[center][h3]All to Pieces[/h3][/center] Nomad Camp, Hammerfell Late Night 17th Midyear, 4e208 Bridges of Kindling… by [@Mortarion] and Me [hr] How a desert with heat that threatened to broil the skin from Latro’s body could instantly turn to something akin to a tundra when night came around was mind-boggling to the Reachman. If things were sunny, they were hot. If not, they were cold. Day and night, sun and clouds, it was normal in the Reach, in High Rock, even in Skyrim. He sat on his lonesome at the edges of camp, sleep eluding him almost like Sora in the crowds earlier, and so he snuck out of their tent when she was fast asleep with that soft snore she always fell into when she was deep enough in it. He tip-toed soundlessly through the moonwashed sand, the shine bright enough to cast shadows and light to make sure his steps were sure. There was no sounds but the breeze flapping loose tent flaps or the soft or loud snores and other sounds of sleeping people. It was even quieter out on his lonesome, sitting on the peak of a dune with pale gray desert stretching off to nothing but hazy rumors of dunes at the edge of his vision. The stars were bright pin-pricks in the sky, tiny, infinitesimal, but innumerable bastions of light in the void. He looked to the box again, turning it over and over in his hands, finger tracing the green in the deep-set angular lines running all over the Dwemer box. It brought him some warmth out of its odd workings he’d just pinned on whatever magic it held. He’d his shirt on, sure, but his cloak was wrapped around him and he was holding the box close to his chest to weather the cold. This was the only thing keeping him calm all night. This was the most peaceful he’d felt in so damned long, not even with Sora. Sitting and nuzzling each other, talking about hopes and dreams, fucking. Those were all good in the moment, but his mind would go back to the Palace. Back to Al-Aqqiya, with Quintus’s head spilled over the sand like a dropped egg. He’d felt disgusted, guilty, horrified. Powerful. So, so powerful, to hold onto a man’s life between thumb and forefinger. Take away so easily what the man was and ever will be. The fear in his eyes, the quiet and final acceptance that replaces it in the last moment of life. But the green glow of the Dwemer box kept him mostly peaceful. His heart was still thumping in his chest, but his anger was always at the back of his mind instead of grabbing his wrists and puppeting him about. He remembered now why he never wanted to go back to the Reach with Francis. Violence was intoxicating, it was liberating, a challenge to the world to make sure they knew he was not the one to try to enslave or rape or maim. Now that he knew Sora was taking him, and all the rest of them, into the heart of his old home… He didn’t know if he was eager and anxious for the right reasons. He sighed, looking down at the box and staring at it, unblinking, face bathed in its subtle green glow. The mystery of what made it its color, of why the different colors made him feel different in their own ways seemed to take his face in its hands and make him stare and wonder and think. “Latro.” He almost jumped back from the voice, staring at its owner for a few seconds before realizing who it was. The recognition brought him no comfort. “I figured-“ “That you’d skulk around me for days without saying a fucking word to my face?” Latro scowled. He’d killed for this man, in ways uglier than he’d ever done for Sora. In ways he’d only done for the Forsworn. How many Nords had he cut the traitor’s cross in? Beheaded? Dismembered? “What is it now?” More dejected now than angry, “What could it be that-“ “I’m sorry.” Sevari said, not stepping any closer to him, “I’m sorry that you’ve done so much for me and the one time you needed me most I couldn’t be there. Trust me, I’m as broken over it as you are.” “Fucking impossible. Don’t lie to me.” Latro said, flashing him another scowl, his anger returning refreshed and anew at his words. “I was taken by the Bhaanu Sasra and I couldn’t do anything about it. I was a child then, and I left Zaveed and his sister alone. My brother and my first love.” Sevari said, Latro thought he heard a crack in one of the words but he let Sevari continue, “I was a child. But I’m a man, full-grown now for twenty godsdamned years, Latro. I promised myself that nobody would make me feel that weak and helpless again and I still couldn’t stay with my wife.” Sevari paused, Latro said nothing, just listened. “Now… now you know how