The long road to red mountain.

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/49611985.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Categories: Gen, M/M
Fandoms: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Relationships: Dagoth Ur/Indoril Nerevar, Dagoth Ur/Nerevarine
Characters: Indoril Nerevar, Male Nerevarine (Elder Scrolls), Vivec (Elder Scrolls),
Jiub (Elder Scrolls), Dagoth Ur, Divayth Fyr, Indoril Almalexia, Sotha
Sil, Caius Cosades, Dunmer Nerevarine (Elder Scrolls), Lorkhan (Elder
Scrolls)
Additional Tags: Morrowind (Elder Scrolls), Morrowind Main Quest, Retelling, Morally
Ambiguous Character, Dunmer (Elder Scrolls), Dunmer Culture (Elder
Scrolls), Ashlanders (Elder Scrolls), Morrowind if written by a
pathologic fan, House Telvanni (Elder Scrolls), the tribunal but gives
them more nuance, Fantasy Racism, Body Horror, Abandoned Work -
Unfinished and Discontinued
Language: English
Series: Part 1 of The elder scrolls retelling.
Stats: Published: 2023-08-25 Words: 3,802 Chapters: 1/1
 The long road to red mountain.
by Leothefox8

Summary

Servas, to put it simply, is a nobody. Born an uncertain day, to uncertain parents, he grew up
in the slums-- never really amounting to anything more than a thief and a nuisance.

So why now, after what should have been a life ending mistake, does he find himself in
Morrowind? Pardoned by the emperor himself, at that? These things, he doesn't know.

But something in his soul aches. And it's screaming at him to get out as soon as he can.
Morrowind is a harsh place, but he feels like it's about to eat him alive.

Notes

Content warnings
No content warnings for this chapter.

See the end of the work for more notes

“Wake up, you were dreaming.”

Dreams were not something he was unfamiliar with.

As long as he could remember, dreams had been a constant source of mystery to him. Servas
would often claim, to the few friends that he had, that he never remembered any of them.
This, like most of what he said, was a half truth at the very best. There were some that he did
remember– although they all only carried with them images and portents that he could not
understand. When he awoke, then, covered in sweat in a room he didn't recognize, a hand
outstretched towards him to help him up, he wasn’t as confused as most mer would be.

The unfamiliar figure was hazy, but he could make out a few key details. Thin, bald. One eye
was scarred shut, but the other stared down at him, a blazing red. He accepted the help,
gripping the ashen arm with his own charcoal one. The other dunmer easily pulled him up
from the hammock, Servas stumbling as the fabric tried to swallow him back in. His legs felt
uneasy under his weight, like they had forgotten what it felt like to hold him up.

"Easy there–” The mer spoke, moving his hands to steady him.

His voice was harsh, but not unkind. The kind of inflection one would get from a tough life.

He glanced around the room, a pain blooming in the back of his head rough enough to make
his vision swim and fuzz. He swore as he stumbled again, the room lurching under him.
Goddamned guards– where even was this? He didn’t recognize this place.

"...Where am I?" Servas asked.

His own voice sounded dry and cracked from lack of use. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth,
coated with the taste of old blood. He felt something turn in his stomach.

"Hey– let your legs catch up with you, yeah?” the stranger said, once again righting him, this
time keeping his hands on Servas’ shoulders, holding him in place. “To be honest with you, I
thought they were transporting your corpse back to the homeland, you were out for months.”

“The ship’s headed to Morrowind. Vvardenfell– or so I’ve been told.” He continued, a

grumble of annoyance in his tone. “Hard to believe, with how long this trip’s been taking it
seems more like they’re avoiding it.”

He shook his head, before looking at Servas with some measure of curiosity.

“Anyways– what's your name then, kid?"

