Count Only The Happy Hours

Part 1: II

"Ald Sotha?" Voryn thought the answer over for a moment. "Then my apologies for my informality, serjo–you must be House Sotha, then. Quite a small house, as I recall. There's only..."

"Me." A hollowness had found its way into Sil's voice. "I'm the only one left."

For the first time, Vivec caught Voryn's gold face go pale. He mouthed only one? to himself, then looked up to Vivec for confirmation. He received a grim-faced nod in response. An uneasy silence followed; Voryn clearly wanted to ask for details, but even as cold as he was, it's not the sort of thing you ask in front of a traumatized child.

"I'll...see what I can do for now. We'll discuss this further when Nerevar and Alandro return," Voryn said stiffly, glancing up at Vivec with a silent but clear addition of, Take care of this.

Arm still around Sil's shoulders, Vivec put on a smile. "You know, a place to rest your head is one of life's foremost treasures, and I'm always very fond of sharing the wealth."

"Is that what you're calling it?" he heard Voryn mutter under his breath. He looked over, shooting a glare his way, then looked back to Sil.

"Anyway, why don't we get you set up in my tent for now, Seht?" He sent a final glance over his shoulder to Voryn as he guided Sil out of the canopied "war room"--as of right now, they were still...very much a merchant caravan, but hopefully that'd be changing soon–and out toward the small tent just outside of it.

As they walked, Sil's shoulders started to relax, and just as Vivec's arm dropped, he murmured, "Fourteen."

"What was that, Sil?"

"He...Voryn, said I was twelve. I'm fourteen."

Vivec blinked, and a disbelieving half-smile crossed his face. "I'll be sure to tell him so."

Sil gave a stiff little nod, brow furrowing. "You're rebels?" he asked quietly, looking up at him. Vivec tilted his head back and forth.

" Rebels is...such a bland way of putting it. We're restoring the order of things, operating as the true heirs of St. Veloth, as it were," he said. "Nerevar thinks if we get enough Chimer together–and the Dwemer, which even I think is a long shot–we'll be able to force out the Nords and claim Resdayn for ourselves again." He gave another smile. "I'm recording it all. By the time we're finished, I'll be Resdayn's very first Warrior-Poet."

Sil's nose wrinkled. "That's a contradiction."

"So's most of life. A lot of people ignore that; I embrace it."

Vivec pulled back the curtain to the small tent, gesturing inside. "And here we are. Set your bedroll wherever you'd like; I change where I sleep every few nights or so, so don't worry about that." He started to step back out to head back to the war room; Voryn probably ought to know all the details, and Nerevar definitely should once he was back. But he paused as he noted Sil standing very still, bedroll still on his back. He was about to mention that it was not as grand as a House mer's home, but comfortable–but...that wasn't what Sil needed. So instead, he dropped into a chair.
"Since I have you as my captive audience, I'm going to tell you a story, Sil."

Sil looked over at him, pulled out of his reverie. "About what?"

"I don't know yet. But I will once the story's done."

It was very dark once Nerevar and Alandro made their way back to the camp. They'd made headway with the Dwemer, from the sound of it; Nerevar was starting to talk about their king, Dumac, like he was an old friend. The good news, at least, was able to temper the shock once Vivec gave the whole story behind how Sil wound up with them.