Act I, Part X: The Man He Used to Be

By Athyn Sarethi, Brother-in-Law of Miner and Uncle of Nilas and Gandosa

Everyday, it gets harder to look at him and still see the man we once followed into what should’ve been certain death time and time again and my heart aches over it. I want to believe that he’s still in there, somewhere, but I’m starting to lose faith in it. He kept us together when we were hungry, tired, cold, and terrified beyond what most people could ever comprehend, and he did it because he cared about us and loved each and every one of us like we were his own sons—back when I thought he’d love his son if he ever had one—and looking at him now—I just can’t reconcile the two as being one and the same.

The man we followed in the Telvanni Campaign would’ve stormed the Council himself over the matter of his people being ripped of their homes over unnecessary taxes and now he can’t even be bothered to draft a motion to have it heard before the Council? It’s breaks my heart to know that his has hardened so much when it once bled for every man and woman of Morrowind, past and present. We didn’t follow him because he was a great warrior. We didn’t follow him because he was a brilliant tactician. We followed him because his heart beat for all the people of our great land and when he spoke, we knew that anything was possible so long as we stood together and didn’t lose hope that we would make it through it, no matter how scared we were, no matter how hopeless it seemed, and now, he seems so wrapped up in his political schemes and machinations that he’s lost sight of what we fought for all those years ago. He’s forgotten that our brothers and sisters didn’t give their lives in the Telvanni Campaign for the House to fill its coffers or for us to gain ground in the political arena, they gave their lives because they knew that if nobody stood up to Uvirith than we would lose our entire way of life. They gave their lives for the future of our people, for our children to grow up in a world where there’s still some semblance of honor and justice, not in a world where the strong bully the weak into submission and rule as petty tyrants, and he’s forgotten that. He’s forgotten everything we sacrificed for all those years ago. He’s forgotten when he held that little girl who was barely old enough to call herself a woman as she spent her last moments choking on her own blood at the Battle of Mawia and how hard he cried into the night in our command tent about the guilt he felt at knowing she’d never go home. He’s forgotten the Massacre of Nchurdamz when we were ambushed and he had to make a choice for the good of the war effort to abandon men who had sworn to him to follow him, even if it meant their deaths, but in the end, I don’t think he’s really forgotten anything about the War—I think he’s forgotten who he is.

I remember him at the beginning of the Telvanni Campaign. He had bright eyes and big hopes, just like Nilas does today, but the War, it took a toll on him as it did all of us. Some of us never came home and none of us ever came home the same person we left as. Miner, Dralora, and I, we were just kids with shiny ranks when we left for the War and it didn’t take long for us to lose that naiveté that we had brought with us. We had all been through hardship. We had been through the Trials. We had all seen death in the past, but what we saw in the War, that was something none of us had ever seen before. Nobody tells you what it’s like to hold somebody who used to irk you to no end with their incessant chatter and just look at them and tell them, “Come on, Raynil, talk to me! Tell me the story about how you caught that big old blue-gill off the pier that one day! Come on, you never shut up about that damn fish and now you won’t say a goddamn word!” You don’t give the rear end of a dead rat about that fish, you just want to hear him say something—anything—and he won’t. He won’t no matter how long you sit there and how loud you scream, because, he’s just gone. He’s gone and he’s never coming back. And that was something we had to face everyday. We had to face the reality that some of the people we were eating with and smoking with and telling jokes with that morning wouldn’t still be around to do those things by time we set up camp that night.

I remember as we were getting ready to storm Tel Uvirith at the end of the Telvanni Campaign how almost everyone was talking about what they were going to do when they got home. Some were talking about how they were going to get piss-drunk at the first cornerclub they found and others said they were going to take their earnings to Suran for some well earned R&R, but Miner, he wasn’t with the men talking about what he was going to do after we finally ended this infernal war. He had secluded himself in the Command Tent and I asked him what his plans were after it was finally over and I’ll never forget those chilling words he spoke to me that night, “Once Uvirith is dead, I’ll just move onto the next thing, and the next thing, and the next thing, until something finally stops me.” He didn’t say it with some sense of bravado or anything of the such—it was the way he said it—how absolutely indifferent he was to it that made me recoil a bit.