Servas’ brows drew together in concern. Months? And— Vvardenfell. City of the strong
shield. He was certain of its meaning, although from where he’d picked it up he wasn’t sure.
He felt that primal fear scratching down the insides of his chest again. He wasn’t supposed to
be here. He just couldn’t be. There was no real reason for it– as far as he’d heard, Morrowind
sounded just as bad as anywhere else. Yet… still there just seemed to be something within his
mind that curled in on itself at the mention of the place. Nothing good awaited him here.
Only danger. Only pain. Images of what had happened before he’d been concussed ran
through his mind. The imperial city prisons. Wrestling that guard, the other must’ve snuck up
on him. His head pulsed, the dull ache the worst possible souvenir. His breathing quickened,
his thoughts racing. He felt like a cornered animal. Nobody liked him when he felt like that.

He forcefully dragged himself down from it, and let his eyes fall shut as he exhaled heavily.

"Servas. just Servas." He answered, pulling the mask of coldness back on his face.

His fists curled and uncurled, a calming habit. He looked down upon noticing the lack of
resistance, and was surprised by the sight that his hands bore no bonds or shackles. Well
that’s… an interesting choice.

"Judging from your accent, I’d take it you're not from Morrowind?" The other dunmer asked,
pulling Servas from his thoughts, a small chuckle behind his words. "Names Jiub.”

Servas shook his head. He most definitely was not.

A large thud echoed out from around them, soon followed by the sound of something heavy
splashing the water outside.

“Well, either we’ve docked, or the captain’s sunk us and abandoned ship.” Jiub observed, the
dry humor in his words apparent.

Servas leaned back a bit, expression slightly perturbed, very much a muffled version of the
emotions swirling around his head. Oh, what poor timing that would be, if he were to wake
up– after months dreaming– minutes before they reached their destination.

“Hope it’s the second.” He muttered, Jiub letting out a surprised bark of laughter.

“Really?” He asked, brow raising.

Jiub backed up and sat down in the now empty hammock, seeming to deem Servas well
enough to stand on his own.

“Ah– well. So where are you from, then? They booked me in Senchal– You were already
here when they put me on. Never told me where the boat had come from.”

They exchanged small talk for the next half hour or so. Servas told Jiub what he told most
people who asked– that being the vaguest basics possible. A street urchin from the Imperial
City, in and out of kinder people’s houses in his childhood. Pickpocketing, being a general
nuisance. He did what he had to. It wasn’t the worst it could’ve been, but it wasn’t the best,
either. In return, Jiub told him that he was a Vvardenfell local himself. Curiosity and
promises of adventure drew him out of his home and away from his family in Gnisis a decade
ago when the borders were opened up. He was glad to be back, at least. He’d tried to write
home fairly often– hopefully his wife was forgiving.

Neither spoke about why they were being shipped in by the guard, and that suited Servas just
fine.
Just as Jiub had begun to speak about his family, the muffled sound of heavy footfalls on
stairs cut him off. His good eye shot to the locked door as he stood back up, then looking
again to Servas, who’d perched himself on a crate.

“Sounds like the guards are coming this way.” He observed, crossing his arms. “They don’t
like you talking back to em’– trust me, I’ve tried.”

Servas’ own mismatched eyes snapped to the door as the lock on the other side clicked. He
didn’t move from his spot on the crate as it swung open. It did indeed reveal a man dressed in
the armor of an imperial guard on the other side, a long red sash around his belt, denoting his
rank. His features were human, and incredibly tired.

He turned to Jiub, visibly jumping a bit when he noticed Servas in the corner as well, perched
like a gargoyle on a tower’s corner. He quickly scrambled to recover his composure though,
coughing before now addressing Servas specifically.

“Ah. You’re up.” He started, not moving from where he lingered in the doorway. “This is
where you get off, then. Come with me.”

Well. There was nowhere else to go, was there?

Servas hit the guard with a heavy side eye as he dismounted from the crate, making a point of
breaching the man’s personal bubble as he moved to follow. He felt some small semblance of
power over the situation, seeing how much it made him tense. Jiub moved to follow them,
but the guard suddenly stopped and turned back around to stop the other prisoner– looking
directly over Servas’ wild head of hair, his own strategy of following close nearly backfiring
as he almost ran face first into the metal of his chestplate.

Jiub shifted where he stood, the floorboards creaking under him.

“You’re not leaving this room until we’re ready to process you, prisoner.” The guard spoke,
voice terse.

