[center][h3][b]No Country for Old Men[/b][/h3]
[sub]by [@Father Hank] and the ever talented [@Leidenschaft][/sub][/center]

[i]Afternoon, 10th of Midyear, 4E208
The Haunted Tide Inn, Gilane, Hammerfell[/i]

After having slept for what felt like an age or more, Gregor awoke to an existence of misery and pain. He stared at himself in in the mirror after he got out of bed, eyes tracing the prominent and fresh scars that now disfigured his upper body, and he sighed. Every fiber of his being still hurt from the ravaging poison that had coursed through his veins. He looked down at his hands and saw that his fingers trembled incessantly -- not enough to inhibit his functioning, and when he focused real hard he could keep his hand still, but the sight still filled him with dread. He had always been able to rely on his body. Closer to forty than he was to twenty, he knew that it wouldn’t last forever, but to see himself so suddenly and severely degrade…

He needed Raelynn. [i]No,[/i] he thought and his knuckles went white as he clenched his fists. The anger, disappointment, hurt and confusion were still fresh. He took a deep breath and put her out of his mind. But the pile of armor and blood-soaked clothes next to the bed and the large, black pool of dried-up blood -- his blood -- in the middle of the room stared him in the face. He would have to clean everything soon, but not now. Right now, he couldn’t do much of anything. He needed a drink. 

Gregor dressed himself in his Hammerfell linens and made his way downstairs, to the inn’s common room. His movements were slow and stiff and he supported himself wherever he could, holding on the railing like an old man. It was enough to make him grimace. He wasn’t familiar with poisons and their effects. There was no way for him to know if things would even improve. The thought was too much to bear. [i]Drink, you fool. Stop thinking.[/i] He took a seat at the bar and the innkeeper, a stoic and discrete older Redguard, looked at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“What happened to you?” he asked while he cleaned a glass. 

“Got into a fight,” Gregor grumbled. He pointed at a bottle of Stros M’Kai rum behind the innkeeper. “Give me two shots of that.”  

The innkeeper acquiesced and poured him his drinks. “Did you win?” 

Gregor was silent for a few seconds as he downed the first of the two shots, but he nodded to himself afterwards. “Yes.” 

The door opened and three figures hung at the threshold. A curious looking woman with wavy auburn hair behind two men. A Reachman in Dwemer cloth with an Ohmes-Raht at least a head taller than him making him strain under the weight of him. “We should get a room.” The Reachman said, voice hushed. “Get you into bed-“

“Get me a godsdamned drink. I’ll put up for the room while I’m there.” The Ohmes-Raht rumbled, and Gregor could feel eyes on him, “Latro, stay with Janelle.”

“Okay.” Latro said, letting Sevari go and disappearing with the woman. 

With a series of pained breaths and snuffed grunts, the Ohmes-Raht brought his dragging feet to the bar, falling onto a stool. “Colovian Whiskey.”

“The embargoes already took-“

“Then what do you have?” The Ohmes-Raht growled, and gestured to Gregor, “Give me what he has.”

“Alright.” The Innkeeper poured out another shot glass for the Khajiit, who downed it immediately, glass clacking on the bar top as he set it down.

Finally, the Khajiit spoke to Gregor, not turning to him, “Those scars look fresh.”

The Imperial hadn’t turned to look when the door opened, his empty gaze fixed on the now equally empty shot glasses in front of him, and did not see Latro or Aries at all. By the time of Sevari’s arrival a few barstools over, they had already disappeared upstairs. When he did glance sideways at the newcomer it took him a few seconds to process what he was looking at. A tall, humanoid male of indeterminate race (how strange), obviously recently injured. Not a native to these lands. Part of Gregor wanted to be left alone but another part of him welcomed the distraction. 

He caught the innkeeper’s eye and motioned for a refill. Alcohol had never been much of a companion to Gregor, who usually preferred to stay sharp and knew that his tolerance for it wasn’t particularly high. The two shots of the powerful rum he’d had were already hitting him and he blinked slowly, letting the feeling wash over him. It was exactly what he wanted. 

“I fought the devil and I won,” Gregor said and stared at the swirling liquid that the innkeeper poured in his glass. “But he left his mark.” He lifted his glass Sevari’s direction and gave him a curt nod. “You don’t look so great either.”

Sevari gave a snort at the man’s poetics. For a second, he forgot himself. Forgot why he was at the bar in the first place, then the recognition came back to him. The news about his brother missing. Whoever had taken or killed Zaveed would not have gotten him easily. He remembered the party, watching Raelynn always on the arm of one man and only one man.

[i]Him.[/i] It only made sense. It had to make sense. Because if it didn’t, If this wasn’t the man who killed Zaveed then he could just add his name to the list of lost brothers he’d have to avenge someday, but probably never will.