When we first left for the War, he carried a bit of a swagger about him and a cocky bravado to match and now, he was just a shell of the man he was before. He still said the right things and had that same charismatic execution in giving rousing speeches to men on the cusp of defeat, but there was something different about him. He was empty inside. He was broken. He had seen so much death and so many of his friends die that he wasn’t the same man he was before, but even then, he wasn’t the man he is now. That man, I know when that man was born, and that’s what bothers me. We came home to a hero’s welcome when we marched back into Ald’ruhn and it tugged at his heartstrings as he thought about the people like that little girl and like Raynil and all the others who couldn’t come home like we did. He thought about and he hated it. He felt unworthy. What had he done to deserve all this praise? To deserve this celebration or the medals they pinned on his chest? He had led good men and women to their deaths. He had killed countless people. All these accolades cast upon him after he took charge when our CO died in our first battle and how we had been the tip of the spear that penetrated Uvirith’s undead legions—all it did was remind him of the people who he couldn’t save and he blamed himself for all of it. He blamed himself for each and every person under his command and we tried to talk him. We tried to tell him, “It was war, brother. It’s not your fault. You didn’t kill them.” But he didn’t care. He’d always say he should’ve done something different. He should’ve protected them more. He should’ve been the one to die, not them, not any of them. He broke. My best friend, my brother, the husband of my beloved sister, he broke in a way that no man should ever break, and that’s why he reclused inside himself for so long. He didn’t speak much to anyone, not even Dralora, and he lost himself staring into space for long periods of time, but something did bring him back. It was the day that Dralora told him he was going to be a father. For the first time since before the War, he smiled. For the first time since everything happened, he seemed like a person again, and I remember my sister crying with joy at seeing that one little smile. She was so happy to see him smile even if it was a brief moment, because it meant he was still in there—somewhere.

By time Nartise was born, he had retired his place in the Redoran Military and taken a place in politics at the behest of (then) Councilor Venim and he loved that little girl more than he loved life itself. She was his princess and his whole reason for being. There was nothing in this life or any other that could compare and though he still bore the scars of the War, they had started to heal as he realized that life could go on and that maybe there was a reason that he made it home, and it was her. She was the reason.

And I remember joining him in the political arena and how, in a lot of ways, it wasn’t so different from the War. We weren’t out there on the front line risking our lives and watching our brothers die day in and day out, but we were surrounded by enemies here too, even within our own house. Somehow, we found ourselves missing the War. Everything made sense back then and this—this didn’t. We became leaders in our house to fight for a future for our people and it didn’t take long for us to realize that not everyone who had taken up politics had done so with their people’s best interests in mind. Many had more personal agendas. They wanted fame. Fortune. Prestige. Miner and I? We were just a couple of old soldiers trying to reintegrate ourselves into the swing of things after the War and trying to put into action all the things we said we would if we ever got home during the early days of it and we did—somewhat. But the thing about that is we made enemies and lots of them. It didn’t take long before we had both fended off the Morag Tong on more than one occasion and we knew it was from our brothers in the House, because the two of us, we were advocating for changes to the system. We wanted any citizen of Redoran territory to be able to bring forth issues before the Council, not just Redorans. We pushed for funding social programs like building more public housing and instituting a Redoran Food Bank for the poorest citizens to withdraw from—we were a couple of radicals fighting for our people any way we could, and now that the War was over, that meant fighting for them at home.

The former Archmaster was none too impressed with us though; he said our plans were impossible to implement. He said we simply didn’t have the money and we’d never been to raise it without raising taxes on the citizenry to unrealistic levels. Miner took the Archmaster’s words as a challenge and said to him, in front of the Council, “Watch me get the money. I swear on my honor that the day will come when the House’s coffers overflow like King Orgnum’s and it will be by my hand that they do.” Few had spoken to the Archmaster in such a fashion and even fewer had done so with such a boast, but he made an impression that day and that’s why he went to Suran. He went there to forge a trade alliance with Serjo Oran where his city would exclusively get foodstuffs from House Redoran’s farmers, ranchers, and egg miners in exchange for rates well below market. An agreement was made, a deal was drafted and signed, and for a time, things went well. Both parties profited beyond measure and Miner’s boast was backed up by his actions, but nothing stays gold forever and the deal soured shortly after an eggmine was discovered near Suran—Inanius Eggmine. By the terms of the deal, the Serjo couldn’t use anything from it unless it was given to the Redoran and that’s why he broke the deal. He broke the deal and the profits dwindled on the Redoran end and only improved on Suran’s end now that they had locally-sourced eggs to sell rather than importing them from Ald’ruhn.