Jiub was silent for a moment, the confusion clear in his pause.

“Isn’t he one, too?”

The guard shook his head, Servas having to step back as he crossed his arms.

“No. He has no record. He’s a transport. You’re a deport.”

Servas’ face shifted into a mirthful smile, once again leaning into the guard’s personal space.

“Why transport me with him, then?” He asked, relishing in how the guard leaned back as he
leaned further forwards.

Oh, he definitely knew why he was here, even if his record was clean– why was it clean,
even? Even if he was an exile, wouldn’t that still be on his record? There was no reason for
them to completely wipe it– once again, this situation left him with more questions than
answers.
The guard returned his gaze, clearly trying to mask any unease with a commanding glare.

“If you want us to process you as a prisoner, be my guest.” He said, teeth gritted.

Oh, he definitely knew.

Servas opened his mouth to retort. Jiub was quick to cut him off, though, voice heavy with a
tired sort of defeat.

“Don’t fight it too much, will you?”

Servas finally broke the staring contest with the guard to look back to his new acquaintance,
who was looking at him with an expression that matched his words in its exhaustion, but a
small smile hiding on his lips.

“If you ever need a hand, I’ll probably be back in Gnisis. The smallest house on the
outskirts– the one with the blind guar out front– if he’s still around.”

Servas stilled for a moment, considering his options. He had little doubt that he could
overpower the guards, of course. He had done it before back in the imperial prison. He was a
runt, yeah, but he knew how to throw his weight around. What would even be the point,
though? He felt like a cornered animal, so of course his first instinct was to kick and bite his
way out. Maybe even commandeer the ship, steer it back to Cyrodiil. But even then… they’d
be on him again. Determined to stick him here in Morrowind for whatever demented reason.
He didn’t even know how to drive a boat. He just wanted to go home. Home didn’t seem to
want him back, though. So, it seemed, despite his lack of actual imprisonment, he was more
trapped here than he ever was surrounded by the stones of that interrogation room. Perhaps
this in itself was its own punishment, its own sentence.

He bit his tongue, keeping the flood of retorts to the guard back. He simply gave Jiub a
resolute nod, before stepping back and letting the man close the door, the lock clicking again
as he twisted the key. He’d find him when he had the time, he was sure.

He sighed, stretching his arms slightly. Sure, fine then. He’d play along– he was curious,
after all. Despite everything, he did still have to figure out why exactly he was here. He could
think about it all he wanted, but he’d never get any real answers if he continued to linger.

“Well. Guess it’s just you and me then.” He said, giving the guard another sharp smile as he
clasped his hands behind his back, once again confidently stepping into the man’s personal
space.

Doesn’t mean he couldn’t have fun with it, though.

He followed the guard to the entrance of the outer deck, the ladder looking… poorly upkept,
at the absolute best angle. At this point, the guard seemed clearly done with Servas’ little
game, roughly shoving him forwards. Servas caught himself on one of the rungs, looking
back to the man with a raised brow.
"Get yourself up on deck.” He said, gesturing to the trapdoor above with a jut of his chin.
“and we’ll keep this as civil as possible."

His tone was harsh, but Servas could pick out how his eyes darted about. Servas smirked
maliciously at the imperial, before jolting at him and snapping his jaws. He enjoyed how he
jumped back in turn, hand on the hilt of his blade. He got what was coming to him, talking
down to Servas like that. He didn’t do anything more, though. Wasn’t worth it. So instead he
simply turned back to the ladder, and climbed onto the deck.

The light of the sun hit his face hard, his hand reflexively moving to cover his eyes.

His first impression of Morrowind was its smell, then. The salty water of the waves mixed
with a smell that read very distinctly swamp– and the breeze that ruffled his hair carried a
hint of ash with it. It… wasn’t a bad smell. Not really. If anything, he found it quite pleasant,
a familiar feeling of nostalgia blooming in his mind. Why, he didn’t know. He didn’t have
much time to think on that, though. Eventually he adjusted enough to the sun to open his
eyes, finally able to take in his surroundings.

