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bitchwhoreofastorm · 5 years

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the nord tongues are called to war

And Nerevar intended to stay with Dumac all night, that first night of the War with the Nords, that first night after he looked Hoag Mer-Killer in the eye and demanded his people’s freedom. He intended to leap into the chaos of it all; he wanted blood and glory, and the thrill of meticulous plans. But just after midnight Almalexia came and took his hand and took him away.

The answers she gave him were vague, when he asked what she was doing, only telling him that there was something he ought to see for himself. He pressed for answers but received none, yet was unwilling to fight her. So they ended up on the stronghold roof.

The moons were high in the sky, which was clear and pristine, and the night was cold.

The council with the Nord chieftains and its declaration had been not far to the north. The official challenge, such a thing of honour not even Hoaga would have dared to break it with bloodshed; in the end the wary companies had met at a point between Ebonheart and Mournhold, beneath two wrestling stone colossi called, fittingly, the Brothers of Strife. After the charade– Nerevar demanding the departure of the Nords, and Hoaga’s predictable refusal, and the declaration of war– the Chimer had departed south. And they had reached the fort at Serk after sunset, and Nerevar had been persuaded to let them stay the night.

That he had to be persuaded was a sore betrayal of his impatience. Nerevar was restless, and keen for war, and anxious, and the last place he wanted to be at midnight was standing on a wall and holding his wife-to-be’s hand.

Almalexia’s attention was not on him at all, either; her eyes were turned north, and she wore a frown.

“It should be starting, soon,” she told him. “It happens near midnight, or so I’ve been told. I’ve only ever heard it once.”

“And what is it,” asked Nerevar, “That’s so important for me to see?”

“To hear,” said Almalexia. “And it’s important that you hear it, and that you understand what you’ve brought upon yourself. You’re going to hear the Nords be called to war.”

The solemnity of her expression, her eyes now turned on him, caused Nerevar to bite back his words. So they stood, hand in hand, in silence, in the cold night air, watching the north.

“Any moment,” Almalexia murmured after a while, “At any moment…”

A harsh crack rolled through the air towards them. At first Nerevar thought a volcano had erupted; the sound was a prolonged rumble, like thunder but lasting far too long for thunder, slow to creep over the landscape as it was. He heard Almalexia gasp, and then that gasp was lost as the sound came crawling over them, shaking his bones. And he realised that the sound was words, two words:

“EVGIR UNSLAAD.”

It trailed off, crawling past them, and their stronghold was silent once more. “Season unending,” Almalexia murmured. “The Nordic term for war.”

Another deep crack came, oozing once more over the landscape as if thunder were thick as honey. This time Nerevar was able to instantly recognise the words in the cursed voice: “HOAGA THU'UM.”

“Hoaga shouts,” Almalexia translated for him. “And now he waits for an answer.”

Nerevar squeezed her hand. “Tell me about him, my Queen.”

“They call him Hoaga Mer-Killer. He rules them, though he’s not the strongest. Mer-killer– he loves death, worships it. Necromancer. Do not think he hates our kind, Nerevar. He seeks only a reason to shed blood and make corpses, any reason. Even his banner is a skull. And his thu'um… his thu'um is necromancy, he animates the dead. I’ve seen it– it’s grotesque, and so is he.”

“And he is their King.”

“Yes, though as I said, he’s not their strongest. He has more tolerance for the politics of Skyrim than most and by that alone he rules them. He believes…”

A voice roared from the north. Unlike Hoaga’s, this could be mistaken for nothing but a voice: smooth, rich, as loud as if it’d been spoken in the ears, it swelled over the land like a wave. And the words were heavy and distinct: “CHEMUA BO.”

Nerevar felt Almalexia’s hand spasm, but she laughed, softly. “Chemua comes. Yes, of course he would answer first. If he were capable of love, he loves Hoaga.” Her eyes went to Nerevar’s face. “So the cruellest of the Tongues has joined the cause against you.”

