Work Text:
Ji'Fayna lived her own, quiet life. She was one who preferred the silence of her shop, Cheydinhal a far-cry from the muddy, blood-corrupted streets of Bravil - not without it's own corruption, she'd learned, but she didn't find it quite as dangerous to keep one's head down and go about one's business here. She plied the trade she'd grown up learning, her shop floor coated in sweet-smelling reeds and dried lavender to help mask the stench of rendered fat which she'd long gone nose-blind towards. If she was brought the materials, she could create something practical for a fraction of the cost, all septims she'd spend acquiring the needed items taken out of the equation.
Cheydinhal had a handful of apiaries on its outskirts, and she did her best to work with them to get her hands on the wax. She'd even spent afternoons with the beekeepers, watching them tend lovingly to their hives, even if it made every stitch of her clothing itch her fur. Beeswax was one of her more expensive options at times, for it wasn't always the most plentiful, but it was her favorite to work with for a variety of reasons. Namely, it was scentless, and where tallow gave off the oily stench of sheep fats, beeswax only clung to whatever she'd mixed into the batch. Mingling herbs and oils until the right scent was achieved, she crafted a variety of candles for those in need: this one to clear phlegm from the lungs of the sick, this one to ease pain during childbirth, this one to soothe the nasal passages, this one to compliment the perfume of a lover, these were only a few of the options she presented.
Muvayni had been a good customer for some time. She requested beeswax candles for her home, and she always had the gold to pay upfront for what Ji'Fayna would give her. She was also a skilled weaver, and liked to bring her wares to Cheydinhal to sell every once in a while, deft hands crafting some of the most intricate rugs and tapestries and shawls that the Suthay-Raht had ever laid her eyes upon. Slow days gave them time to talk, and when the Dunmer was in town, Ji'Fayna would prepare tea for them and they would sip it behind the counter of her shop, chatting the noon away.
One reason she enjoyed the other's presence was that, despite being quite a reserved woman, she was a fantastic storyteller. Muvayni had never set foot in Morrowind, but no one could guess it by the way she spoke of the land and its legends. She went on long, dreamy lectures about the silt striders, the cliff racers eradicated by St. Jiub, the moons, the gods. She spoke about Nerevar and the Nerevarine prophecies, how they came to pass, about the Tribunal, showing particular affinity for Almalexia as she did so. She elaborated almost as if she herself had wandered the narrow, twisting streets of Vivec City, or enthused over the beauty of the mountains and giant fungi that the Telvanni made into homes - though, and she did clarify with bitterness in her voice, she was not fond of House Telvanni for her own reasons.
Muvayni Femer was a weaver of stories as much as she was a weaver of thread and silk. She'd sometimes laugh, and brush her hand over Ji'Fayna's the same way an elderly mother might do (leaving Ji'Fayna wondering at the seemingly-young woman's age, as elves and Khajiit aged differently) and thank her for entertaining her ramblings. Her little brother, an adventurous lad about Ji'Fayna's age, had long outgrown listening to his sister. Ji'Fayna would quickly swallow her mouthful of tea and shake her head, her golden earrings shifting with the motion from her pointed ears. She'd say it was no problem, when really, it was the highlight of her week to sit and listen.
She'd left home to find her own way years ago, yet she'd found her path right back to the same profession her parents plied back in Bravil. Her mother and father were Alfiq, and while some doubted the handiwork of chandlers of such a furstock, their usage of magic was part of... well, the magic of their candles. They were gifted spellcasters, yet they used their abilities for the simple things, something Ji'Fayna - who was not as magically inclined - always had questions about which went unanswered. She'd been the one to run errands for them for so many years, but her old friends assured her that they would help her parents with their work if she wished to leave the city.
