image [https://i.imgur.com/UvduvtT.png]

Obsidian temple doors swung forward on metal hinges so dark they seemed to have been absorbed into the stone over the centuries. The dark exchanged in a flash for a sky shaded with the trailing gray of a monsoon rain; before me a manicured garden ruled by fronds of green elephantine leaves and hydrotian blossoms of pearl and hushed pink which dipped and bobbed under fat raindrops. High stone walls surrounded us, black as ash. Cat shapes prowled their tops like gargoyles, and the path ahead was framed by tree trunks covered with a coarse hair not unlike that of a coconut — from their high branches came the uncouth squeals of monkeys and cawing parrot over the shallow percussion of a trailing rain. I fidgeted with my wrist cuffs, smelled the humid air which still felt so alien to me, before entering the garden court of His Holiness, Mane of the South.

Abbard and Keyes, my supposed captor and his servant, marched on my flanks. Despite a guardsmen breastplate, Keyes somehow looked ever more awkward on account of his overlong pale neck protruding from his boxy breastplate. For my part I had been given a brown traveler's robe when we had entered the surrounding military camp.

We walked under the eyes of the king's guard who haunted the garden, half buried behind foliage and blending into the stone walls with slate gray lamellar briefly jeweled with beaded raindrops. They stood still as statues, but I felt the heat of their gaze through the screaming dark-moon demon masks.

My heart skipped when I heard one call me by name, not the proud call of a warrior at arms but the mutter of someone unsure if they dreamed. And with some rustling he began to push his way towards us.

Abbard turned to me with wide eyes. "What do we do?"

I nodded ahead. "Keep going. I just need a moment with him."

We pressed on, pretending we didn't hear him. To my surprise the guard did not call out again, but merely stumbled after me as if hypnotized. His brothers-in-arms pressed forward to join him, casting man-wide leaves aside as they did so, until we were fairly surrounded as we stood before His Holiness.

He squatted under a purple awning on a foldout chair that appeared to be on the precipice of collapse — cloth impossibly taught against the wooden frame assaulted by his incredible bulk. He had the face I knew so well from his deviator brother, but it had sprung an additional chin in the Estrangement and he wore only a the priestly ivory cloth wrapped about himself which left exposed one of his generous breasts and the surge of an unimpeachable gut that protruded so that it rocked the folding-table before him with each gasp. I was relieved, enervated even, by that face despite the fact it had previously sentenced me to a death of sorts.

I was less pleased by some of the company he kept however, for Chevalier Rokash was presently speaking, jabbing the map on the gut-rocked table as we approached, his mane-hair resplendently curled over his mirror-shined breastplate. Across from him a midnight armored Dunmer witch stood with a twisted smile that mirrored a scar that ran over the bridge of her nose — I already knew her by reputation (and Abbard’s warnings) to be Mistress Vendrela, the leader of the Telvanni mercenary corps. Surrounding the Mane were a pair of high nobles in their purple plumed helmets.

We stood in silence before the awning, stray raindrops flecking against my cheeks that were not cool as I always expected, but still warm off the south sea. Chevalier Rokash, oblivious to us, was still speaking in his familiar growl. "We must attack. Governor Lucca still refuses to reply to our calls for aid, or even clarify his objectives, and the pretender will be upon us in days — the northern plantation holders have already left their estates to the looters. What message does that send to our own loyalists?"

"We had an incident just in town just last night," hissed Mistress Vendrela, her slit eyes snapping onto us. "Without summoning hellfire itself onto the street things could easily have escalated into a riot…"

The rest of the council followed Vendrela's gaze to us. Abbard cleared his throat. "Yer most holy majesty, I present to you my prisoner, Berry Longfellow —"

The air shuttered with unsheathing blades.

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"The rat!" cried Rokash, the nobles hissing in concurrence. “Kill it now!”

Vendrela raised an eyebrow. "Frankly I had expected someone more… more."

His Holiness scanned the assemblage, his fat cushioned brow steepled with concern. Beside me Abbard pushed onward, voice quavering, with his speech just as I had instructed him. "Known by some as the Fate Binder, others as the Fate Weaver, or He That Bends Time’s Ear. He came with me voluntarily, surrendering after an honorable exchange where many lesser men fell or fled to the wayside, oh Great Mane, ya see we crossed paths not far —"

“All well and good, Nord, thank you but that’s enough” Rokash raised a hand to the guards. “You may take it out back and kill it now.”