violent and cruel a man I am. I’ve even beat you to hell and threatened your life and had the gall to call myself your friend and you [i]said nothing[/i] on the contrary.” Sevari let out a shuddering breath and growled, steeling himself, “I don’t deserve that. Gods know it.” “I fucking know it.” Latro snorted ruefully. “You do.” Sevari nodded, “You do. I’m sorry.” “That’s it?” Latro said, his heart beating like a war drum now, his body threatening to throw the Dwemer box at Sevari’s head, “That’s fucking it? You can’t just disappear on me the single time I needed a favor from you and come crawling back mewling some sad kitten, you daft prick!” It was all silence then. Latro’s anger cut through the moment like a knife. He wanted to hit Sevari, push him, take him to the ground and push his fucking thumbs in his eyes. Rip chunks from his damned face. “You are a sad, lonely, self-destructive man.” His fist was shaking around the Dwemer box, “I’d have been less angry about it if I found out you were killed. At least then, you’d be a martyr instead of the beat to shit, drug through the mud, brooding piece of shit staring gape-mouthed at me.” He stepped up to Sevari and stabbed a finger at his chest as he snarled in his face, “You can’t say anything to me because it’s fucking true.” “It is.” Sevari said, quiet. Latro looked into his eyes but Sevari didn’t meet his. “All of it. I’ve been sad all my life. Angry, because it’s easier. Everything I’ve done that’s given me the reputation of being an independent, deadly, efficient killer is the product of me doing more and more impossible shit in the hopes [i]I don’t come back.[/i]” Sevari was staring dead in Latro’s eyes now. Latro’s finger on Sevari’s chest had faltered a bit and he returned it to his side. He stepped away from Sevari, looking at him as he continued, “Or maybe, against all odds, I can kill the one knife-ear that’s defined my entire fucking life.” He sighed, “Even after that, I don’t know what the hell I would do with myself after.” Latro swallowed. He expected Sevari to argue. He’d always seen Sevari as an implacable, deadly, rough man hewn from wood. The gnarled thing before him now, though… Latro folded his arms around himself. “Fine.” He said, sitting back down,more dejected than angry, “Fine. Sit. You smell like [i]fucking.[/i]” Sevari did as he was invited to, though keeping some space between the two of them. Latro thought it wise, he was still not happy with the man. He heard Sevari shift, “Oh, she’s asleep now. That’s not important, though. There’s something else. I figured I would go to you first, or Aries would, and then you and I would bring the news to Daro’Vasora.” Nothing after, and Latro looked to him, “Go on.” “Gregor. You know about him?” Sevari asked. Latro was confused. He shook his head, “In the prison. Fuck, in Gilane. He almost took my brother’s soul. He’s a fucking necromancer, Latro.” “Fucking Gods…” Latro tensed. The news about this, he thought Gregor was his friend, but now… he was a necromancer, a Grave-Singer, like the stories the greyheads would tell around the fire to scare each other. And he was a fucking [i]liar.[/i] How could he stand in his and Sora’s, everyone’s presence and keep all of that a secret? How could no one have known? “Fucking Gods…” “Aries and I have reason to believe he is responsible for Nblec Mrazac’s death.” Sevari continued, though leaving that too on the open air. Latro leaned forward, placing his head in his hands, eyes staring stark white, pupils opening up to dark pits as his blood thumped in his head. It felt like someone had put ice in his belly until he realized he was holding his breath. He slammed the Dwemer box into the sand at his feet, “Fuck!” His yell pierced the night and at any other time he would’ve been uncomfortable with that, but he could care a stray fleck of piss about waking anyone now. Gods, wake everyone for all it mattered, rally them now to put Gregor’s head on a fucking pike. “All this time… I had my suspicion. I hinted at it after the debriefing, and he kept that fucking face of his still! Like he was a fucking innocent man like the rest of us, or we were just a herd of idiots and imbeciles!” “Quiet, Latro-“ “Fuck quiet.” Latro spat, “I’ll fucking kill him. A liar, a traitor, he brought the Ministry down on us. He almost had Sora killed. I’ll rip his heart from his godsdamned [i]chest![/i]” The ice was there again, but spreading out until it gripped his heart and put it in a frenzy. He looked at his hands, when he tried to open his