“Another.” He called to the innkeeper, having his glass refilled but refraining from it. “The devil swings axes now?” 

Nonsense to anybody else, but he carefully watched the man to see if it was just that to him. He was in no shape to fight, at all. But any kind of reaction to the phrase, any at all, could bring him peace knowing he could cross one more name off of his list of men to put in the dirt.

Gregor blinked slowly and fidgeted with his shot glass. Inside his chest, his heartbeat spiked. He frowned, mind racing, and looked down at the scar across his collarbone that was left bare by the undone buttons of his shirt. “You can tell? Just like that?” he asked, voice as steady as he could make it. When he looked down at his glass, he saw that his fingers weren’t trembling anymore. He bought himself some time by downing the shot. [i]Stupid,[/i] he thought to himself, furious at his own mistake, admitting things like this to strangers. Whoever this man was, he knew. He [i]knew.[/i] 

“Well, doesn’t matter,” he added and looked away. “I won but didn’t get to finish the job. Bastard had help. He’ll get to swing his axes another day.” Gregor took a slow, deep breath, trying to stay calm, and gestured for the bartender to give him another shot. Zaveed was still alive, that much was true, even if he vehemently disagreed with the way his survival had come about. Perhaps it would save him now. 

Sevari only shut his eyes and sighed, finally moving in no amount of hurry to pick up the glass in his thick fingers and throw it back, setting the empty glass on the bar top. If it had brought him peace knowing he was sitting next to the man that had made Zaveed disappear wherever the fuck he was, he didn’t feel it all too greatly. “Mm.” He grunted at first, then lifted his glass to the innkeep, who filled it again. “Feuds and vengeance are a fool’s business, friend. Like a river dammed, it only finds a way to flow into another just like it, and on, and on.”

“You either realize that revenge isn’t for the dead, only you.” He paused, letting go a drawn out rattling cough that screwed his eyes shut before taking in a breath and continuing, “Or someone comes knocking on your door looking for the same. You should be careful who’s on the other side of your door… [i]friend.[/i]”

Gregor, sensing that the immediate danger had passed, dared to meet Sevari’s eyes again. “Is that what happened to you?” he asked and raised an eyebrow. He was eager to steer the conversation away from what happened between him and Zaveed. There were still too many options, too many possibilities, as to who this stranger next to him was, and Gregor was swiftly getting too inebriated to consider them properly. The best he could do now was to survive this bizarre chance encounter and figure it out later. 

Sevari sniffled, wiping at his wet lip and looking sidelong at the man beside him. He took his moment, let the gaze carry on until he felt it right. Willing himself to feel hatred, to feel righteous indignation. To reach for the dagger at his side. Then he shrugged, “Doesn’t matter now too much, I guess.” He turned back to his glass to find it full again, “You go looking for the bad in men and you always find it. Sometimes it finds you. Looks to me like it found us both pretty good.”

It was odd. He felt no aggression, just a conversation. Perhaps it was the fact he’d almost died so recently, but he felt no need nor energy to go looking for another fight after the last one. “The devil. We’ve all got one.”

Gregor laughed and then immediately winced, finding cause to regret his mirth in the pain that stabbed into his chest. “Yeah, pretty good,” he echoed and rubbed his neck. He still wasn’t sure what to make of the stranger sitting next to him but something told Gregor that they weren’t going to fight, no matter what was said. He frowned. It was like… an armistice. Just two old, broken soldiers reminiscing on a war in which they had been enemies. They were both too tired to reach for their blades now. Gregor knew it. Sevari knew it.

He opened his mouth to speak, unsure. It took a few seconds for him to find his voice. “I wanted to teach him that, sometimes, he should be afraid of what lurks behind the door he comes knocking on.” He sighed and shook his head. There was no need to explain. The other man would understand what Gregor was talking about. “Does that make sense? I’m not sure it does anymore, or if it was worth it. Maybe you’re right,” he mumbled. 

“Tell me about your devil,” he said before Sevari could answer him, once again changing the subject. 

Sevari considered that for a moment. He knew that if he died back there in the carriage, in the street, in the old man’s house he’d murdered with the faulty, shit reasoning of defense. If he’d died on the way to the safehouse, in Aries’ arms as she tried to save him, it all would be deserved. Sevari knew Zaveed now realized the same thing. Maybe he thought he did, at first, in whatever musings he had up until now. But now he really knew, dead or not, and if he didn’t… Sevari didn’t want to think on that.

He thought about how many doors he’d knocked on, how many times he’d taught the same lesson to the ones knocking that Gregor did to Zaveed. But accepting that? Zaveed was family. Nobody would ever hurt his family while he was helpless to watch again. But as he looked at Gregor, forlorn and ragged just as he was now. He knew it wouldn’t bring him any more towards closure than the last twenty years did. When Gregor asked about his devil, he sighed.