So, she left. She left the dusty streets and the stinking waterways and the banks of the Niben. Admittedly, she missed it, and she would tell Muvayni such. She'd explain how she was the only child which survived her parents' litter, the rest passing quietly before they'd even been old enough to open their eyes, and Muvayni would again brush her hand as an elderly woman did and speak of sympathy. Ji'Fayna, in these moments, struggled to study the look on the Dunmer's face: the glint in her eye, the draw of her lips, and the way she looked off to the side, as if she, too, were mourning something she did not name. She never asked, of course. She didn't know if the pair were friends enough to ask of one another's grief.
It had been a bit of a surprise, however, when Muvayni invited Ji'Fayna to her home. "I'd like you to bring some of your finest candles," she'd said one brittle, cold afternoon, autumn coming with no hesitation at all. "Do you, perhaps, have any you believe would be good for a family shrine?"
Ji'Fayna had gone to the apiaries the next morning, when Muvayni was on her way back to her home town. She'd offered to weave Ji'Fayna a shawl if she fulfilled this order, and it was the kind of trade between them which made her giddy. She'd always envied those who could afford Muvayni's shawls. She already had colors dancing through her mind, what she might prefer, what she could wear through all seasons. Which brooch she could use to pin it in place, and how she would proudly declare that her friend's handiwork had given her such a joy. She spoke with the beekeepers and made the tremendous effort to keep the levity out of her voice, doing business as usual, before she returned to town to speak with an herbalist as to what they'd recommend.
The herbs would be sweet, and give off a purifying scent of rosemary, myrrh, and rue. She set to work the moment she had the beeswax in her possession, and thought more on the colors of the shawl.
Oststern was a little town hidden at a far corner of County Cheydinhal. In fact, Ji'Fayna had never heard of it until Muvayni told her of its existence. It was nestled in a peculiar area that leant the cold of Skyrim and the stories of Morrowind, close to both, and far from either, all the same.
The only thing notable about it, truth be told, was the clock tower.
It was a brilliant piece of architecture, said to have been built by worshippers of Sotha Sil in a prior era, early in the town's history. Now, it stood as a marvel, and what the town lived by, instead of tolling chapel bells. She peered up at it as she stepped out of the carriage, her paws touching the cobblestone and her umber eyes unable to shift from the sight. She drew in the painted, blue surface accented by numerals, the gold hands, and the way that it stood against the skies and the mountains in defiance of anything which might take it down.
She also took note of the soot-stained side, and the way which it looked like it had been repaired in recent years from a fire. She tilted her head, but gave it little mind as she grabbed her basket of fresh candles and her traveling bag, planning to sleep at the inn tonight before heading back home to Cheydinhal. She'd prepared quite a large batch of long-burning ones, the basket heavy with bundles of her handiwork. The twine she'd wrapped them with had to remain loose enough not to scratch the surface, leaving the cold sound of them knocking into each other as she walked.
Muvayni met her where she'd said she would: outside of the local bookseller's shop. She greeted Ji'Fayna warmly, and motioned for her to follow through the narrow, winding streets, until they'd reached a parting in the shops and businesses and clustered houses. Muvayni retrieved a thin key from her pocket, and twisted it into the lock, beckoning her friend inside the house before them.
Ji'Fayna entered slowly, unsure of the building itself. It was large, and spacious, with decorated wooden details along the ceiling and portraits and paintings lining the walls. "My mother is a collector of art," Muvayni clarified, catching the way Ji'Fayna studied them. "She, my grandmother, and my father are out of town on business, but should be back in a couple day's time."
"This is lovely," was all the Suthay-Raht could breathe, becoming all too conscious of how she dressed herself, as if she weren't in the home of a wealthy family in a town that she was a complete stranger to. She'd never really considered that Muvayni might come from such means, only that she paid upfront for the best Ji'Fayna could make for her, and that was all. "You said you have a brother, is he here?"
Muvayni laughed. "Endamir is still living here, yes, but he's currently at work. He'll join us for dinner, if you'd like to stay-"
"Oh, I don't want to impose-"
"You're not imposing, Ji'Fayna, I assure you. Now, let me get us some tea, and we'll talk."
