Count Only The Happy Hours

Part 1: II

"You were supposed to go out scouting, Vivec."

"I did! I scouted up to the north."

"The north? Nerevar's contacts specifically said there were Nordic forces coming from the west. You know, where the Nords live. "

"... ah. Well, to be fair, I do retain things better when they're written down."

"Vivec, you backwater s'w –"

"Hey, hey! Watch your mouth, Voryn, there's a child present."

Dagoth Voryn promptly shut his mouth, dark eyes wide as he looked down at Vivec. He leaned slightly to his left, looking down at the boy standing quietly behind the other mer. It took him a moment, but he was able to summon back his typical coolness–only abandoned when his temper got the best of him, like a few moments ago–and looked over young Sil appraisingly. He looked back to Vivec, an already angled eyebrow raised even more.

"Congratulations. I suppose all that bawdy poetry you write paid off...well, twelve years ago, from the look of it."

There were several quips that came to mind–very good ones, actually–but there were much more important things at hand than starting to trade barbs with Voryn. "He's not mine," Vivec said plainly. "His..." He paused just before recounting the destruction he'd come across; poetic as it was, this wasn't the audience for it. "He's on his own. I thought..." He shrugged. "I thought he could stay with us. Figure it can't get much safer than..."

"Than a group of would-be rebels trying to capitalize on a civil war?" Voryn finished dryly.

"Than with Nerevar," Vivec corrected.

That gave Voryn pause, and he clasped his hands behind his back for a moment as he considered. Vivec watched him closely; Voryn could never keep his emotions off his face. He saw the ghost of a "no," the head tilt of a "Well, perhaps...", the twisted lip of a "Oblivion take you , Vivec." Finally, resignation crossed his face, and he gave a sigh. "He did keep you alive, didn't he?"

"Much to your chagrin, he did ." Vivec gives a wide smile to the older mer. "So I was thinking we..."

"We? We are doing nothing until Nerevar comes back," Voryn interjected sharply. He flicked a long strand of dark hair–unusual, for Chimer, but somehow terribly fitting for him–over his shoulder as he let out a breath. He leaned to the side again, looking down. "Have you a name, hla'kilam?"

"His na–"

"I didn't ask you, Vivec, I asked him ." Voryn's dark gaze met Sil's pale eyes.

Vivec stood tensely, ready to jump in if the boy started to turn in on himself from the pressure. He'd certainly give Voryn a talking to for undoing all his hard work thus far; bedside manner was just as important as...

"Sil, muthsera."

Oh. Well, nevermind, then.

Voryn nodded, casting an appraising eye over Sil. "You're a House mer, aren't you, Sil?"

This time, Sil didn't answer. Vivec gave a sharp huff.

"Voryn, this isn't the time to..."

"If you won't tell me what house, Sil, at least tell me where you lived."

Vivec blanched. "Voryn, that is exactly..."

"Ald Sotha." The words were barely a whisper, and Sil's hands had balled into fists. Without thinking, Vivec's arm was over his thin shoulders, even as it did little to loosen his stiff stance.