“Against us. Crueler than Mer-Killer? That doesn’t bode well–”

A voice from the west, loud and slightly musical, even festive, seeming to spring over the ashy landscape like a young bard after too much drink. “BHAG AHRK BHAG ALOK.”

“Bhag and Bhag arise,” Almalexia frowned.

“Is that bad?” asked Nerevar.

“No, but it is strange. I know little of him, other than that he doesn’t care for politics or ruling. He doesn’t even attend Kragenmoor, which is his seat. I wonder why he…”

Nerevar squeezed her hand. “What of Chemua? You seem worried about him.”

“I am worried. Nerevar, mark my words, you must kill him first.”

“I would think the better target to be Mer-Killer.”

“If you think death is the worst thing the Nords can do to us, you’re naive. Chemua is nothing like Hoaga. He is worse, far worse."

Her hand was slack in his as she continued: "Hoaga, at least, has the mercy to end his victims with axe or sword. A direct death. But such coarse slaughter bores Chemua. No, he… He thinks he’s more clever than that. He prefers hunger. Induced famines. Blighted crops, high taxes. Coercion. Fear. That is how he is– indirect, subtle like a plague is.

“No, he won’t kill our soldiers, but he’ll summon an acid rain to destroy food and melt cities. He will not kill us, but he’ll back us into a corner, and take away from us every choice but death.”

Nerevar watched her in the moonlight.

“He’s a poison,” Almalexia said softly. “That is his Voice, poison. He takes all that is good and life-giving, turns it rotten and evil. Saltrice to ash, rain to bile. And his home was Deshaan.” She shut her eyes, brow furrowed. “It’s no surprise to me that in becoming a Tongue he learned to destroy saltrice. All that grows close to him he learns to blight.”

“… And yet you lived with him for many years.”

“Most of my life.”

“Almalexia, if you wish–”

“You must kill him first, Nerevar. You must.”

Nerevar released her hand, but wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close.

“I understand,” he murmured to her, gentle, “You wish me to kill him for what he’s done to you and your city.”

“What?” Almalexia looked up at him, with a strange expression.

“Because he–”

“No. Nerevar, have you been listening to me? You must kill him before he destroys the nation’s food supply.”

“Ah.”

“You can’t wage a war if you have nothing to feed your troops, Nerevar. Are you dense?”

“You’re right, you’re right.”

“They’ll send him straight to Deshaan to destroy the fields. If that happens our cause is doomed–”

“I know, Almalexia! I’m a fool– I thought you were finally opening up to me.”

“You thought this an intimate moment? While listening to the Nord muster? Really?”

“The prospect of bloodshed makes one’s own blood run hot, my Queen, and I’m but a– what did you call me?– an ash-laden caravanasi simpleton?”

“Insolent man!”

And for a while they stood, arms around each other, in silence.

Ominous silence– no more thu'um came.

“You said you heard this once before,” Nerevar finally said.

Almalexia nodded. “In the early years of my reign, yes. Olaf sent a fleet down to try and take Ebonheart. Were you in Morrowind?”

“In Veloth? I don’t think so.”

“In Veloth. Hoaga summoned Chemua with the same thu'um, to fend off Ysabel the Pale Heart. It was at midnight then, too. The moons make their thu'um–”

“EVGIR UNSLAAD,” echoed Hoaga’s voice across the plains. “WO THU'UM.”

“… Season unending, who shouts?” Almalexia looked to Nerevar, and he saw that her eyes were wide, and there was some genuine excitement on her face. “Of course. Nerevar, he’s only had two replies. Only two. Perhaps–”

“EVGIIR UNSLAAD,” boomed the beautiful rich voice from the north. “TINVAAK BARFOK.”

And something high and clear flew in from the south, swooping between them like an eagle, a voice on wings and wielding spears. A woman’s voice, smooth and heart-breaking for all its beauty, crystalline:

“ZU'U ALOK ARHK BO DO HI–

ZU'U LOVAAS MOROKEI.”