She gently lifted the basket clutched in her hand, as if trying to ask whether Muvayni wanted to take the candles now. The Dunmer moved over to the Khajiit, taking the wicker container and setting them on a nearby table.
"Thank you. We'll speak about your shawl very soon, then."
They had tea together and talked about the travel from Cheydinhal to Oststern, Ji'Fayna having plenty of questions about the town itself. The name, she was told, came from the Nords - or that's how Muvayni heard it, anyhow. The town had a heavy mixture of Nord and Dunmer history, with not many Imperial families calling it home. Ji'Fayna listened, but all the while, she couldn't shake a notion that this place seemed... empty. The hair on the back of her neck stood up when she placed the word to the idea. The house was built for more, most definitely to house a larger family, and yet it only housed Muvayni, her brother, her parents, and her grandmother.
She glanced over to the hearth, the mantle bearing only a few items that must have been personal to each member of the household, and a handful of blank spaces. She shifted her eyes back to Muvayni, then again to the hearth, knitting her brow at the spots missing whatever had once been there. When Muvayni sighed, she snapped her gaze back to the mer, who squeezed her temples in the crook of her thumb.
"Sorry, I'm listening," Ji'Fayna tried, but Muvayni folded her hands in her lap and looked down at her tea.
"I don't suppose we're the closest of friends quite yet," Muvayni began, "but I can tell that you're trying not to ask me something."
Shame bloomed against Ji'Fayna's cheeks, warm and ruddy, and she looked down at her own lap, fiddling with her fingers. "I just happened to notice the hearth, that's all."
A pause, as Muvayni drank another sip of her tea. "All guests do, eventually." She rose, setting her cup down and gesturing for the chandler to follow her. "Come, I'll show you my weaving room, and we can start picking the colors for your shawl."
She tried to contain her excitement, though the speed at which she rose from her chair made Muvayni chuckle a little. She followed the woman closely, up a flight of stairs and through a long, narrow hallway, down to the very end of the space. The room Muvayni led her into was part of a tower, or what could have been one if it rose a few stories higher, with rounded walls and plenty of space utilized to the fullest.
The Dunmer used every bit of that space, meticulous and messy in equal measure. She had projects here, there, everywhere, supplies and color swatches and a couple of large looms, smaller ones, ones that she could hold in her hand to make tiny projects or test ideas for patterns. She moved to the swatches of threads, and gestured for Ji'Fayna to go through them, which she gladly did, using the chance to drag her mind away from the blank spots along the mantle.
In the end, she chose a warm, dark scarlet, which she asked to be tasseled with cream. Muvayni wrote this down in a notebook over at her main weaving station, and when she asked Ji'Fayna if she would like a pattern woven into it, the Khajiit worried at the idea. She knew that this would take quite a lot of time, but as if sensing her nerves over it, Muvayni assured her with a twinkle in her eyes that it would be no trouble. A fair trade, even, given how much work she'd put into the candles.
So, she asked for the moons. Jone and Jode. Muvayni laughed a little and said that that sounded like a lovely idea. She hadn't woven the moons in some time, and it would be good practice.
"I can show you how it works, if you'd like," the weaver offered. When Ji'Fayna nodded, she pulled two stools to her loom, a half-finished project already in the works and ready for her to return to it.
They sat that way until nightfall, with Ji'Fayna listening to Muvayni tell more of her stories, some that Ji'Fayna had heard before, some that she had not. Tales again of Morrowind, and of the Dunmeri cosmology, and of the gods and moons. Of Red Mountain and the Tribe Unmourned. Muvayni, her dark hair bound into a gold hairpin, moved as if possessed only by her work and her tales, keeping her motions even as she crafted what Ji'Fayna thought would be a blanket or a longer shawl, the color a dark indigo hue, accented with green. The pattern looked simple, but delicate enough to catch the eye, much like the items she sold when she came to Cheydinhal.
After a time, the Dunmer paused, and sighed, and shook her head with a laugh. "You must forgive me, it's just been terribly long since I've had someone to listen to my stories while I work."
