Count Only The Happy Hours

Part 1: VI

It was odd, being on the cusp of something so great and terrible and still having to deal with the banalities of life. Vivec was already prone to musing over the divine and mundane and how very, very close they were in the calmest of times, so cutting his hair felt particularly sublime in the wake of the war they were about to wage. Like he was making room for the fire that'd soon erupt through Resdayn as they drove out the Nords.

Well, that, and he wasn't sure when he'd next have access to a nice mirror and sharp razor.

He was careful and methodical as he drew the blade over his head, hand steady as a skiff through silt. So engrossed was he that he just about sliced his head open as a broad hand rested on his shoulder.

"Sorry, sorry," Nerevar apologized once Vehk drew the razor away, unscathed, luckily, and trying very hard not to look startled. "I just...thought we could speak for a moment, before we went out."
"Of course, Neht." Blade set aside, Vivec perched on the edge of the washroom's very fine tub. "I'm always happy to speak. Too happy, if you ask anyone else in our party."

Nerevar gave a wry smile, then sighed as he crossed his arms. He was quiet for a very long moment, and Vivec did nothing to interrupt. He was very rarely disappointed in what Neht had to say after a long silence.

"I'm afraid," he finally said, voice soft in confession, "that I'm becoming slipshod in my thinking."

Vivec blinked. "Then why come to me?"

"Because I trust you, Vivec," he answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in Nirn. "You're...a little over-romantic, I'll admit, but your heart is good, and you let it guide you. That's valuable, especially in our situation." He was quiet again, then glanced up. "It may be that we have to do some very terrible things, if we want to free Resdayn. And at the start, it was a...a necessary evil. But now..." He sighed, running his hand through his fair hair. "I'm less certain."

"Reach heaven by violence, then," Vivec murmured; he wasn't aware he'd said it aloud until he caught the look Nerevar was sending him. He froze a moment, afraid of being caught in his eavesdropping, and quickly added, "Or...don't."

Nerevar shook off his surprise–as Vehk noted to himself to be more careful in adopting poetic turns of phrase–and furrowed his brow as he looked off at nothing in particular. "What do you mean by that?"

Vivec drummed his fingers on the stone of the tub. "I mean that the choice is yours. I can't tell you what to do–even if I were in the leagues of Sul or Voryn–but...but I think, if we help more people than we harm, it's better that we shoulder whatever sins we must so others can live better than we have." He looked up at Nerevar, face serious. "I'd give up whatever virtue I have to free Resdayn, to keep the Chimer out of slums and...and to keep what happened to Sil and I from ever happening again to other young mer. We are the heirs of Veloth, and we know better than to believe that our exodus was sterile and bloodless." He stopped as his voice grew louder, the familiar stirrings of a righteous speech thrumming in him. He stayed quiet, for just a moment, then continued, voice soft and serious, "But either choice you make will be an act that carves a path for us. So you can sin or you can not. But...even St. Veloth, with all his followers, it would have meant nothing if he didn't act at all."

Nerevar was quiet again, eyes fixed on one particular spot in the wall. Vivec stayed put, fingers clenching and unclenching as he waited for some sort of response. Praise, dismissal, anything .

Finally, he pulled his gaze back to the present, settling on Vivec. His mouth twitched, and it took a moment before he finally asked, "Where's Sil?"

"In the library, I imagine. He spent all night working on that spider of his, still as anything."