#I will miss you naemon | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ayrennaranaaldmeri · 2 years

Note

ESO!

TY JESS! ✨ blorbo: It’s a tie between Miss Queen Aryenn Arana Aldmeri bc who else could I say with this url lool & of course, Abnur Tharn, imperial grand chancellorbo. scrunkly: GIBLETS. @ zos implement a feature that lets the player adopt him HE FOLLOWS THEM ACROSS A WHOLE REGION. also Mirri bc she is sweet and I will protect. scrimblo bimblo: High King Emeric. I just find him delightful, you get to witness his nightmares and inner depresso. Man straight up dies and you have to save him again. & he has some great lines. "Of course. I am a veritable treasure trove of useless information, and I love to share." But also shout out to Aranais because her questline is WONDERFUL. glup shitto: Rigurt the Brash. Again, just delightful. Is it even an ESO zone if he’s not there to form diplomatic relations. poor little meow meow: Naemon? zos has tried family turning on family a lot since then but none of it hit like Ayrenn and Naemon. And Veya goes without saying bc her fate just gave me depresso lol. Don’t trust Raz with your kids, lads. horse plinko: MANNIMARCO. Like honestly is there anyone it could be funnier to torment than Mannimarco. He would take the bait every time, he would make it so easy and entertaining, he’ll seethe but he’ll never learn. eeby deeby: Jakarn but that might be a temporary feeling bc he may be more tolerable in the new chapter. Sombren?? I think that’s his name, from the Blackwood chapter because he really was a walking husk of a character, there was absolutely nothing interesting about him, he was so empty from start to finish and was the king of the unforgivable crime of just being absolutely boring and empty.

#answered #ty again!#ask games #tbh a lot of blackwood npcs lowkey sucked #lyranth carried that whole dlc on her back but how much can she carry #I have to restrain myself bc darien and verandis are also my blorbos #and there are so may side chars i could talk about #but lmfao re: naemon #its almost like actually getting to know the character before they become your final boss is better #than having a suspicious char act suspiciously and barely talk to you before they turn evil #and like ally turning against you hasn't been done that well since Kurog either.

2 notes · View notes

theelderkittens · 4 years

Text

Title: The Endless War 1/?

Pairing: Female Altmer Vestige & Estre

Rating: 16+ please, minor depictions of violence, implied/referenced assault. there is talk of death, murder and minor depictions of gore.

Summary: Estre meets the Vestige, again, on the Cliffs of Failure.

After the first dozen rounds, Estre gave up counting. There was no real purpose to it, other than the vague hope that Naemon might have, slightly, cared about her enough to find and save her. Maybe, if she had been more affectionate, or humble, or attentive, or less prickly on her bad days. She catches herself wondering what day it must be. Fredas, she hopes, because Naemon allows loved their afternoon walks on Fredas. Or Morndas, because she loved waking up with him and gossiping about the who’s and whys while they held hands; she hopes he remembers them like that too.

But she is glad he’s not here. It means she can pretend he’s alright and that he wasn’t implicated in anything she did.

“When I am victorious,” She repeats at Thallik, mind wondering back now that they’re in the most exciting part of the conversation, “and you grovel before me, I will remind you of this moment and how wrong you were.”

Thallik is a simple creature. He is, like all men, consumed by want and violence. That which Ayrenn thought to bring to the Isles has manifested in Thallik like it has in every fictional horror she’s ever read. He lunges when he thinks she isn’t expecting it; brutish hands seeking her neck like a clairvoyance spell poorly cast. She yelps, reservedly she assures herself, bringing her palms up. Still, she’s knocked back.

Her shock spell makes it worth the small indignation, even if the front of her dress has dirt stains on it now. Estre wipes her nose and hates herself for jumping at the sparks that tickle her nose.

Because its her, golden and stout and wearing a bright, burning blue. She hates being seen with such an unseemly stain on the front of her dress.

…

“Isn’t my court jester just dashing?”

Valinnaire’s gaze never wonders from the battlefield. Her hairs cropped enough to brush against her chin, and it drags out the harsh, hawkish features of her face. Despite the starved, withered look she’s gained, humour dances along her expression, plain as ever, “I’ve no interest in shadow puppets any longer.”

