The Orrery is ready by the time we get back to Elden Root. (I probably wouldn’t be able to find my way to the particular door that leads to it if Mel, the wood elf in charge of getting this all set up, didn’t lead us there.) The conservator has been preparing Queen Ayrenn for the ritual and everything is in place. I’m excited and I feel like everything is going to go horribly wrong and I just hope it doesn’t go horribly wrong in a way that Queen Ayrenn winds up dead.

These things always go horribly wrong. I’m not a pessimist. I’ve just seen enough of weird magic to be able to predict what weird magic is likely to do. Usually something bad. Even Mel thinks it might explode. He uses this as an argument for convincing Vicereeve Pelidil to stay out of the chamber while they’re performing the ceremony. I’m so glad that he came up with an excuse for that more convincing than ‘because you’re a jackass’. (My party, of course, is allowed inside as being ‘support staff’, to Pelidil’s incredulous expression.)

Queen Ayrenn and Prince Naemon are arguing as we approach. It’s dangerous and Naemon shouldn’t be here, Ayrenn insists. Naemon, on the other hand, insists right back that his place is always in her shadow. I sigh and resist the urge to smack him. What is it about high elves and their tendency to whinge about the circumstances life gives to them?

“Your Highness,” I put in. “You don’t understand. You’re the designated survivor here. If this thing blows up and kills everyone in the room, your sister wants to make sure someone survives who can still rule.”

“I don’t see how this Ayleid contraption will prove anything, anyway,” Naemon says. “This won’t convince the people of Tamriel that you have the right to rule.”

“That’s quite true,” I say. “I honestly doubt anyone outside of the Dominion is going to care about whatever this thing does. It’s no substitute for military might, ruthless determination, negotiations over well-placed treaties, and pure charisma.”

“Neri,” Ayrenn says with a small smile. “I understand we have you to thank for getting the pieces in place to make the Orrery functional again.”

“Oh, right, I guess I did do that, didn’t I?” I say. “I was a little distracted with solving a number of problems involving Daedra and murdering a traitorous general.”

“You were a little distracted solving every problem in Grahtwood, you mean,” Eran says.

“I heard about what happened with General Endare,” Ayrenn says. “She always seemed a little extreme and ruthless, but I never expected her to go quite that far.”

“Part of it was corruption from that artifact, I think,” I say. “Though I’d take a guess that it took her worst qualities and amplified them. I really hope we know what we’re doing with that thing.”

“Conservator Daraneth assures me that we should be able to handle it safely for a limited period of time,” Ayrenn says.

“Well, that’s something, at least,” I say.

We head in, and I go up to speak with the conservator. Prince Naemon still insists on coming in anyway. King Aeradan is present also, against the concerns of his Vinedusk Rangers, who also seem to be afraid that the ancient contraption will explode. It seems like Queen Ayrenn and the conservator are the only ones reasonably certain that the thing won’t explode.

“Do we really need to use the Khajiit thief god’s cloak for this?” I ask the conservator.

“It’s said that the controls must be moved by a god’s hands,” Conservator Darry says. “That’s nonsense, though. You simply need to be in three places at once.”

“So… why could you not simply have three people do it, then?” I ask.

Conservator Darry does not have a good answer for that and remains convinced that the extremely dangerous god cloak is needed to operate the extremely dangerous Ayleid contraption. I take back everything positive I ever said about high elves. They’re completely insane. And coming from me, that’s saying something.

Oh, and I’m supposed to be the one to use it. Because of course I am.

“Before we get started, I would like it to be known that I think this is a terrible idea,” I say.

“At least someone here has some sense,” Naemon mutters.

“Your objection has been noted,” Ayrenn says with a faint grin.

“Thank you,” I say. “Alright, what do you need me to do?”

Darry instructs me to wear the ‘probably perfectly safe’ mantle and use it to make copies of myself to poke the two pedestals on the other side of the room, and then put the heart of that dead Ayleid guy in the slot in the front. Reluctantly, I follow the instructions given, activating the Ayleid contraption into a very pretty light show and I really, really hope that there’s nothing more than a very pretty light show going on here.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Alas, I hate being proven right sometimes. Prince Naemon steps out, stuns everyone with some sort of dark spell, and makes a little speech about how he’s the only one qualified to rule Tamriel, and steps up into the extremely dangerous Ayleid contraption. I struggle against the spell for a moment, but the power of the mantle lets me break free in time to see the second-biggest ogrim I have ever seen emerge from the Orrery.

“Well fuck,” I say. I pull off the mantle and run over to where Merry is stunned, and toss it around his shoulders. “Break out of the spell! I’ll keep his attention off of you.”

I hop over the railing to make sure the ogrim is focused on anything but hurting the other people in the room. Merry breaks out of the dark spell and starts casting. I really hope he can reverse this effect like he did with the Sorry bastard in the Rilis castle.

“Hold him!” Merry exclaims. “I can do this!”

I weave and dodge away from the ogrim’s clumsy attacks, giving him a few taunts that I’m not sure he’s even capable of understanding in that form. He seems like he was angry enough at the world in general without my help.