Well, he was correct when he smelled swamp.

The boat placidly bobbed on the murky water beneath him as he took in the rather
underwhelming port he was faced with. It was quite obvious it was a relatively new port
town– probably imperial construction, as the few buildings that the hamlet had seemed to be
direct colovian imports, much like a few he’d seen on outer rings of The City. He was no
architect by any means, but even he could see how they were ill-suited for the environment.
His eyes wandered to a lighthouse in the distance, towering over the drab and sagging
buildings of the port. Perhaps it had been built around this, then. Seemed to be the only
mildly interesting thing here.

Mismatched eyes were drawn away from the distant skyline as he once again heard metallic
footsteps approaching him, looking over to see a rather unimpressed guard. He was looking
down at the papers in his hands rather than at Servas.

"This is where they want you; head down to the docks and they’ll finish your release."

He was yet again reminded that he was still technically not a free Mer.

He shook his head, his messy white hair falling in front of his face. Ah yes, imperial
bureaucracy. That was always a pain.

He was, unsurprisingly, not wrong about that– now leaned over a table, trying desperately to
fill out what must’ve been the fifth record form he was handed. It felt like the moment he’d
stepped into this damn census and excise office time had slowed to a crawl. He’d never had
any of those official records that the empire loved so much. How could he, after all? Well, it
seems like that had finally come back to bite him in the ass.
Of course, the damn records were full of questions he couldn’t directly answer. Questions
about his parents, where he was born, the house he grew up in… it was clear these had not
been made of the mind that any lowborn gutter kid would ever touch them. He didn’t really
have much to start with– even if he did, he didn’t remember anything before the age of five,
at the earliest.

So what was a mer to do?

Lie, of course. He would make sure every blank of that document was filled to their
satisfaction.

His pen did hover over the guardians section for a long few moments, though, wondering if
he could put down Sunbeam’s parents. They had practically raised him– he’d been in and out
of that tavern all the time growing up…

No. he knew better. Marja already despised him, and Sildunn probably did as well, if word of
what he’d done had gotten back to that neighborhood. A small smile appeared on his lips as
he shook his head. He was an orphan and an outcast. That’s all he ever was. That’s all he’d
ever be.

"Show your papers to the captain before you leave." the census official said, shrill voice
grating on his ears as Servas walked past him, filled papers in hand.

He was so close to freedom. So close. Just a little more dealing with the empire, and he’d be
gone. He repeated this to himself as he walked down the hallway, lightly bouncing up and
down on his heels. Just gotta get through the rest of this shitty day. He pointedly tried not to
think about what he would do after it ended, as he had no answer.

He stopped, taking a few steps backwards as his eyes caught on something. Upon
reassessment of the room he passed, he spotted a small lockbox on a shelf. He checked
behind him before stepping through the open doorway, passively observing the thing as he
approached. A lockpick lay right next to it. It was like the universe was testing him– who
leaves a lockpick right next to a lockbox, anyways? It seems the guards here are a particular
brand of braindead. Maybe one of them kept forgetting his key, or something. He glanced
around the room again, checking to see if he was being watched. Nope. Didn’t even have the
foresight to look after their stellarly placed items. Well, suppose that means whatever’s inside
is free.

Slim charcoal fingers easily plucked the lockpick from the shelf, Servas making quick work
of the box. He had worked harder locks at twelve, this was practically nothing. The chest
popped open, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t underwhelmed. He huffed in
disappointment, scooping a few copper drakes into his pocket. Not much, a pickpocket’s
gains at best. It was a start though, he supposed.

Passing through the census office went surprisingly quickly– well, none of the people
working gave him any issues, that is. Even in such a remote and desolate town, the force of
the imperial bureaucracy was raging. Nobody wanted to be there, and they all wanted him out
of their face as fast as they could get him to leave.
"Your papers, please." A dry voice said.

Servas jumped slightly, so focused on getting to the exit hallway that he didn’t even see
another imperial officer stood in front of him, blocking his path.

There was no slipping around this one– he was built like a mountain had sprouted legs. Ah
well.