Ji'Fayna waved a hand, indicating she didn't mind at all. "I guess, as you said, Endamir's outgrown sitting here to listen to his big sister," she gave a small laugh, and Muvayni returned it.
"You'd be correct."
She rose at last, standing, stretching, and turning towards the door. "Come, let's make use of those candles."
The cellar was dark and damp, oily spluttering of a torch on the wall keeping the room lit. In the center lay what Ji'Fayna had been told was a family ash pit, a place where one could come to convene with their ancestors. She'd asked Muvayni repeatedly if it was alright that she was here, to which Muvayni assured her it should be no trouble. Besides, she wanted Ji'Fayna to see her candles lit in a place they would serve a level of importance.
She almost felt a swell of pride at the idea, but tamped it down as they drew closer to the pit. Ash and bits of bone lay, clustered in a stone circle in the flooring. Muvayni lit the first candle by placing the wick in the flame of a torch, then lit a handful more from the first, setting them into gilded and heavily-used holders.
They remained a while, watching the wax dribble down, the scent of herbs mixing with the scent of smoke, until Muvayni seemed to think it appropriate to break the quiet.
"There used to be five of us. That's why there are empty places over the hearth, if that answers your questions."
Ji'Fayna thought this over, and looked to the Dunmer, unsure of what to say. "Five siblings?"
"Including myself, yes. I was not always the eldest, and Endamir and I are what remains."
"I'm terribly sorry."
Muvayni shook her head. "I appreciate the sentiment, Ji'Fayna. These things happened when Endamir was a very small child, so I doubt he remembers his other siblings."
This was the tale that had been buried under all the others, thought Ji'Fayna. Out loud, she apprehensively asked, "you said you weren't always the oldest?"
"That honor once belonged to Drenvys. He was my older brother. Foolish, reckless, but studious and determined. Stubborn, really. What he held passion for, and indeed, his talent, undid him."
She didn't ask what the talent was, but her suspicions landed on magic. She had never seen Muvayni use spells whatsoever, and in some way, she half-wondered if the two things were related.
"We had a younger sister, also. Drolosa, her name was, and she and Drenvys are buried here." She gestured down at the ash pit. "She loved romance novels, even the worst of them - the more atrocious they were, the more entertaining, she'd say - and enjoyed trying to make friends with just about every girl her age. She fumbled a few times at this, of course. Young girls are ruthless, I'm sure I don't need to tell you this. But she was funny, and clever."
Ji'Fayna allowed every detail presented to her to sink in, slow and steady while the candle flames buffeted with a draft. She gazed down at the pit, and then at Muvayni and asked through the tightness in her throat, "you said five, but that's four, if I'm counting correctly."
Muvayni's shoulders slumped, but she held her chin high as she answered, "you'd be correct. Though, the last of us is a stranger, now. His recklessness matched his older brother's. He was responsible for the fire which killed Drolosa. In Morrowind, I believe the term for this act would be foul murder."
She swallowed down the bitter truth with the herb-perfumed air. Muvayni was one of two surviving (and claimed) children. She'd grown up in a house full of noise - no wonder the building had been left feeling so empty, so cold, so uncomfortably silent. Ji'Fayna didn't need to know the story behind its icy nature to feel the chill creep up her arms. She didn't have to be aware of the deaths and the loss to hear the way it brushed through the doorways and clung to the walls.
"What... Happened, to him?" she managed out.
"We cast him out. He is no longer one of the Femer family, he can lay no claim to our name, nor return to this town. Gods know what he's up to these days. I count us all lucky that we do not hear of his acts, whatever he may be doing."
The soot-stained clock tower bloomed in her mind as she drank in each detail, steady in the way that they were placed into step, the narrative before her a bitter one. She could see the way which Muvayni averted her eyes whenever Ji'Fayna mentioned the loss of her own siblings on those rare occasions it came up in conversation, as if she'd known the pain. She did, and worse, she'd known her siblings and formed memories with them. Ji'Fayna had been only a few days old at her own loss. Muvayni had watched them all grow up.
