[center][h3]A Meeting with the Governor[/h3] 

[@Dervish] [@Stormflyx] & [@Father Hank][/center]

[I]The Governor’s Palace, Gilane, 31st Second Seed, 4E208CE[/I]
 
The study and conference room was a tidy and orderly space with a high ceiling that was supported by a pair of ornate pillars that accented the Dwemeri construction with early-era Redguard flare, and open windows to a large balcony allowed for ample sunlight and a much needed breeze to refresh the room from the stifling desert heat. This openness allowed for natural vegetation to be planted, and a number of native and exported species from across Tamriel were arranged in an aesthetically pleasing manner in large jade urns that complimented the green tapestries in a pleasing manner. Against one wall was a large table with a map of Volenfell laid out, the corners weighed down by small jade statues, two Dwemeri in appearance and two Redguard, a scholar and a soldier for each. Across the room, a set of double oak doors would reveal a bed chamber that many visitors were not made aware of, and those outside of the Palace would not know that that was the personal quarters of Governor Razlinc Rourken, and she aimed to keep it that way.
 
She was seated in the middle of the room at a ornately carved desk, where the legs resembled asps, and across from her was an Altmer wearing what she had come to understand were Justicar robes of the Thalmor. Leading to this desk and the three gilded seats that surrounded it was a long purple rug with an elaborate and detailed amount of embroidery and expertly partitioned patterns that were common in Redguard cloaks and tapestries, and their rugs were simply wonders of the modern world.  Upon the walls leading towards the more circular audience chamber were weapon racks containing a number of pristine and beautifully crafted weapons from different cultures across the globe. It was the Governor’s personal collection, and ever since she was a girl, she had trained how to use most kinds of weapons that the enemy of the Dwemeri people favoured. It was important to her to understand the history of  Tamriel, even though she was born apart from it. Even now she barely could believe the land she now inhabited, the sun, the sky, the sand beneath her feet… it was too good to be true.
 
It was also the only reason she was tolerating the insufferable Aldmer across from her.
 
[I]Altmer.[/I] she corrected herself, consciously making sure she maintained an authoritative posture as she studied the man across from her. Middle-aged, by elven standards, clear complexion, a neatly trimmed beard and rather fetching golden eyes that were only enhanced by his dark hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. His robes were immaculately kept, and if the heat bothered him, he was rather adept that hiding it. Perhaps he kept frost salts in the liner of his robes, she mused.
 
In contrast, Razlinc wore a simple, yet elegantly woven black dress with golden embroidery and inlays that helped accentuate her features while maintaining a respectfully regal appearance. Upon her wrist were a pair of golden bangles that were finely woven chord that were adorned with a pair of golden serpents biting into their own tails, and a pair of glass earrings of Altmer craftsmanship were upon her long, pointed ears. Her straight black hair was kept short and chin length, a simple golden tiara with jade inlays holding it back from her pronounced face, which suggested an elegant and refined lineage of exceptional bloodlines, and her skin was unblemished by so much as a freckle. Her eyes were emerald green, thoughtful orbs that seemed to pierce into anything she studied, and were nestled under perfectly manicured eyebrows. It was something of a deception, of course; she was not a flawless person, like any other, but a disciplined grooming and fitness routine ensured that she looked every bit as stately and noble as her position would suggest.  She was beautiful, to be sure, and a face that Dwemeri craftsman had offered to craft into a visage of the line of assassin Centurions that were in development, but she declined. Her face would not be one that would carry a legacy of a war monger or brutality; it was something she took pains to ensure.
 
Listening to this Mer from the Dominion, however, all but ensured that the Aldmeri Dominion was every bit as ruthless and cruel as her compatriots to the East, such as General Falinar of Clan Kragen that claimed stewardship of Skyrim and Northern Cyrodiil, or the detestable Vvarnoc, whose innovations had been invaluable for the Dwemer to return, but his methods were savage and cruel. Success was essential, however, so morality took something of a hushed tone when it came to the very survival of Razlinc’s people. It left a sour taste in her mouth, and while she tried to explore less barbaric methods to success, she understood its purpose.
 