“Well, Auri-El strike me blind, I didn’t realise you were ancient,” Estre scoffs, “Aren't you going to ask me why I’ve graced you with my presence?”

“I thought you’d monologue long enough to get to that.”

“Honestly! I come here to thank you and you insult me. What have I ever done—”

“—Stop stalling, kinlady.”

She freezes mid gesture. She never thought she would miss those old toady Firsthold bureaucrats but at least they appreciated her performance. Her killer didn’t even try; no sly leaning in, or tilt of the head, nor even a hand clasped around another! Valinnaire stands stiff as a statue, shoulders even, hands loose and stance ready to jump into action.

“You know, monologuing is one of my best features,” She pouts, crossing her arms, “The Observer thought you’d be dead by now, not running around saving everyone.”

“What does that matter?” Valinnaire asks in breezy altmeris, hand resting casually on the hilt of her scabbard.

“Because this is a team game,” Estre enunciates each word clearly, “and he won’t let you run around like a headless imp for much longer. Outside of your spy games, organisation has proper structure.”

Valinnaire gives her an amused, scolding look and she can’t help the upwards quirk her lips give. “Let me guess, ‘we are not so different you and I?’”

She gestured vaguely, “If you want to put it that way. But I really must attend to poor, dear Relmus. Think about an alliance between us two tall powerful creatures.”

…

“So,” She throws in her most polite smile, flipping her little flame ball between her hands, “you return unscathed. The hero of the cliffs, one might say.”

Valinnaire raised a hand, “A moment before you start, thank you.”

Her armour looks as beaten as the sad fabric Estre still calls a dress is, three deep gouges slashing the links of her chainmail through her cuirass. Gore coats one of her legs like paint, reeking of half eaten meat and open innards, dragging down onto the floor like blood. Maybe it is blood rather than stomach acid, and maybe it isn’t reeking of open stomach but instead of iron and maybe they aren’t out in the open. Maybe it’s a cave and its her feet bleeding and the Seducers are getting closer, more eager, more—

“Why a sailor’s braid?” Valinnaire asks. She doesn’t even notice that her flame is now in Valinnaire’s hands.

“I— what?”

“Your hair is done in a Direnni style braid and fastened into a bun, which is a style that was first brought to the Isles by Balfieran sailors. Its not typical among the nobility, why do you wear it?”

“It’s not like I have much of a choice.” She snaps.

And hates the patient smile she’s given, “It’s crooked, is all.” Valinnaire tilts her head. Estre squints in return, one hand flying to her hair in a moment of pure, unadulterated vanity. its fine, a little too messy but perfectly aligned.

Valinnaire offers the flame, glowing green and blue and purple, the colours reflected in the clear shining amber of her eyes. “I would pledge myself to help you leave this place alongside the mages, Estre.”

What irony. The one mer she wanted, more than anything, to swap places with in this bleak place is now her one chance of escape. It seems good, too good, and too good is always impossible. Yet…

She takes the flame.

#i know shes pretty much irredemable but i love her and will never stop #high kinlady estre #my writing #elder scrolls online #female altmer vestige #oc: valinnaire of sunhold

1 note · View note

naernon · 5 years

Text

real sorry to drag this stuff out but it’s still been on my mind. this is a sequel to the Gay/Trans Anger in my initial post before the addition.(im including the addition in the link because it’s a solid read)

I really do want anyone who thinks the altmer is homophobic to look me in the eye and say what they think of the lesbian couple in the house of reveries. wowie-- them being married sure is an awfully casual drop for two people living in a society that you think is hetero-normative and/or more overtly homophobic.

other forms of oppression in the TES universe and how they manifest are usually remarked upon in ESO-- interracial couples usually note on the troubles they face, sometimes quests are even focused on them and whatever issues arise from them being together. some characters remark on racism they face. i havent played much orsinium but i’m willing to bet there’s a lot of talk among any women orcs about the misogyny they face.

but homophobia is conveniently missing. we see gay couples in, as far as i know, most of the provinces in the game, and yet... no talk of homophobia or mistreatment over it! none at all! funny, that. i wonder what that could mean.

