Work Text:
She stands alone on the balcony of their gloriously decaying villa and squints at the White-Gold Tower eclipsing the setting sun. She’s grown to hate the thing.
Everything is so huge in this city, so full of itself, so sure of its purpose. It’s an oppressive air — too impersonal, too impatient, too… foreign?
That’s the right word, she thinks.
An Akaviri on Tamriel. A citizen of the world. With many houses to visit, but none to call her home.
Never belonging to anything or to anywhere is its own, special kind of torment.
She sighs and undoes her ponytail, careful not to catch hair onto the nail ring. It does, and she casts the thing from her hand and to the ground. She’s not the one to decline an opportunity to dress up, but this is different.
These are dangerous frivolities.
The chill evening air is powerless to cool her tempers. But impulsiveness is not befit of a Tsaesci. Neither is anger. So she swallows her feelings, hoping these coals will one day stoke her flames shall they burn low.
A sharp exhale.
A grinding of teeth.
A pressure passes.
There is knocking on the door before it opens, inviting the merry noise of a party going well. Her brother follows next, enveloped in the festive ambience of his own making.
He’s a man of waning youth, with a face wrinkled by past emotions. Too kind and easy-going for his own good. A soft, warm place in a cold, harsh world.
This will kill him one day.
Perhaps by the end of the year.
“Heiwes?”
She spares him a glance. A better sight than the blasted Tower.
“What is it, Xidri?” She asks in a not particularly dignifying tone.
He sighs.
“At least it’s not Xidritien-Zuhiye this time.”
“What is it?” she repeats.
He closes the door behind himself and leans back.
“Are you running away from me? Be honest.”
“No.” A pause. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Why did you,” she gestures wildly around herself, “do all of this?”
“You’ve been moody all month! I’m just trying to distract you from what’s going on in your head! You’re too high-strung, at least attempt to relax.”
“Xidri,” she clicks her tongue, “I don’t know anyone you’ve invited to our house. It’s all petty Imperial nobility and Nibenese pretending to be Akaviri because they have a Tsaesci great-great-grandfather. I wouldn’t be able to strike a conversation with these people even if I tried.”
“That last part has been pretty rude.” He crosses his arms and his perpetual smile grows less dazzling. “You know it’s more complicated than that.”
Heiwes pinches the bridge of her nose.
“Listen, these seasonal festivals, river newts, fireworks, are all spectacular. I love to don a colorful silken robe and go dancing or stuffing my face with dumplings in celebration of my culture.”
“But?”
“But this is not how I want it. It’s too overbearing, too public, and I just want to be left alone.”
Xidri’s eyes trail to the nail ring on the ground and his smile vanishes completely. He walks towards the railing, to her side and takes in the amber-lavender panorama of the Imperial City.
“What’s going on?” he asks in earnest.
Heiwes simmers like oil in a hot pan.
“War!” She stomps her foot. “War is what’s going on! How can you throw this feast when the Colovian kings are plotting our destruction only a hundred miles to the west?!”
He furrows his brows.
“Alright. Do you suppose we all should sulk about the looming threat on our lonesome like yourself? Let anxious thoughts consume our every moment? Do you propose we all plunge into depths of despair because of this?”
“All I ask of you is to take this seriously.”
Xidri shoots a bewildered look.
“You think I’m not? Half of the so-called Nibenese pretending to be Akaviri there are assimilated Tsaesci displaced by the fall of the Potentate. And the petty Imperial nobility are sympathetic and like-minded citizenship. I’m helping to build bridges here. You would know if you’ve spoken to literally anyone here.”
“Building bridges only for General Sosildor to burn them?”
“Attrebus isn’t going to do anything to the Akaviri. The Colovian Estates won’t let him. The Elder Council won’t let him.”
Heiwes could punch her brother here and there. How can one be so naive, she asks herself. Attrebus won’t do it! The biggest egotistical megalomaniac since Reman Cyrodiil won’t ‘behead every snake in the province.’
This type of ignorance is deadly.
“As if either cares about the fate of a vilified minority, don’t make me laugh,” she spits. “Unlike you, I’ve been beyond the Rumare. I know what they think we are and how much they hate it. We’re leeches, backstabbers, agents of cultural and societal decay. They think we kidnap their children to drink their blood. It’s written in their books like fact. They harbor no love for us.”
“You say this, yet they clearly do. Here, in the City I sense no animosity, no hate. Plenty of people don’t think of others in terms of caricatures, Heiwes.”
“You will feel safe until Sosildor takes the City.”
“He won’t. Aixnieras will protect us.”
She waves dismissively at him.
“The Potentate can barely protect himself from assassins. Nibenay is with him only because they’re afraid of a potential Colovian emperor.”
“This line of thinking will get you nowhere.”
“Face it,” she says. “This is the dusk of an era. Whatever is left of the Potentate will be swept under the rug of history. And so will be those Akaviri who haven’t disappeared into Tamrielic lineages. Like you and me.”
Xidri lets out a mirthless chuckle.
“And what are you proposing, o Va-Tsii of defeatism?”
“To leave.”
“What?”
“To leave Cyrodiil.”
“Just like that? Abandoning the fight? No resistance?”
“When someone holds a dagger to your throat, that is not a fight. That’s murder. I am simply avoiding being slaughtered.”
“I don’t agree.”
“Then be ready to lose everything you have — up to, and including, your life.”
There is disbelief in Xidri’s eyes. But more importantly, a tiny little sliver of contempt for his sister.
Heiwes continues,
“I’m leaving the province tomorrow night.”
“What in Tam’s name do you mean by that?”
“I shall board a boat and sail to Leyawiin, and from there to Senchal or Alabaster — there’s a large Akaviri diaspora there, and Elsweyr’s nice.”
“And then? Just start your entire life over? Are you daft?”
“Yes, to both. And if that doesn’t go well… I’ll just board another boat and leave for Rhalta. The Bretons would be far too busy hating each other and the orcs to pay attention to me.”
“I don’t… I don’t understand how you can just leave your homeland behind on a moment’s notice.”
“Oh, my sweet Xidri, this place was never my home. In an ideal world, my home would’ve been in Meralang or Nuku, but I can’t exactly come back to Akavir, can I?”
“Of course you’d pine for what-could-have-been.”
“And would I be in the wrong for it? In Tsakara, I would’ve had real opportunities. I wouldn’t have to fight for every crumb.”
“And I would have. In Tsakara, my only real path would be to become a priest or a soldier.”
She shrugs.
“I bought two tickets. I implore you to leave with me.”
“And what about all those who remain in the city? In this very house? What about them?”
“We can’t help everyone in need.”
“Then I’ll stay.”
“Then you’ll die.”
“I will die for a reason, while you will continue to live an aimless, meandering life.”
She frowns and sighs.
“Do tell me, should you reconsider.”
The lack of response is answer enough, and she makes her way to the door until Xidri calls out,
“Heiwes?”
“Yes?”
“You’re a coward.”
“I know.” She smiles. “Not everyone is cut out to be a hero. Have a good evening, brother.”
She disappears into the house.
Once Heiwes is out of sight, Xidri contemplates kicking her nail ring off the balcony.