fists they only closed tighter to the point of shaking. He stood, as if he was going to go and find him. Or find Raelynn and bait him out of the darkness with her. Every cruelty he visited on the Nords, he would visit on the Grave-Singer. Everything, and more. Pale-Feather ripped the cloak off of his shoulders and threw it aside, breathing heavy and growling. “Latro.” Sevari put a firm hand on his shoulder and Pale-Feather knew not what Brettic babble this cat-man mewled at him but he snatched his hand in a crushing grip, seeing the shock and pain in the big man’s twisted face, “Latro, please! Think! It would ruin everything so far! Every victory small and great, it would ruin Sora!” His grip faltered. Loosened, until the cat-man shook it from his grip and stumbled away from him holding it and wincing. He hissed at the pain, and Pale-Feather smirked. Sevari looked at him, “Sora wouldn’t just muster the levies and kill him, she’d think first.” “Sora…” Pale-Feather frowned. He looked around him, this was not Gilane. They were far from the Palace, they’d been far from Wayrest too… “Sora.” “Sora, you fucking fool, your woman.” Sevari spat. “Don’t go being brazen, Latro. We need to think on this, we don’t know how powerful of a necromancer Gregor even is.” Latro looked at his feet, closed his eyes and breathed. The ice was gone. “You’re right.” “Funny coincidence that you two are talking about Gregor, I wanted to talk with you about him Sevari.” Jaraleet said as he stepped into the field of view of both men, moving so that he was standing in the middle. He turned to look at Latro, silent for a second as he thought on how to approach the former Forsworn. “I know you won’t like to hear me saying this, but Sevari is right. We need to think before we act when it comes to Gregor.” The Argonian said gravelly before he paused for a second. “Also, I think it’d be in everyone’s best interests if we kept quiet. We don’t need to make an unnecessary commotion. Or if that’s impossible, I’d suggest we move a bit further away.” “How much did you know?” Latro asked indignantly, turning to face Jaraleet. “How much did both of you know? And kept from me?” “I also had my suspicious that he had killed Nblec, suspicions that were confirmed by Gregor himself when I confronted him.” Jaraleet said, looking at Latro straight in the eyes. “I also learned that he was a Necromancer when he and I took a little side-job for Raelynn’s father.” The Argonian continued on. “Mind you, this all happened before you asked me for help when Sevari requisitioned your help. And I also had good reasons for keeping silent on the whole matter.” Latro waved Jaraleet off, turning from him and walking away to his former spot on the dune’s crest. “Everybody seems to have these damned good reasons to shield the truth of that fucker from us.” He snatched his cloak from the sand, hiding the fact he barely remembered taking it off and sitting where he was when he was peacefully alone, “Well, go on. Tell your reasons.” “It is simple, really.” The Argonian replied, indifferent to Latro’s reaction. “If something must be done about Gregor, it must be done quietly, quickly, and more importantly: smartly. Preferably without involving the whole group.” He continued on, crossing his arms. “Believe me when I tell you, Gregor’s sanity hangs on by a thread in my opinion and what happened in the prison, well, it only reinforces my belief on that. There’s no way to predict how he’ll react or do if he feels cornered.” He finished, turning to look at Sevari in the hopes that the Ohmes-raht would support him. “I’ve killed a necromancer before.” Sevari said, crossing his arms, “They’re dangerous. A lot of men died. If Gregor is powerful enough, he could lay this entire fucking camp to ash and blood.” He spit, lit a cigar, “And be all the richer for it.” “You think I don’t know? My people spin tales of Grave-Singers and their horrible doings.” Latro frowned, only slumping around himself more, “And you were going to keep this from Sora and I for how long?” “Until now.” Sevari shrugged. “Until it was too late. Think of how many souls he got in the Prison. In the damned Palace.” Latro spat, “You let him grow more powerful for what? So you could handle it smartly?” “These are my friends. My family.” Latro stood again, “There’s a monster in our home and the two biggest, baddest killers are biding their time and scratching their chins because they don’t want to cause an argument?” Jaraleet let out a sigh and shook his head, looking at Latro with