. Barenziah said nothing, nothing, nothing...

 Symmachus told the half dozen elves who had accompanied him
to say only that Nightingale and the queen had lost their
way, and had been set upon by spiders. Nightingale had
fallen into a deep crevice that closed upon him. His body
could not be recovered. The queen had been badly shaken by the
encounter and deeply mourned the loss of the friend, who
had fallen in her defense. Such was his power of command
that the slack-jawed soldiers, none of whom had caught more
than a glimpse of the event, were half-convinced that it was
true.

 Barenziah was escorted above and taken to her chamber where
she dismissed her servants and sat stunned, too shaken even
to weep. Symmachus stood watching her.

 "Do you have any idea what you have done?" he said finally.

 "You should have told me," Barenziah whispered, "The Staff
of Unity and Chaos! I never dreamed it lay here. He said--" A
mewling moan escaped her lips and she doubled over in
agony. "What have I done? What now? What's to become of
me?"

 "You loved him?"

 "Yes, yes, yes. Oh, may the gods have mercy on me, I did
love him."

 Symmachus hard-lined face softened slightly and his eyes
glittered with a new light, and he sighed softly. "Ahhh, that's
something then. You will become a mother if it's within my
power. As for the rest, my dear, I expect you have loosed a
storm upon the land. It'll be awhile yet in the brewing.
When it comes we'll weather it together." He stripped her
clothing from her and carried her to the bed. Out of grief and
longing, her body responded to his as never before, pouring
forth all that Nightingale had woken in her. She was emptied,
and then filled, for a child was planted and grew within
her. As the babe grew in her womb, so did her feeling for
patient faithful Symmachus, rooted in long friendship and
affection, now at last ripen into the fullness of true
love. Eight years later their love was blessed again with a
little daughter.

 Directly after Nighingale's theft of the staff Symmachus
had sent secret messages to Uriel Septim of the matter, but
had not gone himself, choosing rather to stay with Barenziah
during her fertile period and father the child upon her. For
this, and for the theft, he suffered Uriel Septim's disfavor
and suspicion. Spies were sent in search of the thief but
Nighingale seemed to have vanished whence he'd come, wherever
that was.

 "Dark elf, in part, perhaps," said Barenziah, "but part
human, too, I think, in disguise, else would I not have come
so quickly to fertility."

 "Part dark elf, for sure, of ancient R'Aathim lineage, else
he could not have freed the staff," Symmachus reasoned,
"and I think he would have lain with thee. As elf he did not
dare, for then he would not have been able to part with thee.
He knew the Staff lay there, not the Horn, and that he must
teleport to safety, for the Staff is not a weapon that
would have seen him clear, unlike the horn. Praise the gods he
hath not that! It seems all was as he expected, yet how did he
know? I placed it there myself, with the aid of the rag-tail
end of the R'Aathim clan who now sits king in Ebonheart as a
reward. Tiber Septim claimed the Horn, but left the Staff
for safe-keeping. Nightingale can use the Staff to sow seeds
of strife and dissension, if he wishes, yet that alone will
not gain him power. That lies with the Horn and the ability to
use it."

 "I'm not so sure it's power that Nighingale seeks,"
Barenziah said.

 "All seek power," Symmachus retorted, "each in our own
way."

 "I have found what I sought," Barenziah said. 