She would do better.
 
“On behalf of the Thalmor and Queen Lelyanya, I thank you for granting me an audience. The 3rd Aldmeri Dominion would like to convey that it fully recognizes the legitimacy of the Dwemeri claim of Volenfell and would like to seek former relationships between our two illustrious states.” Erincaro Syintar said, his tone clipped and proper, the result of centuries of the finest tutelage and refinement. The Altmer was a statesman, through and through. Razlinc pondered what he sounded like to those he considered an enemy.
 
The Aldmeri Dominion acted swiftly upon learning of the Dwemer return to Tamriel, the timing of this emissary’s arrival having come mere weeks after the travel ban was lifted for Volenfell. Considering that this same Aldmeri Dominion spent years in a devastating war with the Mede Empire only to end in a stalemate and having heard that Dwemer forces took the Imperial City and routed the Empire’s forces in a matter of days, it was likely a strategy of appeasement to avoid earning a powerful enemy when they were embroiled in conflict with their long hated foe. It was goodwill that was a mask over grave concern; the Dominion would try to appeal to their common racial heritage rather than the practical concerns of trade and strategic allegiance.
 
It was droll and trite to the utmost degree.
 
“House Rourken was always one of dialog. We will certainly facilitate dialog between our people and those of the Summerset Isles.” She replied. “And what is it that the Dominion seeks from Volunfell?”

“Trade, naturally. As we are in the process of securing the Gold Coast to ensure safe passage across the Abscean Sea, a route can easily be established between Alinor and Volunfell, and the Dominion believes our two cultures have much we can exchange to mutual benefit.
 
“Secondly, we pursue diplomatic relations and a military truce leading up to a former alliance. We elves and Khajiit of the Dominion recognize the ignorance and threat humanity poses to the wellbeing of Tamriel’s future, and legends of the Dwemeri resistance in the face of Nord encroachment act as an inspiration to us all.  While we naturally would not want to impede upon your sovereignty, it has not escaped notice that there is a wide land the dwemer have reclaimed and the Dominion would be able to offer troops and ships in interest of helping quell any uprisings you may be dealing with.
 
“The third and final item is a request for the Dominion to be permitted to allow Justicars and embassies to be established in Volunfell in interest of seeking out practitioners of the blasphemous false god Talos. We find it a great insult to the Eight that men have risen one of their own to be worshipped alongside the likes of Auri-el. We will not interfere with Dwemeri matters of state, but as a good will gesture, we do make this request.” Erincaro said.
 
Razlinc offered a terse smile. “No.”

That clearly what Erincaro was not expecting. “No?! What in Obli-“ he began to object indignantly.

The Governor raised her hand to silence him. “Absolutely no Dominion officials will be permitted free reign of the lands and cities. It is not in our interest to allow Almer, Bosmer, or Khajiiti agents to wander our lands freely. There’s also the lingering animosity amongst the Redguard about your earlier invasion, and I cannot rightly deny them that. I represent the will of the people of Volunfell; Dwemer, Redguard, and all others alike. The suggestion we would want armed armies occupying our land is insulting, to say the least, let alone Justicars that will persecute Volunfell citizens because if offends your easily offended sensibilities.
 
“The Dwemer worship no gods, if you have forgotten, Justicar Syintar, but that does not mean our other subjects do not. Perhaps if you weren’t too busy imposing your narrow-minded dogma upon other cultures, you would realize that it is much easier to occupy foreign land if they do not feel their way of life is being threatened. Arresting them for believing in a Divine you do not agree with is an abhorrent practice.” She rose from her desk, slender hands resting flat against the surface. “What we will allow, however, is Dominion merchant ships to make port and sell their wares, but the crews will not be permitted past the harbour districts of any city. These are the terms you will have to accept if you wish to begin relations with the Province of Volunfell. My guards will see you to your room, Justicar. Give what I said some thought over some much deserved rest. You must be weary from your travels.”
 