"Yeah, here." Servas said as he held out his papers to the imperial captain, voice bored.

The captain snatched them from his hands, quickly reading them over.

“Can I go now, then?” Servas asked, shifting from foot to foot with impatience.

The captain looked up from the papers with a raised eyebrow and an unimpressed look.

“So you’re the shipment we were expecting, then.”

Servas shrugged. He knew even less about this than the officer most likely did– well, he
hoped that was the case. Then again, he wouldn’t be surprised if they were about the same,
with how this place seemed to be run. A short silence followed, before the officer cleared his
throat, stuffing the papers unceremoniously into his bag.

"Well, Servas. Word of your arrival only reached me yesterday. I am Sellus Gravius. I'm here
to welcome you to Morrowind."

He sounded very unenthused.

“Didn’t practice that much did you, Sallas?” Servas observed, although he quickly moved on,
deciding to take advantage of the captive audience while he had it. "So, do you have any idea
why I was so quickly transferred from an imperial city holding cell to Morrowind? I mean, I
don’t think it’s everyday practice, even for a dunmer like myself."

Servas raised his eyebrows, brushing some of his hair behind his ears.

Sellus squinted a bit, clearly questioning how much he could or should say. Servas didn’t
really blame him, in all honesty. He wasn’t really making an effort to make a good
impression here. He was doing the opposite, in fact.

"I… don't know why you're here.” Sellus said, sighing as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Or why were you released from prison and shipped here– yes, I know of your record. Before
it was wiped. But, much to my own annoyance, your authorization comes directly from
Emperor Uriel Septim VII himself. And I don't need to know any more than that. When you
leave this office, you are free mer. But before you go, I have instructions on your duties.
Instructions from the Emperor. So. Pay. Attention."

Now that caught Servas off guard. Momentarily, his cheeky mood was shattered, eyes
widening. He stammered.

"Wh– The emperor himself? Uriel Septim himself ordered my release?"

Sellus, seemingly unmoved, continued.

"According to my instructions, he personally authorized your release from prison and your
delivery here. It's all very mysterious. But that's the way the Empire works. Silence. Secrecy.
Let not the left hand know what the right hand is doing."

Servas squinted, still somewhat shaken, but unable to keep his observations to himself.

“Sounds like a terrible way to run an empire.”

“Why don’t you try running one then.” Sellus said as he gave him a side-eye, before shaking
his head and continuing– suddenly shoving a package and a bag into his hands, which Servas
fumbled to hold. “This package came with the news of your arrival. You are to take it to
Caius Cosades, in the town of Balmora. Go to the South Wall Cornerclub. Ask for Caius
Cosades. They'll know where to find him. Serve him as you would serve the Emperor
himself. There’s a disbursal to your name in the pack, as well."

Servas struggled to shift the goods to one arm, fishing through the bag, first finding the
drakes, and then a map. It wasn’t much use to him at the moment, as he barely knew where
he was, let alone how to get to Balmora.

"Balmora, stone forest." He muttered, testing the name in his mouth. "How far is it from
here–”

He looked up to find Sellus already gone, left alone with his own thoughts. He had a lot to
take in.

He was no one important in the slightest, absolutely no one. He was an orphan dunmer runt,
of all things. With a blood condition that he honestly expected to kill him in a few years, atop
that. And yet… he was released and sent here by the emperor himself. It was honestly
unbelievable. There was no chance. There had to be something else going on here. There was
no reason for it otherwise. Of course. Using him as a pawn in a game.

Servas sighed, slinging the bag over one arm as he held the package under the other. He
despised that feeling. He felt his expression souring– he quickly took in a deeper breath to
calm himself. He couldn't let his anger overpower him, not here, not now.

Servas took another deep breath before he finally exited the building, a free mer again.

…Now how in oblivion does he get to Balmora?

End Notes

Well, I hope you enjoyed my first chapter of my hopefully long running fic. Hopefully i can
get some more out soon. This is also apart of a series I’m writing with my partner. Check out
their first chapter if you want to know what Servas actually did, and how it effected another
soon to be hero.

Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!