"What was his name, if I may ask?"
Muvayni kept her eyes on the ash pit. "Wyndrelis. He was older than Drolosa by some years. He had... Well, quite a difficult time making friends. Preferred to be alone, truthfully, but Drolosa was his closest companion. Thick as thieves, the pair were, the way that Drenvys and I had once been, even if the years had pried the two of us apart. He used to sit and listen to me tell stories as you did today, actually, in the very same seat." She paused, the exhaled a half-amused breath. "B'vehk, he must be nearing sixty now, come to think of it."
Ji'Fayna did very little to hide her surprise at the detail tacked to the end. When her friend caught the look on her face, she laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls of the cellar.
"Oh, you must think me an old woman, now."
"Well- not exactly, but I guess I'm not as familiar with your lifespan."
Muvayni waved it off, the smile still playing on her lips. She bent down to blow out the first candle, then the second, until all had been extinguished and the room smelled of smoke. "Come," she gestured to the stairs, "let's go have dinner and forget all about these bitter ordeals."
Ji'Fayna had known a stubborn elf, once. She thought about him as she ate dinner with Muvayni and her younger brother, a tall, slightly awkward Dunmer that held himself tense and straight. The Khajiit asked about his trade, and while they talked, her mind sunk back into the waters of her own history.
She'd lived in Anvil for a time. She was born in Cyrodiil, and her parents did the best that they could in the wake of a war. She'd grown up side-by-side with a handful of Khajiit siblings and an Altmer they'd practically adopted into their group. The elf had been stubborn and sometimes temperamental, but Ji'Fayna was, too - sometimes worse, a handful of memories standing out as amusingly embarrassing.
Things grew tense with the years. Money grew tight. Bravil offered a fresh - if battle-torn - start. They'd all moved to the Niben bay, eventually.
Muvayni insisted she give Ji'Fayna a room in their home for the night, and so she accepted, taking one of the guest rooms which had been tidied up and dusted recently. As she listened to Endamir and Muvayni both go off into their own little corners, and do their own night time rituals, she lay awake in the thickly-blanketed bed, thinking back to her parents' shop, and the mer who helped her run errands for her parents so many times.
She closed her eyes, and thought more and more of writing to her mother.
She returned to her shop by carriage, and set to work once more, filling orders and speaking with customers and working to replace the old, dried reeds with new, fresh rushes to perfume the floor and soak up the stench of melting fat. She dunked wicks into pots until they formed thick layers around them, and blended mixtures of herbs to ease pains, to ease phlegm and bile, to soften one's own smell. She kept busy, and when Muvayni returned some weeks later to update her on the progress of her shawl, she welcomed the other's arrival with a broad smile.
As they had tea, Ji'Fayna decided that it was her turn to give Muvayni tales of her own, and so she spoke of Anvil, and her friends, and her childhood by the sea. She spoke of the other Khajiit children, and of their elven playmate, and the sand and how it clung to them, and the salt that wafted through the air. She'd intended to stop there, but something in the Dunmer's eyes pushed her to keep talking, and so she spoke of her parents. How they, too, made such beautiful candles, and how she'd often ran errands for them in her youth. How she thought of them sometimes while she worked. How her mother's handiwork was what she held hers own up against, and with a laugh, she said that she hoped her mother would come visit her shop one day and tell her exactly where she went wrong and what she needed to do to make her candles as precise.
Muvayni listened, sipped her tea, and smiled. "It's good to be in the listening chair for once."
Ji'Fayna laughed. "I'm glad to know I'm not boring you."
"Quite the opposite," the Dunmer hummed. Her eyes lit up, and she asked, "did I ever tell you about the time Drenvys and I lost Drolosa in the market?"
"No, you didn't," she answered, shaking her head. Muvayni chuckled and leaned back in her chair, her scarlet eyes brimming with a bittersweet nostalgia.
"Perhaps I will, then."