The Justicar looked like he wanted to press the issue, anger was clearly present in his eyes, but he caught himself. He also rose, bowing. “Of course. Once more, the audience you have granted has been a generous courtesy to the Aldmeri Dominion. We are certain, in time; you will come to see the mutual benefits our people can provide.”

“Perhaps, but today is not that day.” Razlinc said as her guards approached from the doors to see Erincaro out. Her aide, a young Dwemer in his early 50s came into the room as the rather irritated Altmer was escorted out, his youthful enthusiasm abundant. He offered Razlinc a cup and saucer of stepped tea, a favorite of hers from after a meeting. His timing was such that it was still hot, but not enough to be undrinkable until it cooled. Good lad. “Make sure to have the Captain of the guard know to keep an eye on the Justicar for his stay here. I do not trust his intentions. What do you have for me?” she asked, sipping from the cup.

“A trio of travellers, your eminence. A Khajiiti and Breton pair of scholars and their bodyguard, they had turned up to our Cultural Center with reportedly credible documentation of our historical sites. They appear to be very eager to compare our current state of affairs to what they’ve deduced from their studies. If I recall, you wished to speak to such individuals should they appear?”

“Precisely.” Razlinc acknowledged. “There is much we need to learn of the people of Tamriel as they need to learn of us. An exchange of ideas is a powerful thing, is it not?” she asked rhetorically. “Please summon them for me, I have a desire to speak with such individuals to wash the taste of the Thalmor from my palate.”  


[hr]

The doors were opened by a pair of guards carrying what appeared to be a curious combination of firearm and glaive and ceremonial armour, and Daro’Vasora, Raelynn, and Gregor were permitted, their documents that they had brought with them carried in on a platter by the same aid as earlier, who set it down at the desk. Governor Razlinc Rourken stood at the mouth of the balconies doorway, staring out into the golden light of Gilane’s skyline. The trio stood expectantly by the desk in a row, waiting for the aide to announce their presence. 

“Your eminence, those you have requested to be in your audience have arrived.” He said, bowing to her back and departing quickly with a swift, yet unhurried stride that must have taken ages to master.

It had been Daro’Vasora’s plan to come here, the words of the Inspector had stuck with her like tree sap to the mind. What better way to learn of the Dwemer than to actually hear it from themselves? And when the Khajiit had learned that the Governor was interested in speaking to her and Raelynn due to their fairly impressive knowledge of the Dwemer ruins that dotted the Northern parts of the continent, it was like the Divines favoured her endeavour. She recalled from her dinner with the Breton and her father that Raelynn had studied the Dwemer, which came as a genuine surprise for the Khajiit, but it also gave her the idea that perhaps the Breton wasn’t entirely useless, after all. Gregor had seemed all too eager to meet this governor, probably because he had some sick and twisted vengeance pumping through his incomprehensible mind, but he was a talented fighter and he managed to keep a very diplomatic exterior most of the time. After receiving a promise he’d behave himself and stick to the story he was their bodyguard, the three of them set out to see what the Dwemer had in store for them.

Gregor had retrieved his armor from the chest at the end of his bed before they set off for the palace. He now looked mostly the same as he did back in Cyrodiil, but the fact that he had left his billowing cloak behind and that the clothes beneath his armor were of the light and breezy linen variety made all the difference in the world. Combined with his deliberately unkempt hair, he looked exactly the part of a high-end mercenary and less like a knight of the late Third Era. They had agreed that Raelynn and Daro’Vasora would do all the talking, which suited him just fine. He was here because he wanted to look Governor Rourken in the eyes and see what kind of woman’s soul he would be offering to the Ideal Masters before long… if he got his way. 

After a whirlwind tour through what seemed to be a museum made up entirely of newly manufactured artifacts and some anecdotes about the Rourken clan’s historical claims to Hammerfell, the three were summoned to speak with the governor, albeit in a fairly gentle and curious manner. And now, they stood here, looking upon a youthful looking and beautiful Mer who turned to them with a courteous smile. 

