Between the Breaths

The Guild hall was quiet so early in the morning. This, Arqeya found, was the best time to get her work done. The quill scratched along the paper as she wrote, feeling confident that she would be done with her manuscript within a day or so. Between teaching her classes and searching for ingredients for her dishes, she was finding it difficult to sit down and actually just write the thing. Nor did she usually have any time. However, forgoing sleep on her morning off, she decided to rise early and put her nose to the grindstone, so to speak. She did not have a class to teach this day, so there was no better time to do it.

The tome was already quite long, but this was to be her greatest contribution towards the Guild, at least in her mind, and perhaps in Vanus’s mind as well. The Archmagister had taken a liking to her early on. He had happened to be in the guild hall when she had been teaching one of her classes, and approached her afterwards. At the time, she hadn’t even known who he was, nor did he introduce himself by name straightaway. He had a certain charm about him, Arqeya could not deny, but after his courting became more up front she had to gently inform him that she was not interested through no fault of his own. He had taken it surprisingly well and they maintained a friendship, and Vanus was a great sounding board for when she got stuck in her writing. She had, however, not seen him in quite some time. Being the Archmagister meant he was often very busy, which she understood.

Arqeya wrote until her wrist began to cramp, and she set her quill down, reading over her last paragraph and deciding that it was a good place to stop for now. She left it open to allow the recent ink to dry and stretched, her limbs still from sitting for so long. Her stomach growled, making its hunger known. She grabbed her satchel from where it was hanging off of her bedframe and left her room, quietly closing her door behind her to ensure that she didn’t wake anybody else in the hall.

Once outside, Arqeya took a deep breath of the early morning air. Auridon’s weather was usually quite pleasant, and it was still too early in the year for it to get unbearably hot. She tried to soak it up as much as she could as she made her way down the path towards the shops.

The Salted Wings Tavern was also quiet so early in the morning, though Parmanir and Hizala were awake, chatting as they did their morning duties. Both looked up as Arqeya entered the tavern and greeted her. She pulled out one of the stools in front of the bar they were both standing behind.

“How are things here?” she asked.

“Oh, you know. More or less the same as usual,” Parmanir replied, setting down the tankard he had been cleaning and grabbing another to give it the same treatment. “How’s that book of yours coming along?”

“Good,” Arqeya said. “I had to take a break to get something to eat. I don’t suppose I could trouble you for something small?”

Hizala nodded, her catlike eyes flashing against her dark fur. “Yes, I can see you are needing a good meal. This one will make you something sweet to eat.”

“Thank you Hizala,” Arqeya replied warmly.

The tavern workers gossiped freely while Arqeya listened and offered an occasional reply. She was fairly social, but since most of her days were spent talking and teaching, she enjoyed listening where she could.

“And what with the captain being a traitor and all, the guards are so unorganized. If those fish elves were to attack now, it wouldn’t look good for us,” Parmanir said lowly, looking at Arqeya with a pointed expression.

She fought back the urge to cringe when referring to the other race of mer in such a crude way. She knew that many Altmer had a very prevalent sense of superiority over the other races, having grown up around it herself, but her time spent at the guild has shown her that there are talented people of every race. Her parents, who were as purist as they come, raised her the same, but she had grown out of the mindset some time ago. Not wanting to oust herself from her homeland though, she tried to remain as neutral as possible.

“Hmm,” she said in response to Parmanir’s news. “You think they’ll attack again?”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it. They seem to think they’re better than us. True descendents of the Aldmer. Ha! Delusional.” He shook his head and set down his tankard with a thud.

Hizala set a steaming porridge in front of her, effectively ending the conversation. She thanked her and began to eat, savoring the flavors of the sweet breakfast.

Once she had eaten, she paid for the meal as well as various ingredients to-go, watching Parmanir carefully pack them into a sack.

“Thank you both. It was a pleasure, as always.”

“The pleasure is all ours, miss Arqeya. You be careful now.”

With that she was on her way, heading back towards the Guild hall, taking it slow. The town was beginning to wake up, the sounds of iron and other metals clanging, evidence of the smiths hard at work. She waved to some she passed, friends or students from her classes. Things were beginning to settle as the guards tried to bring themselves back together, but occasionally Arqeya would catch sight of a group of them patrolling, talking to each other in hushed tones with drawn brows.