“Nngh!” Merry nnghs. “It’s too much! The Daedra is too strong for me to transform by myself!”

“Use the mantle!” I call back. “Make copies of yourself and have them all work together to do it!”

Another Merry appears, and another. The three of them combine their efforts and envelope the ogrim in multiple rays of magic. Two more join in before any results show. When the fifth Merry starts casting as well, finally the ogrim’s form warps and shifts, and Prince Naemon is once again standing before us. He gasps, looks down at his hands, and his knees give out from under him.

The extra Merries wisp out of existence and he tears the mantle from his shoulders and tosses it to the floor as if it’s going to strangle him. Naemon’s spell has dissipated by this point, and Ayrenn runs down the stairs up toward him.

“Naemon!” Ayrenn cries. “Little brother, are you alright?”

Prince Naemon has finally lost his cool, and is huddled up in a fetal position openly crying. “You… I just tried to usurp your throne, and the first thing you ask is if I’m alright?”

“Of course!” Ayrenn says. “You’re still my brother, and I’ll always love you, no matter what happens.”

Merry is leaning heavily against a wall, looking like he just expended five times more magicka than he actually has.

“Merry, are you alright?” I ask, pulling a few shitty homemade magicka potions of my pack and handing them to him.

Merry nods weakly as he starts downing them. “I wasn’t sure if I would be able to pull that off…” he lowers his voice, “or whether he deserved the efforts.”

I give a soft snort and say quietly, “Yeah, he’s kind of a fetcher, but the Queen would be despondent if we had to kill her brother in front of her.”

“The Orrery is supposed to show who you are inside,” Naemon says. “Is that… is that all I really am? A monster?”

“You don’t have to be a monster,” Ayrenn says, then straightens and looks over toward Merry and me. “You have my eternal gratitude for being able to save my brother, mage. What is your name?”

“Merormo, Your Majesty,” Merry says.

Not to be dissuaded by what happened to her brother, Ayrenn remains convinced that she must go into the Orrery herself and refuses to back down regardless of anyone’s warnings. What’s even the point of a device that turns people into monsters?

Merry sighs and grabs the mantle, and puts it back on reluctantly. “Very well, Your Majesty. Should anything happen to you, I will attempt to restore you, as well.” Even with the assistance of all the magicka potions I had in my pack, he still looks exhausted. I’m not sure if he can manage that again anytime soon.

“Hopefully that won’t be necessary,” Ayrenn says.

With a look of determination in her eyes, Queen Ayrenn turns toward the Orrery, which is fortunately still active because it would be annoying to have to power it up again. I wish it had done nothing but make pretty lights. (But maybe now Naemon will finally stop whinging. One can only hope for miracles sometimes.)

“Ayrenn,” I say quietly before she steps inside. “Please don’t die. I will never forgive myself if I let you go through with this and…” I look over my shoulder at Naemon, still curled up on the floor and gently rocking himself.

Ayrenn sighs. “If I turn into a monster as well, if it shows me that is what I truly am inside, I am not fit to be Empress either.”

“We don’t know if the thing is even working properly,” I say. “It might have been corrupted by the cloak, or the heart, or anything.”

“Perhaps,” she says. “But I have to take the risk.”

Without another word, Ayrenn takes a deep breath and steps into the ancient Ayleid death trap. It begins its light show again, gleaming bright pillars erupting in the air and radiant circles appearing on the floor. When Ayrenn reappears, she’s still herself, albeit more glowy. (I really hope that’s a temporary cosmetic effect.)

“I’m still myself?” Ayrenn says, looking down at her swirly hands.

“More or less?” I say. “Still lucid enough to ask that, at any rate.”

“If you don’t stop glowing by tomorrow, Your Majesty, please come to me and I will attempt to reverse it,” Merry says wearily, hurling the cloak as far away from him as he can throw (which isn’t very far).

Vicereeve Pelidil chooses that moment to come in, followed by the Vinedusk Ranger he had been arguing with on the way. “Is everything alright in here? I heard strange noises.”

“Everything’s fine,” Queen Ayrenn assures him. “You probably just heard the Orrery starting up. The old machinery let out some worrisome creaks and groans for a moment there but it seems to work properly.”

“It was amazing to see,” King Aeradan says, looking toward the Orrery. “When I was young, I used to sneak down here to play. A good thing we never managed to accidentally make anything explode!”

Pelidil goes over to where Prince Naemon is sitting, now leaning up against a wall but still disinclined to try to stand up or move anywhere just yet. “Are you alright, Your Highness?”

Naemon makes a grimace that he quickly suppresses. “Yes, I am well.”

“You seem surprisingly despondent,” Pelidil says.

Naemon looks away, toward the Orrery, and makes an excuse. “I just wish Estre could have seen this.”

“You miss your wife,” Pelidil says softly.

“Of course I do,” Naemon says, unsteadily rising to his feet but doing his best to pretend he’s fine and everything is normal. I’ll give him points for the effort. This is the closest I’ve ever seen to humility from him. He’s got to realize that he could have been executed for this, and instead we’re all pretending it didn’t happen.