Count Only The Happy Hours

Part 1: III

And so, great Nerevar, Azura-blessed and swift of blade, leapt high into the sky. His form obscured the sun, and with his grand descent, a legion of Nords were felled, struck by the glorious...

"That's not what happened. Alandro said they ambushed the Nords with some Dwemer mercenaries."

Vivec gave a sigh as Sil interrupted his reading; he should know, after nearly a month, that he really ought to turn elsewhere for critique. The boy was one of the most literal-minded mer he'd ever met; he was quite sure there wasn't an ounce of poetry in his soul. He looked over at him in an attempt to give him a withering glance; no luck there, either–Sil's nose was crammed in a book, one hand outstretched to summon a palm-sized ball of fire, then ice, then lightning over and over again.

"Tell me, Seht, have you ever heard the phrase 'history is written by the victors'?" he asked, turning his chair to face him. Sil's pale eyes peeked over his book, brows drawn together.

"I have."

"The saying should be 'history is embellished by the victors'." Vivec leaned forward. "Now, can you dispute what I said?"

"What?"

"Can you prove to me that Nerevar didn't leap up into the sky and blot out the sun?"

"I just told you, Alandro said..."

"I'm not asking about Alandro. I'm asking about Sil ." An elbow rested on Vivec's knee, and his chin plunked into his hand. "Were you there?"

"Well, no, but..."

"But I was, and this is my account. Alandro has his own, Nerevar has his own, but this is the one I'm choosing to believe and write."

Sil frowned at him, magic dispersing from his hand as he shut his book. "But it's not true ."

"And you're certainly welcome to think so. Perhaps you're even right." Vivec sat up, fixing his gaze on the boy. "But there are plenty of people like you, people now and people a hundred years from now, who did not and will not ever see what happened on the battlefield today. The gritty, boring details won't matter to most people–close your mouth, Sil, I know it matters to you–they'll want to experience the feeling . The pride and wonder I felt watching Nerevar's victory. Plus, it's much more fun to read."

Vivec turned back around, picking up his knife to sharpen his quil. "And, now especially, it is very, very important that we build faith in Nerevar as someone capable and near-mythic. It's hard enough getting the Houses to trust someone from a different House–which is why Voryn, for all my complaints, is very essential–and it'd be harder still for someone like me, who's Houseless. But Neht is an outlander ."

Sil leaned in, curious. "Is he really? I thought he was Indoril."

"Well, yes, in name. But he grew up somewhere on the mainland, and, as I'm sure you know, we Chimer get suspicious." He glanced over his shoulder, giving Sil a little smile. "But you and I know the type of person he is. We have to get others to love him just the same, even if they never get the chance to meet him."

Sil sat back, silent as he thought. Young as he was, his face was a closed book; Vivec couldn't count how many times in his short stay that he wished for some sort of indication of what was happening in that head of his.

"But what if people find out it's a lie?" he asked, mouth downturned.

"Well, they'll need to find someone who was there to dispute it." Vivec smiled as he jotted down another line. "And much like me and my egg, what ultimately matters is the outcome. Nerevar and his forces won the day, and we're that much closer to reclaiming Resdayn for ourselves–with or without our Azura-blessed leader blotting out the sun."