Razlinc strolled across the floor, her sandals barely making a sound as she stepped, almost as if gliding across the floor. She stopped to the side of her seat, looking the three in the eyes. “I am Governor Razlinc Rourken, the sovereign of Volenfell. Thank you for answering my summons, as you can imagine, I am just as curious about other civilizations and cultures as you must be of mine. I understand that you are scholars of my people?” she asked, gesturing for the others to take a seat.

To further emphasize the point that Gregor wasn’t there to talk but simply as their bodyguard, he remained where he was, hands clasped behind his back, standing at attention in the typical wide-legged stance of soldiers and mercenaries alike. He let his gaze drift through the room with all the practiced ease he could muster, and only allowed himself to let his eyes linger on Razlinc Rourken every so often. She… wasn’t what he had expected. Rourken’s appearance reminded him of the other Dwemer woman he had met the day before. It was obvious that the governor was of far higher status but this point was made in an elegant and understated way. Rourken’s eyes revealed a sharp and calculating intellect and her choice of dress and jewelry stressed that she wasn’t fond of excess or other insensible displays. For some reason Gregor was reminded of stories about the Wolf Queen, Potema -- a woman who, while insane, was exceedingly good at getting the job done. Rourken gave Gregor the same impression of capability now. She met his gaze as she swept it across the three of them while she talked and held it for a second or two. Gregor nodded politely, but did not look away. He wanted her to remember him. 

Daro’Vasora had insisted she join her for a walk to the Cultural Centre - presumably to put to test the knowledge that her father had alluded to. Not wanting to displease the Khajiit, especially after such a stern showdown earlier in the morning, Raelynn had put on a smile and accepted. Thankfully, Gregor was with them too - but something in her intuition informed Raelynn that even that was part of Daro’Vasora’s meddling scheme. The Breton couldn’t help but hark back to what Gregor had said the night before - knowing his secret gave her a feeling of rampant confidence, like she had something over her feline companion, and the Dwemer who would be there. It also brought grave concern, it played at the back of her mind what he would do - how he would act...

When it came to being in front of Rourken, she was nervous and unsure, but she did not show it on her face and maintained a calm composure. In the intimidating presence of the Governor, Raelynn bowed her head courteously. “It’s an honour to be here Governor Rourken,” were the first words to leave her lips in a polite tone that matched her body language - “I’m not so certain that a scholar best describes me, although I have read vigorously about Dwemer culture, customs, and history - none of which could have ever prepared me for this meeting.”  

Sparing a cautious glance towards Gregor, Daro’Vasora took the offered seat and adjusted herself accordingly. “For most of my life, as a matter of fact. I’ve been fascinated with Dwemer ruins ever since I was a young girl, I’ve cataloged a number of artifacts, found treasures that haven’t been seen since the Merethic Era. It’s incredible that I’ve had the opportunity to meet someone from the same civilization as those I’ve come to admire for their ingenuity, but until now could only speculate about who they actually were.”

“And have your preconceptions been validated, or have they been challenged?” Razlinc asked with a pencil thin smile.

The Khajiit returned the gesture. “I still have not been decided on that yet; while initial impressions of Gilane and Volenfell are magnificent and something of a dream come true for someone like myself who cherishes living history, the reports from the East are troubling, to say the least. It is difficult to reconcile the grace and hospitality you have shown us, as well as those within your administration, with the reports of the events in Cyrodiil.” Daro’Vasora replied, hoping she did not cross a line with the governor, but she needed to find out answers from her  even if they presented a certain risk.