“It was a very, very long time ago.” He said, “A boy watched his father die. Watched his mother die. Years later, he saw his brothers dead even though he now had the strength in himself to stop it from happening, if only he’d been there.”

“I have many devils, with many names.” Sevari said, face hanging in agonizing reverie, “The boy he knew as a child is all grown, and now he’s one of them. Wreaking his havoc on people who don’t deserve it. Ironic, I thought I had the strength to stop it from happening [i]again[/i]. I let another of my brothers die and now some stranger fills his boots. If only I’d been there, a long, long time ago.”

Sevari chuckled, a bitter, humorless huff from his nostrils. Not even the smile lasted, “He had it coming.” Sevari said then, voice grim and low, “We both know it. I’m tired of knocking on doors in the name of other people, but I’d do it for him.”

He looked at Gregor. Of a sudden, he saw little difference between them in this moment. Two men who’d been scarred all to hell for quests of vengeance. Maybe that’s what they could be. Just two men at a bar and that’s it. But whatever evils and thistle ran across Sevari’s soul couldn’t let him. “I’d do it for him.” His voice gravelly and he let out another grating cough, “Just… not now.”

Silence stretched on between them as Gregor processed what Sevari had said. There was no doubt in his mind anymore; the man that was referred to as ‘another of my brothers’ was Zaveed. Sevari’s confession painted him in a new light. He knew all too well how extreme circumstances, suffering and loss could drive a man to ferociously protect what little he has that remains. Even if Raelynn hurt someone, Gregor would have her back. But that was a big if. The situation wasn't comparable. Gregor had defended both Raelynn's life and honour and his own when he fought Zaveed. She had been innocent and he had been monstrous. If Sevari were to kill Gregor in turn for what he did to Zaveed… for the sake of a cruel torturer and murderer? There was no honour in that. 

“You shouldn't,” Gregor said sternly. “He's not worth it. Whatever man you knew in his place when you were younger, there's naught but a shadow of him left. Don't risk your life for vengeance in his name. Not now, not ever. It's a fool's business, remember? I fought him because he was a threat.” Gregor pushed the shot glasses in front of him away. He'd had enough. His head was as heavy as his heart. 

An idea came to him. It was a gamble but he couldn't shake the feeling that this stranger knew much more about him and the others than he let on. “Raelynn saved his life,” Gregor said softly. Now it was his turn to observe Sevari intently to see how he would react. 

Sevari froze just before the glass touched his lips. He carefully set it back down. Had he heard right? Raelynn? Saved his brother’s life? The life of the man who did everything in his power to break her? To break Gregor? To break Latro’s little family up to pieces and blow the dust to the winds? If she did that, maybe he did break something in her head, he mused. Or maybe she was just so much better than the two men at the bar discussing the possibility of killing each other when they were healthy again. “Huh.” Sevari pushed the shot glass away from him in turn. “Fool’s business. I guess I won’t have to be a fool one last time after all.”

He smiled, albeit a hint of sadness in the corners of it, weighing it down. He slapped some septims on the counter, “Two rooms, please.” Before he stood with some effort. He looked back to Gregor and sighed, “For what it’s worth… I’m sorry. For everything he did to her.”

He looked Gregor over, shorter than him, but thick despite his sickly appearance he had about him. A warrior. A fighter. A killer, just like himself. That, the two could understand of each other, even if Gregor couldn’t understand why he’d avenge the name of a murderous, whoring pirate. But now, they were just two men at a bar. That’s it. “Farewell.”

“Wait,” Gregor said and raised his hand. “One last question. Do you work with a Redguard woman that wields a spear and wears a snakeskin cloak?”

“No.” Sevari said. “Is that all?”

The Imperial did not show the surprise he felt. Who the hell had the woman been that had intervened and stopped him from killing Zaveed for good? “Yes, that’s all. Farewell.” 

After watching him leave, Gregor thought back to the rest of their conversation. He had wanted the man to say something about Raelynn, about what she’d done -- to condemn her, call her a fool, anything at all. But he hadn’t. Gregor had seen in his reaction that he had been surprised but not confused. He frowned and rapped his fingers on the bar. Still, his gamble had paid off. The news of Raelynn’s mercy had placated Sevari in a way, whatever his position might be, and that was worthwhile. If Gregor’s reprisal against Zaveed would now no longer draw the ire from a man that called himself his brother… they did not need more enemies actively hunting them right now. 

For a split second, he considered that Raelynn might have been right. Then his bitterness returned. Gregor stared at the empty shot glasses he’d pushed away and looked up to find the innkeeper giving him an inscrutable glance. “Water?” the Redguard asked, prescient, and Gregor nodded. 

A realization struck him. [i]Two rooms.[/i] Who else was here?