it’s almost as if societies in tamriel aren’t homophobic.

and yes, this all means that i don’t consider the altmer and their arranged marriage system to be heteronormative. heteronormativity to such a degree is homophobia, so i’d figure as much. i doubt all altmer couples even in summerset are arranged marriages, anyways, but if trans people are casually accepted in tamriel that throws a solid wrench and confusion into any supposed male/female-only arranged marriage system and quickly makes it so trans people are not casually accepted... meaning no, that wouldn’t make sense. it’s contradictory to what we already know.

and since a cherished headcanon of mine is trans male prince naemon (who was arranged to be married to high kinlady estre who i don’t think would be trans too and personally don’t HC as such. high kinlady cistre), altmeri arranged marriages being heteronormative and thus cisnormative-- assuming that systematic m/f marriage is based on the idea of reproductive ability even though m/m and f/f couples can very well have biological children-- fucks with me a lot and completely invalidates the idea. so ill go off about it.

you just can’t have that system be heteronormative and forcing of marriage upon a man and a woman if trans people are in it, too, and casually accepted. any man and any woman dealt with can be trans, and that quickly results in couples with the same reproductive system-- yeah, maybe they’re straight, but you run into the same argument that people may use against cis gay couples, except now it’s with a male and a female, one of which are trans, meaning a kid can’t naturally come from the union.

“well maybe they go along with it and just arrange marriages based on gender assigned at birth and the reproductive abilities that come with it” that’s stupid, makes no sense, and also means you’d find same gender couples. because that’d result in trans women getting with cis women and trans men getting with cis men. m/m couples and f/f couples.

saying a fictional society has such a heteronormative system as forcing ONLY men and women to get married runs into a lot of issues when you realize it’s supposed to NOT be homophobic, and it runs into a thousand more issues when you realize the casual acceptance of trans people and lack of transphobia is a thing, even among the same nobles (alchemy and her sister) that the arranged marriage system would likely affect somewhere down the line.

take that as you will. considering altmeri society is centuries old and is probably the most magically advanced in tamriel, i don’t think using magic to use surrogates and the like to create biologically-related children for couples who otherwise can’t produce them is beyond possibility. maybe that could be a magic connected to mara, the goddess of fertility and love. or maybe children aren’t mandatory from the union at all, whatever, i havent sorted through every single bit of information from ESO that we’ve gotten about altmeri arranged marriages. go wild :)

but either way, altmer being LGBT-accepting (read this post for a lot of elaboration on why the altmer are LGBT-accepting + how we have no evidence to the contrary) and having an arranged marriage system that only results in male and female couples is a mutually-exclusive idea.

TLDR; i wavered from my point. read the aforementioned post for a much more solid argument (as far as lore goes) against altmeri homophobia.

but essentially the altmer (!!or any societies in tamriel!!) aren’t homophobic and transphobic and as we’ve already proved time and time again, trying to say otherwise is stupid. thank you. if you hate them, hate them for more established reasons. with the altmer. there are many, let’s be real

#ramblings #long post #altmer #goode morning everyone im sorry for the long scroll ghufbdfh

7 notes · View notes

incapacitating-strike · 6 years

Text

The drapes of the bed were a deep navy blue. The crushed velvet held flecks of gold stitching, woven through the rich fabric to resemble stars.

It hung around the bed, encasing it like a cloak, the whisper of the summer sea breeze through the open window setting it adrift.

The gulls cried quietly in the distance, and the hush and lull of the waves lapping at the shore elegantly complemented the entire feeling of the evening.

Brïka laid on top of the bedspread, clad in her linen nightshirt. The breeze drifting over her bare legs was soothing, compared to the hot sun that had beaten down on her in the courtyard that afternoon.

The days had gotten warmer, and with that came an intolerance for heavy bedding or night wear.

Still, the summerset isles were always cool enough at night that blankets under one’s back did not cause excessive perspiration.

Brïka traced the star stitches with her eyes, sleep had evaded her. It was not unusual at this time. It was not pervaded by stress necessarily, nor encumbering thoughts, it felt to be simply a state of being. That is not to say, however, that she found said state entirely pleasing.