Gregor had managed to keep his silent composure for all of a single minute by the time he felt compelled to speak up. “If I may,” he interjected, casting a reassuring glance at Daro’Vasora, “that has been a burning question on my mind as well.” He looked at Governor Rourken and took a deep breath before speaking. “Your eminence, Daro’Vasora has decided to broach the subject with diplomatic language but I hope you can forgive me for being more direct. I am not a scholar. The carnage the Dwemer have wrought in my home is more than troubling. It is baffling and cruel beyond reason or measure. I can tell that you and yours are not the same… faction, or people, or however you define yourselves, as those that invaded Cyrodiil.” He paused, his expression grim, and he exhaled sharply through his nose. “If I seem angry, please know that it is not directed at you. But I must ask, if you know: why was the Imperial City sacked? Why were its defenseless citizens slaughtered?” He closed his mouth, opened it, closed it again, and then managed one final outburst. [i]”Why?”[/i]

Raelynn’s eyes widened ever so, but her smile did not falter as Gregor's speech of reproval was shot across the table. Slowly, and subtly she reached her arm out behind her and placed her hand on his, gently squeezing against it to pull him back to the present moment - to remind him where he was, and [i]who was here[/i]. She turned her head to look at him, to show him she had acknowledged his words, and to show the Governor that she had acknowledged him too. 

The sensation of Raelynn's touch sliced through Gregor's mounting anger like a scythe through wheat. He tore his gaze away from Governor Rourken for a second to look into Raelynn's eyes and felt an immediate calm descend over him. She was right. This was not the time for rough emotions. Gregor looked back up at the Dwemer sitting across from them and mustered a suitably apologetic expression.

Raelynn held onto his fingers for a moment more, before sliding her arm back to her own side, laying them both on the table in front of her; “Governor, I hope you beg our pardon of course, but it has been the question on our lips, I hope you can understand, our bodyguard just shows concern…” She spoke in a calm and collected manner, and nervousness she bore before had all but gone from her being, knowing that she had to dissolve the tension in the room; political nous came easily to her and her words flowed elegantly across the room to Rourken with a sophisticated sincerity. She punctuated the end of her sentence with a kind smile and nod. 

[I]Oh, fuck.[/I] Daro’Vasora thought, tensing at the sudden interjection by Gregor, who was proceeding to do exactly what he promised not to do. Was he trying to get them killed? The Khajiit began to quickly survey the room for a potential escape route when she was broken out of her search by the sound of a cup being filled. 


Razlinc calmly filled her tea as she listened, her face impassive as she listened to Gregor’s increasingly tense outburst. 

Knowing that she had managed to conciliate Gregor’s brewing storm, Raelynn continued to address Governor Rourken, “it is our pleasure to be here in Volenfell,” she began, tilting her head to the side as she watched Rourken pour tea. “The Dwemer are the people who settled this land, were they not? When the great hammer Volundruung was thrown to the skies -- I remember reading about it, a fascinating story of origin if I say so myself.” The Governor was still looking away, and so the Breton took the opportunity to give Daro’Vasora a quick look, telling her with her expressive eyes that the anger had been quelled. 

“It is as you say, my friend; we are of different clans, and different administrations. My clan has no presence in Cyrodiil, nor do we have any influence over the other governors. We can discourage and show disapproval as much as we please, but it is up to them to heed those words or not. Regrettably, so far we have held no sway, and for that, I am truly sorry. We are not affiliated with those in the East, save for a very common objective; survive as we establish ourselves once more in Tamriel, for the place we had been banished to will not retain its form for much longer.” Razlinc replied to Gregor before offering a polite smile to Raelynn and a curt nod.  

“The tale of Volundruung is true, and here you sit upon the very location it landed. This palace was built around that mighty hammer, one of our greatest tools, and it is how this province earned its name; Volenfell, Hammerfell. It humbles me that you have an appreciation of our history, regardless how long ago it was.” She explained calmly, turning to walk towards the balcony. She gestured for the others to follow.

Raelynn rose from her seat gracefully, her posture that of a noble woman. She knew it was no instance to relax it - they all had to be on their toes now. Still, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise with excitement when Rourken informed them that [i]this very palace[/i] was where the famous Volundruung fell. Something about stepping around such a historical wonder electrified her and made her heart swell - she mused over how her younger self would feel to be here. Her smile grew as she followed the Governor to the balcony, listening intently to what she had to say next. 