Parmanir’s words had stuck in her mind. Maormer invaders. It had happened before, somewhat recently, though the guard was able to drive them back, keeping them on the beach. They came nowhere near the town proper, and Arqeya had noticed little to no change in the daily life of everyone, aside from more gossip than usual. People trusted the guards. But what would happen if they couldn’t rely on them so much anymore?

She considered the thought. She supposed the local Fighter’s Guild charter would more than likely be willing to help. Even some of the Destruction focused mages in her own Guild would be willing, surely. Besides, how many of the Sea Elves would be able to attack at once? They wouldn’t be that coordinated if they were taking multiple different ships, she reasoned. She pushed it to the back of her mind. It would be nice, she thought, if everyone could just get along with each other and not cause such pointless conflicts in the first place.

It was a few days later when the panic began. Arqeya was out gathering wild mint leaves when she heard the stamping of armored footfalls and the hum of a large group of people yelling. Her heart thudded in her chest as she clasped her satchel closed and headed in the direction of the din.

It seemed the entirety of the Vulkhel Guard guard was headed towards the beach, their presence alone causing noticeable panic in the town. The mage followed them at a distance until they headed down the ridge towards the beach. Arqeya opted instead to stay on the high ground, heading North to try and get a better view of what was going on below.

As she moved through the trees, she saw them. Ships. Many of them, and pouring from them and engaging with the Altmer guard were Maormer, suited up and brandishing various weapons. They were swift, and had clearly taken Vulkhel Guard by surprise. Mer on both sides were engaging with each other, and falling. The Maormer were clearly well trained and well coordinated, archers hanging back on the ships and picking off the Altmer guards as the other soldiers on the ground kept them occupied and unable to get onto the ships.

Her fingers twitched. She could let off a spell or two and likely take a couple of them out, but that would compromise her position. Was it even a good idea to get involved? Perhaps she should return to the Guild and warn her colleagues. Those who could fight could fight, and those who couldn’t would be able to barricade the building. At the rate things were going, it seemed like the Maormer were going to get beyond the beach with ease.

As she turned to head back to town, pain exploded in her shoulder. She reached for it and her hand came back covered in sticky red blood. An arrow. It had lodged itself in her back, just out of her reach. Arqeya bit back a whine, clenching her fists against the pain and crouching onto the ground. One of the archers must have spotted her. She hadn’t even threatened them, but ultimately it had not mattered. There was a hissing noise, and it took her a few moments to realize it was her own breaths, coming fast and short through clenched teeth.

She could not lift her arm, and crawled on three limbs away from the ledge, from the line of sight of the archers. Her vision was blurring, mind whirling as she tried to calculate her next move.

A twig snap.

Arqeya looked up in the direction the sound had come from. Standing less than ten feet from her, half behind a tree, was a Maormer. Her skin was a pale blue, almost white, contrasting starkly with her dark, close-cropped hair. Her eyes, like most Maormer, featured white, almost invisible pupils. But Arqeya could tell that this stranger was looking directly at her, her face unreadable.

Strands of long blonde hair fell over Arqeya’s eyes as she sat back on her heels, holding her shoulder with her good arm. Her fight response was screaming at her to ready a spell, anything, but she couldn’t help but notice that the newcomer did not have a weapon drawn.

“Please… I don’t want any trouble,” she said, bowing her head slightly and hoping against hope that this mer, part of the race that was the enemy of her people, would somehow let her go. She tried to come up with some sort of way to talk herself out of it, but the Sea Elf in front of her was saying nothing, barely having even moved since Arqeya became aware of her presence. Not to mention the blood she was losing was making her feel lightheaded and unable to think straight.

The Maormer stepped forward, and Arqeya snapped her head up. If she had to defend herself she would. She raised a hand, just as much to ready a spell as to block the sun. But the other elf stopped in front of her, moving slowly, and sank down to her knees so they were looking at each other face to face. Arqeya could see that this stranger was a little bit shorter than her, but a little more muscular. Her eyes were somewhere between unnerving and ethereal, and Arqeya was transfixed. She was holding her breath, waiting for her to say something.

Slowly, the stranger reached their arm forward and touched the side of Arqeya’s face, gently. Arqeya’s breath caught in her throat, unsure of what was going on. The hand trailed from her face down her neck.

“Sleep,” the Maormer said. Arqeya felt pressure in the pocket above her collarbone, then nothing.