Her white teacup sat on the end table next to her elbow. The contents had been a soft dandelion tea, in hopes of calming her body enough to nourish the notion of rest, yet it escaped her.

The Queen had kept her busy that day, so at least this was a moment of time to herself. The hot cobblestone had been a nuisance, and she had to dance swiftly and lightly across the top, her arms adorned with tea trays and pastries. Luckily, the nobility had found the act and its performer, given their hungry and excitable dispositions, graceful in entirety. Call it a second nature, almost. Perhaps if she’d made the switch to sandals, but the soles did not feel right. Luckily, calloused feet were a lifelong companion to her.

Below her window, she heard a door creak open slowly, and the shut with a quiet click. Heels of a pair of boots tapped quietly across the cobblestone outside, and the beat of someone going quickly down the stairs to the shore faded.

The hour was late, it was unlikely one would have a need to go outside at the time.

Brïka swung her legs over the side of the bed, her toes making contact with the ornate rug on the ground.

She moved swiftly to the window, lingering over the edge, her stomach pressed against the windowsill.

The ocean stench hit her nostrils as she gazed out over the quiet night. She could not quite see the sand from where she stood.

Though unusual, her curiosity got the better of her. There must’ve been someone worth her interest, otherwise it would not have bothered her so. Still, it was quite odd.

Making her way back to the bed, she pulled on some pants, buttoning the front as she opened her door quietly, and began down the stairs to the outside door.

The corridor was quiet as she made her way to the exit. Not a door was left open, and even the servants rooms were still.

She pushed open the door to the patio, and was met by a warm rush of air.

Down the stairs and to the beach.

The imprints in the sand led to a most unexpected sight. It was worth her time.

Prince Naemon stood where the water met the sand. In his hand he held a bottle of wine, definitely expensive, and his other rested at his side.

His eyes were soft as he gazed out over the water.

Brïka turned invisible, a chill prickling down her skin.

She headed very quietly to him, appearing at his arm.

“Alone so late at night, my lord?”

He turned to her in surprise, the bottle almost slipping from his hand.

“Ms. Malorn!” He regained his composure, the look of bewilderment disappearing almost as quickly as it came. He turned back to the water.

“I’ve... much on my mind tonight.” He admitted quietly, uncorking the bottle and taking a long swig.

Of course she knew what he meant. She would be the blindest of fools to not know what he meant. They had only recently returned to Auridon’s port after Estre’s death. Though the betrayal clearly had his mind swimming, it must’ve been easier to accept than that she had been a murderer, and used her fanaticism to justify it. No, it was easier to say a demon had a hold on her. Daedric worshipper. Traitor to the Dominion. Almost Queen. His wife.

Murderer, that’s what she’d been.

And in turn so had Brïka.

Her hands, stained crimson as she had stepped out of the daedric gate, flecks of blood plastered across her face like makeup. Harrowing, the sight of her, like a spectre out of a graveyard. Hand of death, walking like the people bowed before her.

Who’s blood was that? Drenched in the red of another’s body. He could not look away. His sister reached out and touched his arm.

“Little brother.”

His heel ground in the sand. Brïka lightly grazed his arm with her nails. He froze, watching her fingers, delicate, expecting them to be bloodstained. The expectation was not met.

He shook his head, plucking the memory up and tucking it away.

“Forgive me, Malorn. Had I known I’d be drinking in company, I’d have brought glasses.” He scoffed at his own manners, offering her the bottle. Drinking, on the beach, with the Queen’s eye. His sister’s alleged handmaiden. Wife killer. Stranger things had happened, he hoped?

Knowing better than to refuse, Brïka gently took it from him and took a small sip. Red wine. Sharp. Distinctly sweet and fruitful.

She passed it back. He took another drink. She noted the bottle was only about half-full. Quite a lot for one man to drink. Naemon’s jaw held tension, he seemed to be grinding his teeth.

He side-eyed her, and had she not already been staring intently, she would’ve missed the tips of his ears flush.

