Betrayal

His face shows nothing.

His lips tremble, so fast that none see, but he burns with shame at it nonetheless.

It is Nerevar. He walks through the path and in the shape of another, but it is Nerevar all the same.

He had prepared himself for many things. Anger. Scorn. Hurt. Forgiveness, even.

(but what he did could never be forgiven)

None of these things he can sense or see in him. Instead, there is innocence, one mixed with reverence. Worship.

Nerevar, worship me? What a world...

No. He cannot show weakness here. He is the Warrior-Poet of the Dunmer, the God-King of Vvardenfell, who is clad from head to toe in terror. He is the Anticipation of Mephala, the Webspinner, Prince of Sex and -

[murder]

- He stops himself. He shall not falter.

"I expected you. We have business, you and I."