A woman shrieked as a pair of the slate armored demons shoved Abbard and Keyes aside, clawed hands gripping my arms like iron vices, lifting my feet off the ground. On further reflection, I believe the only person screaming was me.

“Let him speak first-uhhhh,” said His Holiness, so low I could barely hear over the din. He glanced about as if expecting a slap.

I was thrown to the ground, shins barking against the dark stone pathway. I swallowed and struggled to order my thoughts. The words I had spent days meditating on as we floated south through the river delta all felt like a great mess of a web over my mind.

“Your Holiness,” I said, fighting to still my voice. “There is fear amongst your people. Where once there was certainty in the world's order and their place in it, a terrible catastrophe has befallen and, although most fear to speak it aloud, the people are no longer certain who you are, or who your foe is, and who that makes them in turn. This uncertainty is deeper than mere physical issue, it is spiritual as well… and the costs of ignoring it could be catastrophic.”

Rokash snorted, but I continued.

"Holiness… Birdcatcher… a break in time, an eclipse of the self, has occurred and affected all in Elsweyr — and it began with me and you, Holiness. Perhaps you have been told things about me, that I somehow betrayed you in the past, but I know in your heart and mind you have no memory of me or any such betrayal — just as I have none of you. I know countless inconsistencies plague you — breaks from the life you thought you knew, the person you were, and the reality of others — I know you have experienced it because I have as well.

His Holiness shifted his bulk. “But are you not the Fate Binder who served my false rivals?”

“That is my brother. But Fate Weaver was one of the names I wore as I found myself, but I am the Fate Weaver no more. I have accepted the truth that I am only a Stranger to this world — and have surrendered and pretense of controlling the outcomes. It is my place — more so than most men at least — as a stranger to your strange land, to know little of many matters, but I know much of this: the two of us are fated to restore peace to Elsweyr."

I stopped, frankly out of breath, and only the wet patter of rain filled the air. Rokash's mouth worked, but he lacked the courage to speak out of turn. His Holiness steepled his fingers, seeming to struggle with my words before reclining, causing his chair to squeal. "I know of what you speak, Stranger-uhh. Without ever meeting me you seem to know me better than anyone in my court, and I in turn know you. Come then, join us Stranger, and share your wisdom-uhh.

Keyes and Abbard were dismissed with a wave of his hand. Abbard gave me the most pitiable begging eyes as he uncuffed me — feeling perhaps like the Alfiq who births the Senche, as he realized the extent to which he had just elevated me. I immediately joined the Mane's council beneath the pure awning. No one offered up a chair so I perched my butt on the table as I began to lecture the group on everything I knew; despite the heat of Chevalier Rokash's seething, it shocked me how quickly I settled into the role of advisor among a group I largely knew through their alter-egos.

I quickly brought them up to speed regarding the Northern Mane’s alliances, force composition, and strength. Most importantly I shared their strategy which so far as I could tell was still the mad dash to kill my present company. They, in turn, informed me of their coalition’s strength (comparable, if different from the northern army) and that the Northern Mane was just across a river valley from us and that his actions matched my description.

They were rather dismayed when I shared the legion’s unfriendly intentions.

“It’s true,” I insisted. “And your rival knows the Empire marches but does not know your relationship with the Empire, he thinks to outpace them and kill you — which is a weakness.”

“Maybe we should withdraw-uh… both armies are near now. We could be hit on two fronts.”

Mistress Vendrela snapped like a whip. “Or we could play them off each other. Anything is better than passively waiting for them to gang up on us.”

“Taking to the field carries many dangers-uhh…”

I said, “I will not lie, both options are exceedingly dangerous your Holiness. But it’s your decision. I’m just honored that you have shown faith enough in me to listen to my plea, and if you will listen once more I would say only this: offer peace talks when we are there and the results may surprise you. I still have people sympathetic to me in his camp.”

The Mane reclined back, centering himself with a deep breath. “I don't know…I need to meditate on this.”

"The time to meditate is over," hissed Mistress Vendrela, "they're about to decide for us."

Rokash growled at her, "Let them, it will be their own death. Holiness we cannot take the word of this vagabond miscreant."

"I need to meditate-uhh! I will inform you all of our course shortly. Until then you are all dismissed."