“Had I known, Malorn, had I known.” He furrowed his eyebrows, raising the bottle, “For the glory of the Dominion.”

The cynicism was hard to miss in his voice. She did not expect him to be entirely pleased with her.

He took the longest drink yet, and practically thrust the bottle into her arms. His hands trembled.

Brïka stooped and set it in the sand, grabbing the cork from where he had dropped it in the sand.

“Tell me, Malorn, why is it always you who comes for me?”

Brïka pursed her lips, corking the bottle firmly, “It’s my job, my lord.”

Not entirely false. Moreover, it was her job for the Queen, but Ayrenn was as capable a women as they came. A smile graced her features. Genuine, confident.

Brïka had always been the first to his side when conflict struck. Too quick for anyone else to match. On more than one occasion, cutting through the slight gap where Estre was at his elbow. Almost knocking her aside. To anyone else, it could’ve been blamed on the nessecity of haste.

A drunk patron at a party, and she’d instantly been between both of them, knocking the man’s fists aside and parrying blows.

She had not missed the look of unadulterated spite from the lady, she simply acted like she had, and tended to the Prince when the brute was too tired to continue.

“Perhaps you need to be hiring better staff.” She prodded at him. His eyes narrowed, watching her slowly stand up and straighten out her blouse, flicking away grains of sand from her fingers. She knew she held his attention.

Her’s alone.

“You seem capable enough, Queen’s favorite.” He prodded right back. Yes, she was entirely efficient. He knew this.

She closed the distance, suddenly, in a flash of red miasma, as she always did. It looked and swirled around her feet. The air smelled distinctly of iron.

Nightblade. Handmaiden-no, that was a facade. Assassin.

The image of a viper flashed through his head.

“You’ve wine on your chin, Naemon.” Her thumb flicked the liquid away from directly under his lip. His blood ran hot. There was nothing in her face he could read.

His hand swiftly caught her wrist, “Your hands are always stained red.”

She dug her toes into the sand. Her fingers, the tiny drop of liquid on her thumb. She dug them into her palm.

Estre. Estre. Estre. She was dead.

His wife, cold and dead.

A blood stained hand, covered by a sleeve, serving him daffodil tea in a white-gold cup. The dish was stained.

Amber meeting amber. His light eyes meeting her dark ones. Distinctly Bosmer. Everything about her seemed to writhe and twist around him, yet she was utterly still.

Their eyes did not break contact.

He felt his head swim, the drink was hitting him now. He saw none of that in her.

A viper about to strike.

“Why is it always you, Malorn?”

He searched her eyes, but found them lacking anything he would’ve expected. Anything he himself was familiar with.

In all his dealings with nobility-in all his experiences, he’d never seen this.

She was truly noble, she held herself that way, yet, to him, there was an element of facade. Something new.

Love? Definitely not.

Devotion?

Malice? No, they were devoid of that entirely.

This was something entirely new.

Something only for him.

Not even Estre ever held an expression for him like that.

“I know what you do.” He took her arm, spun her about, and led her into a sort of waltz, his chest almost but not quite touching her back. Brïka responded quickly, her feet moving to help carry them both across the sand.

She was elegant like he’d never known. Poised, her every move oh so carefully chosen.

The twist of her muscles as she moved, the flash of her throat as she breathed, and even how the snakes imprinted on her skin seemed to swirl about as she moved.

“If you did, you’d find we are more alike than you know.” Brïka turned her wrist and intertwined her fingers with his. His skin prickled with gooseflesh.

They spun, once, twice, and a third time. He let her spin away from him, and then snapped her back into his chest. Here he was, dancing on the beach in a stupor with the women who cut his wife open.

No, that had truly been your sister. Your sister drove that blade to Estre, her words killed your beloved.

Perhaps it was the drink, but he found himself quite close to Brïka, and quite content with it.

“I know you before I know anyone else.” He whispered, her head tilting so she could look up at him. They had slowed to a sway, her hand now back in his, his other on her waist.

This Bosmer-this creature was bold, daring, enticing. Even in her fighting, as she moved she was a being of utmost precision. That adaptability, the cunning placement she carried, her every message she wanted conveyed clearly spoken.