Gilane spread all around, and looked positively tranquil from above. The metallic sheen upon the domes glistened brilliantly in the late morning sun, and the streets and roofs were often splashes of colour against the uniform appearance of the sandstone.  “This city, this very land, was our home long before the Yokudans crossed the sea to claim our empty structures for themselves. When we returned, we did not expect to find a strange race of men living in our streets and our halls, and it was never my wish to intrude upon them. You see, thousands of years had passed since we left, but where we went it had only been six hundred.” She said, letting that sink in for her guests. 

“The plane we had been banished to by one of the Tonial Architects in our Jerall Mountains facility that had been attempting to fabricate something akin to a new plane of Oblivion to banish the Chimer and Nords to to ensure peace with enemies who would never accept it, unfortunately it backfired when the Heart of Lorkan was struck due to sabotage and we were all suddenly displaced to a place that was not fully formed.” she sighed, her face grim as she stared at the streets far below. “Many or our people did not survive the first two years. It is why a woman of 174 years such as myself is the surviving member of her clan and has to lead her people to a home that many have never seen before. I stand here now, as my grandfather once did, and wonder what he would have done. I wish for peace and coexistence with the people of Volenfell,”

Razlinc turned to face Gregor, looking at him with her emerald green eyes as they locked with his. “But the reality is, you do not have unexpected intruders show up in lands you feel are your own without resistance. I have stayed the hands of my generals where possible, but hard measures have been required. Every death that has been inflicted has been out of necessity, but I carry the weight with me because it is never what I wanted. You need to understand that when the gateway was opened for the first time in six hundred years, it presented a chance to save our people from extinction. We cannot stay there, for it grows increasingly unstable.

“In another two hundred, it will likely collapse upon itself and everything within it will perish. This is why my peers in the other clans have lashed out with brutality, they feel that the realms of men will never accept our return nor give us our homes back after so many years of intense mutual hatred and distrust. This is why they take the seats of power from these lands and use excessive force to achieve their goals; they feel fear and power are the only ways to ensure our continued existence. Understand it is not the way I have chosen to proceed, and I speak openly to you so you may appreciate that I do not come as a conqueror, but I do what I must to ensure that in time, all of our people can coexist in a world that is large enough for us all.”

“First and foremost, my apologies for my outburst,” Gregor and and bowed his head. “You have my gratitude for being so gracious, and for your explanation of the actions of the other Clans. I admire the restraint you have shown here in Volenfell.” He looked at Daro'Vasora and Raelynn while taking a step back to indicate that he was done talking. Everything that Rourken had just told them was exceedingly interesting and he wondered if the Governor would have been so forthcoming with this information if he hadn't been so upset. Rourken evidently cared about appearances and the Dwemer's image enough to placate him. It could be argued that he had inadvertently gathered more information this way… or, on the other hand, that they had only narrowly avoided death by the sheer good fortune of Rourken's patient character. Either way, Gregor felt uncomfortable that he had slipped so easily. He hadn't truly realized before how much the devastation in Cyrodiil bothered him. He thought of his family, and of Briar, and turned away from the others, busying himself by staring out over Gilane.  

“There is no need for apologies; were our positions reversed, I would wish for answers as well. While I doubt there is anything about us that you actually admire, I will endeavor to eventually earn that sentiment, not just from you, but all people.” Razlinc replied, turning back to gaze upon the city.

Daro’Vasora, in turn, took the moment to quietly exhale and cover her mouth with a hand. How on Nirn had that gone well? She’s expected to be kicked out of the palace, at best, but the Governor appeared to be infinitely patient. Perhaps she knew that this occupation would be trying everyone’s patience and good graces and kept an impenetrable air of approachability to placate them. Even Gregor seemed to buy the explanation, which was way more than the Khajiit had expected. So Rhea did accidentally prompt the Dwemer to return when she activated the device, but the thing that really was hard to wrap her head around was the time perception difference; thousands of years had gone by since the Dwemer had vanished without a trace, but it was only six centuries for them? They must have tried sending scouts, but even if they were gone for mere days, it might have seemed like weeks, or years. Trying to work out the difference was a headache in of itself, so instead she simply said, “I am sorry for the trials the Dwemer have faced and I hope that this transition goes smoothly. Many people wish for justice to be done after what has happened in Cyrodiil, and pardon my presumption, but I feel publicly distancing your clan from the others would be beneficial in the long run.” She said, hoping that a line was not crossed.

