It was night now, and darkness wrapped everything in her embrace, as cold as ice, as cold as sharp steel against one’s skin. The sea slapped her hands against the hull of the ship, soft pats of love that rocked the wooden vessel nonetheless. Stars shone brightly in the sky and a soft wind blew through everything around the Breton, wrapped in his wine-red cloak, holding a lantern and daydreaming of a place miles upon miles northward. There was a certain feeling about tonight, something different about the Captain and Adalard. It didn’t feel right, and that’s all Francis knew. Then again, nothing did feel quite right after he left Stros M’kai. A certain sinking feeling in his heart that was only interrupted when Vendel was around. The Nord reminded him of home, of Camlorn, of Wayrest. Two years, two long years and Francis could say that he had accomplished his mission and return to his sister. Maybe he’d find himself a wife, maybe the King of Camlorn’s daughter would be in Wayrest and they would elope together. Maybe he’d grow an extra tongue and Tamriel would sink to the bottom of the sea.

“I suppose you’re lonely out here?” Vendel’s familiar voice came from behind him.

“I suppose you’re right. I’m only happy that we can return home, Vendel,” Francis said with a slight chuckle, “But, in a way, I want to stay out here. Just for a while.”

“On the topdeck?” Vendel asked, scratching his head before replacing his helmet.

“No, no,” Francis laughed, “travelling, Vendel, wandering. We’ve become vagabonds over our lives, criminals, wanted men, Vendel. It was a frightful thing when we ran from Camlorn in fear of the headsman’s block. It was quite something else on N’gasta, wasn’t it?”

“I won’t talk about that place, Francis.” Vendel snapped in short, concise words, looking away and folding his arms.

“I know, Vendel,” Francis’s voice reached a somber tone at the mention of the Isle of N’gasta, “But, you have to admit that it puts it in perspective. In any sane man’s reasoning, we should be dead. You were there, underground with Gorzath and his party, you saw what happened. Everyone died but us. Everyone, Vendel. Any one of them could have been me or you, but it wasn’t, it was them. That’s something else. A second chance. I thought those were to be my last hours, but they weren’t. Do you want to be given more time by whatever God gracious enough to see us through that fucking labyrinth and spend it all living quietly and safe?”

“I suppose that might be his reason, Francis, so we can see our family instead of dying nameless in the dirt of a necromancer’s lair.” Vendel reasoned.

“Any sane man would say that, Vendel. Sane men don’t witness what we did and walk away from it.” Francis looked at Vendel.

Vendel saw Francis in the light of the lantern. It may have been the light playing tricks or the fact that he was tired, but Francis looked disturbed, his eyes much too ponderous, not to mention that he looked less kempt than before. Vendel knew that whatever had happened to Francis after he was separated from the party had affected him. Something had changed within Francis and Vendel didn’t know what to make of it. He didn’t want to bring it up for fear of Francis having an outburst like before, outside of the Mausoleum after they escaped. Besides, he looked much worse, then, so the way he looked now was an improvement. He took solace in that, left it and searched his mind for something to talk about.

“Did you hear we’re bound for Northpoint?” Vendel cursed himself for blurting that out.

Francis was noticeably disturbed by what he had just heard. Northpoint? Why Northpoint? Why in the realms of Oblivion would they be headed to Northpoint when Hilaire was in Wayrest? He did say that he wanted to be out here and on the road, adventuring, though. It wasn’t his place to complain, either, he was on passage on the Golden Gale basically free. Francis looked at Vendel for a few short thoughts before speaking, “Fine.”

“Fine?” Vendel asked.

“We’re going to shore, Vendel. Get a rowboat ready and get us to port, once there, we’ll pay for passage back to Wayrest, friend.” Francis replied.

“You were always a plotter, Francis.” Vendel slapped his friend on the shoulder.

A few minutes after, trying to get the rowboat into the water without letting the rest of the crew know what they were doing, they were finally a few good rows away from the ship. They spent the time in silence for fear of waking anyone with needless noise and the two only spent their time going to shore staring out at the surrounding blackness. The only way for them to guide themselves was to follow the lights of the lanterns and the lighthouse in the distance. It was a long boat ride but before they could dread it, they were halfway there.

“Vendel, about what I said earlier.” Francis spoke, out of the blue.

“Speak nothing of it, my friend. The Mausoleum effected us all, you’re probably still getting your wits about you after such an experience. I know I am.” Vendel laughed.

“That’s not what I meant, Vendel,” Francis said quietly, getting a quizzical stare from his friend, “I won’t be going home with you, Vendel.”

“Francis,” Vendel almost whispered, “Francis, what is this about? Don’t leave, Francis. This is just you in your wrong mind again, like when we finally got out of the Mausoleum.”

“No, Vendel, I am leaving. I want you to tell my sister that I love her, and that I’m being called for great things with the time I have earned back from death.” Francis said.

“You’re a fool, Francis, and that’s something. This is the most foolish thing you’ve done, you know? You should be ashamed of yourself, the way you’re speaking so selfishly-”

“I do mean to return. I mean to return months from now, knowing that I saved Tamriel from something. Knowing that I used my time to become something larger than myself.” Francis said.

“Francis, you’re speaking gibberish that I cannot understand. You should get some rest before you start deciding what you’re to do with your time.” Vendel spoke, matter-of-factly.

“I already have, friend. Goodbye.” Francis said.

Before his friend could react to his words, before he could reply, before he could reach out to grab Francis by the collar and cuff him in the head hard enough to set his mind straight again, the Breton cast himself and Vendel in a light of magicka from his palm, blinding light that Vendel tried to bat away. As the candlelight spell drifted away from the boat and off into the night and Vendel’s vision returned to him, Francis was not anywhere near. He figured he had jumped from the boat in the confusion. An anger rose with his heart rate and Vendel stood in the boat, his finger towards the water in the general direction of the city, “Francis, Gods damn it all, man, you selfish, petty fool of a man! You’ve forsaken yourself to death on foreign soil for something so stupid! Something so unsure when you could have returned to your home with me and Annaliese!”

Vendel may have been telling the truth. Or not. Francis wanted to find out and the clawing in his skull wouldn’t let him do anything but. His sister would understand. Probably not, but Francis needed to do this. It was just something he felt that he needed to do and by every God alive or dead, he would do it. With a waterbreathing spell and a deranged conviction, the Breton swam to shore with the same vigor he escaped from the Mausoleum with. He was trying to save his life. He couldn’t say from what, or from who, but every breaststroke was testament to him meaning it.