He stopped moving with her. That look held him in place. It held him in place and lit a fire under him.

That damned look again.

The one that only he owned, the one only she ever gave him.

“Then you know no one.”

Her response sent a spike of dread to his core.

Her voice was barely above a hiss.

No malice, no love.

#my stories #prince naemon #brïka #eso

2 notes · View notes

madam-whim · 3 years

Note

7 for helca :vibecheck:

“I promise”, the little boy said as he pulled his friend closer.

Ayrenn had run off once again, leaving her brother behind. “You are not even two years younger than she is. That is not much, and out of the two of you, you are the responsible one”, was what one of their teachers had said. It’s your fault, you should have stopped her, was what Naemon had heard, and what the teacher had meant, disapproval clear on his face. As if it was Naemon’s responsibility to keep his sister in check. As if he hadn’t begged her not to go, or at least to take him along with her, just this once. But Ayrenn would vanish for days at a time, making their parents sick with worry, and not once had she told him where she’d been. She was still taller than him, could outrun him easily, and whenever she tried to follow her, he’d lose her eventually, her laughter still ringing in his ears. And yet, he could never bring himself to alert their parents when he caught her sneaking away. It always ended the same, anyway. With Naemon taking the blame for Ayrenn’s disappearance, and once she came back, everyone was too relieved over the safe return of the crown princess to be cross with her.

It wasn’t fair, Naemon thought. But he knew that Ayrenn was more important than he was – she was the heir, and people would always see it that way. He understood why. It was fine. Just like it was fine for his sister to leave him behind whenever she pleased, even though he never understood why she did it. Maybe he’d slow her down too much, or maybe she thought he was just a coward, too scared to really follow her on one of her adventures. It hurt to think about it too much. Sometimes, it was bad enough that he couldn’t stop the tears.

The first time Helcarion had caught him crying over being left behind once more, he’d been horrified. He’d been told to keep his emotions to himself, especially the bad ones. But Helcarion had never been angry with him for it. He had simply told him that crying was alright, and that they were only children, and that not talking about what made them sad was utterly stupid. And then he’d hugged him. Just like he was doing now, with Naemon clinging to him. “I promise”, Helcarion whispered, even though they were alone and nobody could hear them. “I won’t ever leave you behind. You’re my best friend. I’ll always be there for you when it matters.”

“I promise”, Helcarion, now sixteen, repeated.

The princess hadn’t come back this time, and suddenly, everything had become too much. Naemon was heir to the throne now, without the luxury of several years to settle into the role. He’d always been the spare, the backup plan, and now, he was left with no clue how to handle all of it. But then again, he still had Helcarion. They were still as inseparable as they had been as small children, even if Naemon had forced himself to grow somewhat more distant. Not that it ever did anything to scare his friend away – Helcarion probably knew him better than he knew himself. He was not alone in this, he knew. His friend didn’t hug him anymore, didn’t touch him at all, really, but his presence was as comforting as ever, as were his words. “I promise I’ll still be there, no matter what”, he’d said, and Naemon allowed himself to believe him. He had no reason not to.

Helcarion was just… always there. There to help him through his grief when he’d realized Ayrenn was gone for good this time. To help him adjust to the new situation life had thrown him in, even if he didn’t like all of the things it entailed. Like his upcoming engagement to a young lady named Estre. He’d never met her before and would have much preferred someone he already knew, but his parents thought it to be an ideal match, and so he had not protested. There had been a strange look in Helcarion’s eyes for just a moment when he’d shared the news, one that Naemon couldn’t decipher. It had been gone before he could even think to ask what was wrong, replaced by his friend’s usual kind smile, and somehow, Naemon convinced himself he’d just imagined it. He needed things to be fine right now.

“He promised”, Naemon muttered, not knowing what he’d done wrong.