“Perhaps, but there are two Khajiiti kingdoms, are there not? Do you feel the obligation to apologize when one or the other crosses some kind of boundary?” Razlinc asked. “Or the Aldmeri Dominion itself? It is very much the same for us; we share a culture and a race, but we are not beholden to the actions of others, even if the average citizen will try.”  

Turning to face the trio, Razlinc regarded them each in turn. “It is my genuine gratitude that you all have taken the time to try and learn about my people, and in turn, I hope that I have enlightened you about our plight and intentions. In time, it would do us well to be able to exchange cultures and ideas without distrust and animosity, but this is how progress is made; small, personal steps. As much as I have an abundance of questions for each of you, I am afraid my own curiosity must wait as the weight of governance is always pressing. It would be my genuine pleasure should I encounter any of you later on, and maybe the society and justice we all hope for will be achieved. My aide will see you out.” 

As if it was rehearsed, the double doors opened again and the young Dwemer appeared, strolling towards them expectantly. Razlinc offered one last parting word. “Do try and  tolerate the system in place during these trying times, transitional phases are often painful and trying, but the fruits of the labour will be worth it in the end. Until we meet again.”

When the trio were escorted out of the palace and earshot, Daro’Vasora massaged her temples with a forefinger and a thumb. “Well, that was enlightening. I also found out that I can’t trust Gregor to keep it in his pants when his life is on the line, so that’s marvelous. Look, Gregor; I get it, it’s painful and it sucks and that person might have had answers, but you’re not doing anyone any favours by holding the person who can throw us in prison or execute us on a whim personally accountable for what happened to Imperial City. I lost someone too, you know. It was my [I]home[/I].” the Khajiit implored, staring into Gregor’s eyes. “Look, I don’t care whatever it is you both have going on between you, but I’ve got shit to take care of before tonight. Try not to get stains all over your finery.” she said as a manner of parting before taking off, disappearing down the winding streets as surely as if she were one of the locals. 

Before she had a chance to react to Daro’Vasora’s words, the Khajiit had taken off - and she suddenly felt a strong grip on her arm from behind which interrupted her thoughts; “Miss Hawkford, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” The voice was quiet and sounded hollow - emotionless, “your father demands your presence immediately.” She abruptly turned on her heel to face a tall and imposing Redguard man, her gaze drawn immediately to the intimidating thick black markings around his eyes.

 She vaguely recalled seeing him the night before as she yanked her arm free from his tight grip, “and I demand if you want to keep those hands of yours, you keep them off me. My father can wait, I will see to him in my own time,” her tone was impatient and sharp and her jaw clenched as she spoke to him, but he did not flinch at her response and remained in an arresting stance. “Your father has demanded to see you [i]now[/i],” were the words he repeated coldly, an emphasis on the last word. She grew angry at him, but did not press the issue anymore - “well then, take me to him if he is so desperate to see me. But keep your hands away from me, and maybe try to feign a smile...” She gave Gregor a nod as a farewell before she was escorted off into the streets.

He watched her leave with a knot in his stomach. The Khajiit was right. He had taken an unacceptable risk in challenging Rourken like that. It left him feeling frustrated and actually a little embarrassed, which were feelings that he did not like to dwell on. Spending some time with Raelynn would have been an excellent way to take his mind off things but now that her father had demanded her presence, he was left alone to stew in his emotions. Gregor kicked a loose pebble away across the road before setting off back to the hotel. Perhaps a bath would help him relax.