Following Serjo Oran’s abandonment of the signed deal, profits dwindled and the House went into a brief state of economic shock as a major source of income dried up. The deal falling apart because of Oran’s greed served to mar my brother’s name and reputation in the eyes of the Council. The Archmaster himself even went so far as to tell him him, “Perhaps next time you boast, you should actually follow through.” I had never seen him so angry and he challenged the Archmaster to a duel over it, something unheard of. For someone of Miner’s station at the time, someone of minor political standing challenging him, the Archmaster, it was—shocking, but he did it. He did it and he cut the Archmaster down in the dueling ring and looked up into the crowds and screamed unto them, “I fought for you in the Telvanni Campaign and I will fight for you now that I am home! He is dead because he insulted my honor by thinking that I would abandon my commitments to you because I have faced a setback! You are my people and my brothers and sisters alike have laid their lives for you and I will honor their sacrifice by devoting mine to you!” The crowds cheered for him and his rousing proclamation of service. That is one thing about the man I miss, he truly was a man of passion—something he’s long lost since then.

He found himself growing more and more devoted to honoring his boast to the late Archmaster who had since been replaced by Bolyn Venim, a man who had mentored Miner since his return from the War, and he found himself growing distant from his fatherly duties. Nartise was growing up before his eyes and he was missing every moment of it, but he kept telling himself he had things that had to be taken care of and duties to the House that had to be handled. He tried explaining that to her as well, but how do you explain something abstract like honor or duty to a child? You can try, but they simply lack the ability to understand.

As Miner and I rose through the ranks, we progressively for our respective families, but I still made time—Miner didn’t. In fact, he went so far as to reach out to Serjo Oran and to offer him his daughter’s hand in marriage and Oran’s response was one of amusement. He refused Nartise, because she was not educated in courtly matters or ‘fit to be a noble’s wife’. He told my brother that the only way he would ever—EVER—consider marriage to a daughter of his is if she were raised ‘properly’ and Nartise was certainly not, and though I hate to admit it, he was right. Nartise was not meant for a political life. She was wild. Rebellious. She had a poet’s heart that pumped her veins full of angst and a knack for mischief. Wouldn’t have her any other way, but she wasn’t meant for that kind of life—never was. And that’s why Gandosa was sired and I can think of no greater difference between Miner than our view of family.

My family is my life and my career is my means to support them. I think Miner used to think like that as well, but the more time around Archmaster Venim, the less he did until eventually he came to the view that his career was his life and his family was there to support it, hence why he sired a daughter for the sole purpose of marrying her off to Oran to get his trade alliance back. There were only three things he cared about anymore: The House, Nartise, and Dralora. Gandosa? She was just a tool. A means to an end and I suppose that’s why I’ve always spent so much time with her, especially after Dralora started to get sick. I knew she needed somebody in her life to look out for her and care about her and I knew that Miner, for all of his wonderful qualities, was a terrible father, and that my sister was getting too sick to look after her children.

Nilas was an accident that was meant to come along and it took everything my sister had to carry him to term. Miner pleaded with her not to, because despite how little time he spent at home anymore, he did love her and Nartise, but she did and it took every last bit of her strength to bring Nilas into this world. She barely lasted long enough after he was born to hold him and look at the face of her baby boy, but it was enough. I was there when my nephew was born and she smiled the most peaceful smile I had ever seen her smile, even before the War. I think she knew it was over—all the hurting, all the pain, all the suffering—and she just—let go. And that’s when Miner broke. From the day Nilas was born, Miner hated him with everything he had for taking his wife from him and in his grief from losing her, he reclused just like he had after we returned from the War, but this time, he wasn’t just a hollow shell of a man. There was something inside him this time. A deep, invisible anger that he couldn’t let go even if he wanted to, which he never has, and it’s times like these when Gandosa comes to me about her father dismissing her pleas to help the Union that I wonder if that anger he’s carried with him for so long has burned up whatever humanity and empathy and whatever else his heart had left. I’ve seen the way he looks at Nilas; it’s a way no father should ever look at their child—it’s a look of hatred, of disdain, of absolute resentment, and yet, it’s the only look he’s ever given him. It’s that very thing, that hatefulness that he’s become so accustomed to, that is why Nartise abandoned him not long after Dralora and hasn’t so much as written in thirty some-odd years.

I just wish he could realize that this anger he’s carrying, it’s something he can’t carry forever. I love him. There is no one I would’ve rather had by my side in the War than him and there’s no one I trust more than him, but the man he’s becoming scares me. It’s not the man I’ve known since we were nearly children—it’s someone else wearing his face and using his voice, but it’s not him. The man I knew would walk the battlefield after every skirmish and every battle to count the casualties and pray over those who had died following him into battle. There were many times he would return to the Command Tent with tears in his eyes if not on his cheeks and I wonder what happened to that man. I miss that man. I miss the man who was considered a radical by the Council when we were fresh upstarts after the War. I miss the man who told me Nartise’s word was “Fa-fa” with the biggest smile I’d ever seen in my life. I miss that man very much and I very much hope I get the opportunity to see him again one day.

-Athyn Sarethi, Councilor of House Redoran