Work Text:
“’Dwarfking’?” Nerevar asked, incredulous, as they finally sat down. “You actually told them your name was ‘Dwarfking’?”
Dumac’s expression remained neutral, save for the subtlest hint of playfulness pulling at the right corner of his lips. “Certainly. That’s what was on the invitation, after all. We wouldn’t want to disappoint our hosts.”
“You’re taller than most of them!” the other exclaimed, exasperated.
“Exactly,” Dumac replied calmly. “That’s what makes it so great.”
Nerevar gave up with a huff, shaking his head slightly and resting his right elbow on the table so his hand could come up to cover his eyes. “You could have at least given me a warning before we were announced,” he chided as servers bustled behind them, filling goblets and laying out the first courses of their elaborate meal. When the arrival of “Lords Indoril Nerevar of the Chimer and Dumac Dwarfking of the Dwemer, Kings of Resdayn,” had been announced, Dumac, who had known what to expect, remained impassive, but it was all Nerevar could do to refrain from an exclamation of shock, and even so, his surprise had no doubt been evident to the other guests.
Dumac seemed to consider his friend’s suggestion for a moment, head tilted very slightly to the left, hand coming up to stroke his bearded chin. Then he shakes his head. “Nah.” Indoril rolled his black-irised eyes.
The two and their entourage were the subject of no small amount of interest from the others in the room, the stares ranging from cloaked and guarded to open and hostile. All of this was to be expected, of course; the Alessian Empire’s problems with the Altmer were as tumultuous as the Chimers’, and their wounds more recent. Nerevar may have been no Altmer, but to humans he looked the part, and they were in no position to understand that an Altmer with eyes as dark as his would not have made it past infancy among the purity-obsessed elves. Dumac, meanwhile, looked like an Altmer with a beard.
Nerevar had frankly been shocked when he had received the invitation to Emperor Gorieus’s coronation, and there was no doubt that the Imperials had been likewise shocked when he had accepted.
“So, what do you think the odds are that Kagrenac and your wife will manage to start a war while we’re gone?” Dumac asked casually. Nerevar’s amused snort almost caused him to spit out his drink, and he took a moment to glare at Dumac. The Dwemer always said those things just when Nerevar had something in his mouth. He saw it as a sort of game.
Nerevar, once he recovered, waved a hand dismissively. “We won’t be gone that long. I’m sure far less than half the kingdom will be in ruins. Maybe even no more than a quarter. It’ll probably only take a century to rebuild, two at most.”
The amusement playing at the Dwemer’s lips became briefly less subtle before he looked out over the banquet hall filled with humans. “Why were you so keen on us coming, Neht? I still don’t see why you’d want to formally recognize these flash-lived children’s little game of government.”
“Look at it this way, Doht: right now, the Alessians are the largest force between us and the Altmer. Things are more likely to go better for us with the Empire strong and Summerest weak than the other way around, provided they’re not stupid enough to want to war with mer on two fronts. I want these people to understand that as long as the Empire does not threaten us, we will not be a threat to the Empire.”
Dumac sighed and shook his head. “How does a mer as old as you are, who’s done the things you’ve done, manage to be still be so… naive? What happens when the Empire decides it doesn't care whether we’re a threat or not?”
“If that happens,” answered the Chimer, not allowing Dumac to frame war with the Empire as an inevitability, “they will learn what the Nords have about what it is to cross Resdayn, unified.” Golden lips pulled into a smile, but it was a smile missing the humor of earlier. It was the sort of grim, dangerous smile that reminded Dumac just why the Nords thought this mer a demon.
Dumac lifted his spoon to his mouth, taking another sip of soup containing some sort of small bits of meat that, if Dumac could identify them, would no doubt demonstrate how wasteful their hosts could afford to be. Mostly, he enjoyed the soups more subtle spices when compared with much of the rest of their fare. After he swallowed (and here, Nerevar realized that he had missed a chance to get Dumac back for his earlier comment, but then, Nerevar always missed those chances), he said, “By the Heart, I’d like to believe you, Neht, but…”
“Then believe!” Nerevar interrupted, reaching over to grasp Dumac’s hand just as the other set his spoon down. “We already make the impossible happen, Dumac! Resdayn at peace, prosperous, and united, and we did that! That is what the belief of kings can do!”
Dumac looked into Nerevar’s dark eyes, then down at their hands, at the distinctive ring on the Chimer’s finger. Of course, the Dwemer knew better than most that the legendary persuasive powers of that ring were largely overblown; the death magics were real enough, but the other effects were far milder and subtler than the stories claimed. Nerevar had wanted a symbol, because symbols were important, but most of what was attributed to the ring came from Nerevar himself.
It’s not us, he thought, still looking at their hands. It’s you. Dumac had been born a prince and destined for kingship; Nerevar was born a noble of only one of the major Chimer Houses, yet still he persuaded the other five to follow him, and if that hadn’t been accomplishment enough, he convinced the Chimer nomads to call him leader as well. Nerevar’s belief that a united Resdayn was right, was as things should be, was so powerful and so earnest that he forced reality into a shape that made it true, that made it impossible for those nearest to him not to believe. And then, after the Chimer king forced the houses and tribes put aside not only their mutual enmity, but their enmity towards the Dwemer as well, all he asked of Dumac was that he manage the same for his own people, not a scattered group of tribes and disparate Houses, but a single group of mer. How could Dumac do anything less for Nerevar?
Nerevar was the ruling king who saw in Dumac his equivalent, but Dumac knew better.
This mer will be my death one day, Dumac thought, and not for the first time. Before Nerevar, Dumac never believed he could so enthusiastically embrace his doom, but Nerevar made him a willing fool.
Dumac allowed himself a brief but genuine smile and gave a slight nod before returning to his meal. “Very well, Nerevar. Because you command it, I believe.”