a frown. “It’s precisely because I don’t want Gregor to kill them and raise their corpses as puppets that I’ve been biding my time.” The assassin replied back, letting his arms fall loose. “Listen to me Latro, while it’s true that Gregor has grown more powerful I think, at least right now, you are overestimating him. Do you truly think he had the time to soul trap every being he killed while we were in Gilane? I very much doubt so, he has managed to keep himself hidden so far for a reason.” “Look, I’m not saying that Gregor shouldn’t be dealt with, far from it. I’m just saying that we do it in a way that doesn’t put the rest in danger. You hear me?” Jaraleet continued on, not giving Latro a moment to speak. “What would you do if he killed Sora and raised her corpse? Or Meg? Hmmm? If we approach this in a half-assed fashion there will be losses.” “It’s a matter of striking first.” Latro growled, “Everybody sleeps. No one dabbles in necromancy as a fucking hobby, I know the end goal. I’m telling Sora. We’ll convene on this and deal with it our way.” “It’s why I’m telling you now. We don’t have time to bide anymore.” Sevari shook his head. “Our justice or Imperial justice, either way, it needs to be done and over with.” “You think I didn’t want to kill him?” Sevari added, jaw clenched and he held out his hand, the space between thumb and forefinger was minute, “I was this close. [i]This close.[/i] I want this as bad as you do.” “Oh, doubtless.” Latro rolled his eyes. “I should’ve known better than to trust a spy to be open with me.” “Fine, if you two want to be the heroes and deal with Gregor, be my guests.” Jaraleet replied, his voice cold, as he took a step closer to Latro. “I will help you two with this little endeavor, but let me make one thing clear. If Meg gets hurt because of this I will hold you responsible, the both of you.” He said, briefly turning his head to look at Sevari before looking al Latro’s eyes once again. “Is that clear?” “You think I’m not worried about her?” Latro faced Jaraleet, “I was breaking bread and sharing drink with her before this entire fucking Dwemer fiasco started.” “Don’t ever facetiously call me a hero for wanting to [i]protect my family.[/i] I should be holding you responsible for not telling me fucking sooner.” He took another step forward, teeth bared and anger gripping him, “Don’t ever insinuate that I’d be stupid enough to risk that girl’s life for a chance at retribution. I’ve done a lot of horrid, unspeakable things, Jaraleet.” “But I’ve never been stupid.” Latro paused, shoulders heaving with his breaths, “The love of my life hangs in the balance too. Open your fucking eyes and see that. Maybe then you’d understand why I’m so fucking angry by everybody deciding to hold their tongues until we’ve suffered some necromancer even a day too long.” He stepped back and wiped a hand over his forehead, “Raelynn. I let Raelynn get so close to him and even she can’t tell me.” He shook his head, “She’s either so fucking scared she can’t even tell anyone she’s shoulder to shoulder with or Gregor’s broken her fucking head.” “In case you haven’t noticed, the life of the woman [i]I[/i] love is also at risk here, so you’ll forgive me if I’m not exactly in an agreeable mood to your plan. You’ll also have to forgive me for doubting about that bit about never being stupid, but how you’ve been acting right now doesn’t inspire much confidence in me.” The Argonian replied coldly, a hint of anger in his voice now too. “As for Raelynn, her only crime is falling in love with the wrong man and being too blinded by it to see him for the monster that he’s becoming.” Jaraleet continued on. “I can assure you, should we confront Gregor, she will side with him. What will you do in that case?” At Jaraleet’s words, Latro clenched a fist. He only noticed it when the pain of his nails digging into his palm almost made him wince. He felt cold again, and it was not the wind. It was like a storm in the Pale inside his stomach. The circular logic of the two men before him had his mind running its own circles. In the frenzy of it, Latro felt like he was losing himself. A whirlwind of indignation and resentment caught him by his limbs and he was staring Jaraleet in the face. “I will do what needs doing, little lamb.” Pale-Feather looked too. His voice came like winter, cold and flat and cruel, “You have the insolence to inform me of your tip-toeing around a danger to me and mine, then the gall to call me stupid for it to anger me, Lizard-Man?” “You speak of caution