Chapter Text
Five thousand years of isolation. Perhaps only four thousand? Or had he been asleep for six millennia instead? The passage of time was difficult for the lich to discern. He floated around the confines of his magical cell. Undead eyes glaring at the enthralled wizards who maintained the potent energy field. He would have left this forsaken tomb decades ago if not for that accursed Dunmer. His fist clenched around the Staff of Magnus. He had been so close to saving Durnehviir. Ahzidal had agreed with his theory, Nahkriin had discovered how to open the correct portal, Vahlok had convinced Alduin to give them a chance…then everything fell apart. If only Miraak had not been so wicked and foolish! If only he had not murdered Alduin’s beloved Konahrik, the World-Eater would not have encouraged the already prevalent cruelty against the remaining commoners! Then they would not have revolted and-
Morokei dismissed the thoughts that had tormented him for years. “If only” helped no one. He stiffened, alerted to a new presence within the ancient ruins.
“Wo meyz wah dii vul junaar?”
He titled his head as he wordlessly siphoned their magika. The intruder’s magical energy felt both ancient and youthful, yet not akin to the mer. Morokei was intrigued by this, but he issued another warning regardless.
“Nivahriin muz fen siiv nid aaz het.”
Silence, yet he felt the strange aura venture further into Labyrinthian, heedless of his words and his consistent draining of their power. He frowned.
"You do not answer... must I use this guttural language of yours?"
The intruder paused and Morokei was able to further sense their lifeforce’s signature. His violet eyes flickered in thought. They were affected by some sort of time displacement…perhaps from a Kel itself! The dragon priest sighed, his curiosity dampened by realism. A more logical explanation was that he had lost all skills of discernment in this prison. A new thought struck him.
"Have you returned, Aren? My old friend?"
Their essence did not feel like Aren, but Morokei was beginning to doubt his own senses. His lip curled in disgust as he remembered the cowardice of the Dunmer.
"Do you seek to finish that which you could not?"
Still no response and the dragon priest chuckled without mirth.
"You only face failure once more..."
He straightened abruptly. The trespasser’s aura was undoubtedly altered by Time!
"You...you are not Aren, are you? Has he sent you in his place?"
Finally, a distant reply echoed through the massive catacombs. “S-Savos Aren? No, I am not the archmage.” Hesitation. “…Where are you, exactly?”
Morokei blinked in genuine surprise. The voice was young, feminine, and rather confused!
“What trickery is this?” He demanded, his voice booming throughout Labyrinthian. “Does that craven charlatan send a child to face me in his stead?”
Sounds of a skirmish, followed by another long pause occurred before the female responded. She seemed rather indignant. “I am no child, sir! Archmage Aren does not-” The roar of a troll drowned out her words and the clamor of combat resumed once more!
Morokei scoffed, his words reverberating throughout the tomb. “Archmage Aren…how ludicrous! Did he warn you that your own power would be your undoing? That it would only serve to strengthen me?”
Her speech sounded breathless now. “He knows-knows not that I am here.”
The metallic creaking of the ancient gate opening signaled the stranger’s approach to his prison. The dragon priest peered through the translucent barrier, intrigued. The cadence of her footsteps slowed, and he finally saw the naive mage with the Kel-touched aura as she ventured down the stone staircase. Her apprentice robes were covered in dirt and blood and her pale curls bounced in all directions. Her turquoise eyes were bright however and she regarded the enthralled wizards with an expression of horrified realization. Then her gaze turned toward him and her expression became one of excitement; a reaction Morokei was not expecting!
“Praise Akatosh, you are a dragon priest!” She exclaimed, foregoing all caution, and practically running toward the energy that encircled him. The young creature did not even glance at the Staff of Magnus, clearly more captivated by Morokei himself! He was uncertain whether he should be insulted or amused. The lich’s eyes narrowed behind his mask as she held aloft a familiar looking dagger that was used only by esteemed members of the Dragon Cult.
“Where did you find such a relic?” Morokei inquired, floating over to the edge of his small cell, towering over the petite woman on the other side. He suspiciously examined those shining turquoise eyes for signs of an illusion spell that would conceal vampirism.
“I know not, save that I awoke with it.” She replied, honestly. “I was hoping a true follower of the dragons would know which sect it originated from.” The Nord finally seemed to realize her ridiculous lack of caution, yet she did not retreat. Fascinated by her aura and her boldness, Morokei inclined his head. “Each blade does carry the unique signature of the craftsman who forged it. Continue.”
“I overheard Archmage Aren warn Professor Tolfdir against expeditions to Labyrinthian and he sounded so oddly frightened and secretive, it was suspicious to say the least.” She glanced over at the enthralled wizards. “I now understand why…” Her thoughtful expression met his intense stare. “To keep a dull tale brief, after much research I decided it was worth the risk to investigate for myself. I know not what I can offer in return that would be of interest, or considered a fair trade, but is there a chance that you would aid me in discovering who created this blade?”
Morokei arched an eyebrow, though his visage was hidden. This was not at all what he had expected! He folded his decrepit arms. The ancient priest had felt Alduin’s return. He could do nothing to serve his master here. Even if this brazen female was not a time displaced member of his order, Morokei was now completely certain that the young woman had encountered an Elder Scroll itself. Knowledge of a Kel’s location would be invaluable.
The lich idly gestured to the barrier. “I am rather preoccupied at the moment.”
The woman took a deep breath. She knew this was a ridiculously stupid idea, worthy of Viintaas, but she had no choice. Feeling the unrelenting gaze of the dragon priest upon her, she crept up behind the closest thrall and plunged the archaic dagger into its ghostly back!