Helcarion had left on some expedition with the Mages Guild. He’d told him he might be gone for a year, perhaps more. Naemon had known, of course, that the other man wasn’t made for politics, and that he took his magical studies very seriously to make up for it. Why he had chosen the guild instead of the Sapiarchs was beyond him, though. He would have been closer at least, had he chosen that path. But now, Helcarion had left him behind, and he hadn’t told him why. Was it something Naemon had done? Had he finally tired of him? “Ah, not to worry”, Estre said when he eventually confided in her. “You don’t need him anyway. One of my mother’s associates visited the guild hall recently, and it seems Helcarion has made friends with a khajiit, of all people. His parents must be so disappointed. As you should be, by the way. He really isn’t the kind of company you should keep as the future king.”

Naemon wanted to argue, wanted to tell her that Helcarion was the best friend he’d ever had, but then again… Helcarion had gone away, without even telling him how he could reach him. Perhaps he simply didn’t care anymore. It hurt, of course, but there was a chance they’d simply grown distant, and that was that. It happened. Maybe it was better that way as well, since Helcarion seemed to avoid Estre whenever he could, and it made things rather difficult. His wife had long suspected the other mer to hate her, and she had told Naemon so, though she claimed she had no idea why. But she smiled reassuringly at him now, and told him things were going to be just fine, and that he could do fine without Helcarion by his side. “You need someone more trustworthy anyway. Someone who is up to the task of being the king’s right hand. Actually, I have someone in mind already! Pelidil has been so eager to meet you, and I’m sure the two of you would get along splendidly. Would you like me to formally introduce him to you?”, she offered. And Naemon nodded.

“I promised...”, Helcarion sobbed, kneeling on the floor in Elden Root’s throne room.

He didn’t care that half the Dominion elite was watching, didn’t care what King Camoran thought of him. He didn’t want to listen to whatever it was Ayrenn tried to say to him. It was her fault as much as it was his own, anyway. If she’d only appreciated her brother more, included him in her decisions, maybe he would not have felt the need to prove he could be something more. But still, Helcarion couldn’t blame her. She had not made any promises to Naemon. He had. He’d promised to stay with him. To be there when he needed him, even if Helcarion knew Naemon would not, could not love him back.

He should never have left, should not have allowed Estre to drive him away from Naemon’s side with the mocking glances she sent his way while clinging to the prince’s arm, touching him freely in a way Helcarion could only ever dream of, or the cruel words she said to him when Naemon wasn’t close enough to overhear. But Helcarion wasn’t blind, he’d seen how much Naemon adored his wife, and above all else, he’d wanted him to be happy, and so he’d accepted that there was no place for him here any longer. Estre had won, and she would become queen, he had thought. And now she was gone, and the news had taken so long to reach Helcarion that even though he’d dropped everything to try and return to comfort his friend, he’d been too late. Always too late.

“You promised!”, the lich screeched, trying to reach for Helcarion with its clawed hand.

He could not even move. Indaenir had to grab him and haul him backwards, out of range, while Kidhesi threw spell after spell in the direction of what had once been the man Helcarion loved. Everything in him screamed at him to make her stop it, make him try to reason with Naemon. If he could only get through to him – but he’d been told it was impossible. He knew the lich was all the bad parts of Naemon. His rage, his hatred, his arrogance and disdain, with nothing of his beautiful, caring, loyal side left to balance them out. But still – he’d loved all of Naemon, with all of his flaws and fears. He still did, even now.

The lich attempted to claw at his face again, only missing by a mere inch. Kidhesi cursed. “This one knew we should have left him outside!” Helcarion couldn’t make out Indaenir’s answer, but he knew the khajiit was right, he should never have come, he was only in the way, a liability. He would never be able to hurt Naemon, even in this form, and he had been too late to save him. The only thing he’d been able to do was to avenge him, to look Pelidil in the eye as he stabbed him, and tell him that this was for Naemon, even if he could no longer make up for a promise broken too long ago. He’d been to weak then, just as he was now. Now, he could only watch as Kidhesi slowly encased the lich in ice and stepped closer, frozen spikes glittering all around her. “I’m sorry”, he muttered. He could do nothing to save his friend now.

But he could at least be there.

#eso #my writing #oc: helcarion #oc: kidhesi #naemon #ayrenn estre pelidil and indaenir are there too #long post #intya answers #i hate myself rn #em why did you do this to me

9 notes · View notes