and I hear the excuses of cowardice and a weak will.” Pale-Feather frowned deeper, held his two hands up level with his eyes, fists shaking under their own tension, veins in his forearms bulging in the corded muscle, “I would cut the Traitor’s Cross in the Grave-Singer and the Cat-Men and any fool who kept this treachery from my ears, who let a wolf past my threshold to slobber at my people’s necks.” As quick as Pale-Feather had come, he was swallowed back inside and Latro stepped back from Jaraleet. He wrapped his cloak about himself and tried to make like he wasn’t just a bit scared of what had happened. It had not been long enough since his urges stood out so brazenly against his wishes. It was the bloodthirst of a Reachman that gripped him, not the Latro he knew himself to be. He swallowed, sucking in a sharp breath that tremored all the way to his chest. “I’m...I’m going.” He stammered quietly, eyes not meeting the two men he called his friends, especially the one he had just threatened. That made him the most guilty, “This is a lot. I have to think on this.” He turned and left, Sevari staring at Latro’s shrinking back as he made his way back to the nomad camp. He looked at Jaraleet, then to Latro, “Is that what you saw in the Palace?” He asked. “Partly, yes. And in Al-Aqqiya as well.” The Argonian replied to Sevari’s words as he looked at Latro’s back. “Not in this same intensity though. But maybe I’m noticing it now because it was directed at me.” He added, letting out a sigh. “I understand he feels frustrated, and I won’t fault him for snapping at me.” Jaraleet said, shaking his head slightly. “But I don’t want to deal with Gregor in a half-assed manner. Which is what I’m afraid Latro will doo.” “Throughout the conversation, well, he seemed more like a rabid animal in search of blood rather than a man willing to protect his people. Or maybe that’s how it is for Latro, how he protects those dear to him.” He mused out loud, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been gripped with such a fury myself.” Sevari shook his head, “No.” he said, taking a long pull from his cigar and running a hand through his hair, “If that’s just how Latro was, there’d have been no chance in him making it to the Palace with Sora back in Gilane.” “A rabid animal and a corpse-raiser.” He said, the smoke filling the air around his face, “I don’t know. Not about any of this. Sora will be more level-headed, Latro seems like he’s buckling under something. You saw him, it was like two different people.” Jaraleet let out a sigh, shaking his head, “You are right. I suppose I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.” He said, falling silent as he thought about Latro’s behaviour “Whatever it is, I hope Sora can help him. Otherwise, I think this problem of his might get worse as time goes on. It almost seems like the man whom I accompanied to the docks back in Gilane, the man who didn’t want to torture someone, is almost gone.” “This whole thing is weighing on us all, friend.” He shook his head and sighed, “I’m the one who forced him into this. I made him kill for me.” Sevari growled, “Damn it.” He said, the very real possibility that Latro’s current headspace was all his doing was starting to settle in on his shoulders, another demon crowding in on his already weighty conscience, “Damn it all to hell. I need a drink. I’ve got a bottle, do you have a taste for the stuff?” “Sounds good to me, truth be told I could use a drink as well.” The Argonian said, patting Sevari’s shoulder. “I’m not sure if it’s any consolation, but I don’t think you are the only one responsible for Latro’s current….predicament.” He said, letting out a sigh. “I think the whole situation at Gilane put such a strain on him and, well, every man eventually breaks under pressure.” “But I think neither of us need to continue with this kind of conversation, at least not for the moment, what do you think my friend?” “Fuck it.” Sevari sighed, leading on as the pair left the edge of camp and began their walk, “I think we should talk about absolutely anything but this shit. Even if it’s us just drinking in silence.” Their footprints were left in that sand, on the dunes at the edge of camp. By morning, they would be blown over, covered. No one would be the wiser to the malice and resentment that hung over them there. The only evidence left was the quiet sobs of a man feeling himself being broken to pieces by the day, and Sevari unable to sleep, laying with his back to a naked stranger and cradling a bottle.