It had been a song, two sweet refrains of a chilling song. Nerevar shuddered, but Almalexia fell against his chest and laughed. “Ah, that’s Barfok,” she said to him, seeming almost giddy with fear. “She sang! Did you hear it? I’ve never heard her song. ‘I rise and fly to you, I sing gloriously.’ She did not even announce her name. How arrogant.”

“I… I’ve never heard one sing.”

“They do, sometimes. Barfok is known for it. To tell you the truth, I’m not entirely certain what her thu'um can do. She’s a mind-taker, but so are Hoaga and Chemua, so I can’t imagine her reputation comes from that.”

“Why does she sing?”

“I’m not sure… arrogance, probably. Most of what I know of her is from Chemua. Her thu'um is uniquely strong, though I don’t know how. He told me that she’s proud and capricious, that she revels in chaos but has little ambition of her own.”

That sweet song from the south picked up again, soaring far above them, high and cold like a howling wind. “TINVAAK YSMIR!”

Almalexia squeezed his arm. “Speak, Ysmir.” She paused. “And Barfok is Ysmir’s protege, so she must be very strong indeed.”

Nerevar peered out from the wall. “But he’s not replied?”

“I think we’ll know when he does.”

“So, that’s four. Four Tongues against us.”

“And four corners in the House of Troubles.”

And before he could speak, another voice came–

Not a voice, but a rumble, a heaving of the earth, as if Nirn were convulsing against her shackles. It travelled a great distance to meet them, rolling in from the distant north yet was so strong that both Almalexia and Nerevar staggered.

That voice was powerful. Those words were more striking than anything Nerevar had ever heard.

It had a pulse.

Almalexia was saying something, or her lips moved as such, but Nerevar heard no words. A heartbeat filled his ears and his bones writhed in his flesh. He wrenched himself away from her and stepped back. The voice faded but the pulse became deafening; it was outside him, but within him, and beneath his feet, and inside the stronghold, and the very air vibrated with it. And it was agonising, it filled him with a sense of loss more profound and painful than he’d ever known. He pressed his hand to his eyes, and then to his heart, and was shocked to find his chest had not been ripped open by the mournful sound.

“… Mansedaan,” Almalexia was saying. The heartbeat began to fade from his ears. When Nerevar opened his eyes once more he saw that she was looking to the north again. “That must be Ysmir. He said mansedaan– that’s 'Doom Drum’, Lorkhan, Shor’s heart.”

Nerevar’s head was throbbing. “Lorkhan. Ah.”

"Yes, Lorkhan. Ysmir worships Lorkhan– Shor in their language. And Shor’s heart. Of course he’d call on him during the muster…”

"Is that what that heartbeat was?”

Almalexia turned around, frowning. “What heartbeat?”

Something in her expression made him bite his tongue. The pulse still echoed in his ears, heavy and sad, tugging at his own heart. “It’s nothing. My own nerves, that’s all, I’m sure.”

Almalexia walked forwards and reached up, briefly touching his cheek, before drawing back, as if embarrassed. “Ysmir’s thu'um is strong. He is the strongest of them, it’s natural to be caught off-guard by it. Sometimes hearing their Voices can disorient the mind. There are ways around it, meditation techniques, that the old Jarl taught to me. I can teach you…”

She trailed off, and looked away from him. Still the heartbeat in Nerevar’s ears hurt him, and still he wished to be with Dumac in the stronghold, planning a war, dreaming of battle, but here they stood on the roof and Almalexia looked so unlike the Queen he’d known thusfar, small and sheepish with her eyes averted and wringing her hands.

“I’m sorry,” she was saying, “They’re our enemies, perhaps I shouldn’t…”

He reached out and took her hands in his own. “But Boethiah could not have defeated the Altmer without wearing Trinimac’s skin, just as you did. You may talk to me about it, I’ll listen.”

So Almalexia sat down with him, her hands in his, and told him for the first time of her childhood, and all she knew about the Nords, all things that would help him in his war. Throughout the night the air boomed with voices answering the call to war; they weren’t afraid.

#this is a vent fic and no amount of working on it is going to make it actually good so have it as it is. goodnight #five nord demons #fic

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