Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

My everything ached.

This wasn’t really unusual: 45 tends to be the point where all the wear-and-tear of one’s life catches up. Still, this felt different.

I opened my eyes and squinted at the foliage overhead. There were more pine trees than I was used to seeing, and I didn’t know why I was outside.

Or on a horse-drawn cart of some kind. I blinked at the blonde woman across from me. She was in blue Renn-Faire chic; a fairly good costume by the looks of it. The maile rings of her hauberk were riveted, and it was fitted quite well rather than sagging and loose. Is this a Hayride?

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

I was thrown for a moment, thinking I was sitting across from a ventriloquist. Wasn’t she supposed to say that line? The thought was as confusing as everything else. Why would I expect this woman to say that, much less in a man’s voice? In fact, why did I think she was supposed to say that at all?

“Damn you Stormcloaks,” I heard a second voice start a half-expected diatribe, though again, not from the sullen man in a costume matching the lady. I looked right and saw the source of the voices was a second cart being driven by a Roman Legionnaire.

No, not Roman: Imperial.

My vision started clearing as I looked around in alarm. All the trappings were there for the tedious cart-ride opening for Elder Scrolls V. 

I looked down at myself. Part of my discomfort was made apparent by my state of undress: I was in what might generously be described as rags, which did nothing against the Alpine weather.

“I don’t know where we’re going, but Sovngarde awaits.”

The hell you say! There was no way this Protestant boy was going to Dollar-Store-Valhalla any time soon.

Okay, think ! Am I dreaming? If I can ask that question, then no. I’d never once had a lucid dream, so that was a reach at best.

Is this VR? I don’t own a VR headset, but just in case I gave my head a firm shake. No weight on my head, so no headset.

All that’s left are A: Isekai nonsense, or B: I’m really on my way to a front row seat to the end of the world. I pinched my eyes shut and thought really hard about the menu. All I got was a headache, and a strange look from my cart mates when I opened one of my eyes.

“I used to be sweet on a girl from here.” Ralof’s voice came from the second cart as we passed through a gate. I counted it a victory that I remembered his name.

I looked around as we entered Helgen. There was a troop of horse riders in greenish-gold armor talking to a man in ornate Roman Imperial, damnit, Imperial armor. That would be... Elenwen? Arguing with General Tullius about letting them take Ulfric into their custody so he could conveniently escape and prolong the Civil War.

I could see the woman across from me trying to steel herself, while the red-headed man next to her just seemed to get angrier by the second.

“Hey,” I tapped her hand. Her head snapped up. “When It lands on the tower, be ready to run. You don’t want to be caught out in the open.” I looked at the red head next to her. “Don’t do anything rash, and we might all make it out of here.”

The cart rocked to a stop. “Prisoners, out of the cart,” a severe woman in somewhat ornate Imperial armor barked as the second cart came to a stop.

A solid man in Imperial Red began rattling names off of a list. When he called for ‘Lokir of Rorikstead’, another fellow in rags began babbling before trying to make a break for it.

“Archers!”

I looked back at my cart mates, rather than at Lokir’s summary execution. “Wait for it to land on the tower,” I hissed as the general began berating and condemning Ulfric.

My cartmates both looked confused, but subtly tensed, nonetheless.

I saw Tullius turn towards a Priestess. This is it: one shot, better make it good.

I saw another Stormcloak bristling as the Priestess began to pray.

“And what is my crime, General Tullius?” Everyone was startled at my question. I was rather thankful that my years of voice training carried over, making my inquiry almost impossible to ignore. “You would invoke the divines to bless this act; what then is my crime?” Several people, including the Priestess, began looking around in concern. “What act have I committed that is so heinous, that Julianus would deem it wise to summarily execute me? What deed is so foul, that my death would be seen as a mercy by Mara?”

I took a step forward, while I watched a shadow in the clouds.

“What have any of us done that Stendar would deny us his justice and kingly forbearance, and allow us all to be put to the sword without a trial, as is demanded by your laws?” I could hear the bloodthirsty Imperial Captain drawing her sword and stalking towards me. I also heard a sound like an approaching tornado. One last push...

“Truth be told, there is only one Divine that will have heard your prayer, but I do not think you will like Akatosh’s reply.”

The light of the courtyard dimmed as Alduin landed on the tower. I was braced for the tremors, but nothing could prepare me for the raw malevolence of the World Eater; nothing in my life could remotely prepare me for the sight of a real dragon. I was frozen in place, even as the sky turned to fire.

I stumbled when I was yanked backwards. “Run you damned Breton fool!” I got my feet under me and turned to see my two cartmates making a break for the main keep. Once the fog was shaken off my mind, I was right on their heels.

Ever since leaving the Air Force, I had lived by the adage ‘If I’m running, it means something’s chasing me: please kill it.’ Having an unkillable draconic death god swooping overhead was one hell of a motivator. I managed to turn slightly and slam shoulder first into the main door of the keep, rather than pancaking against it Looney Toons style. The Redhead was fumbling with the door while the Blonde had her back against the wall, brandishing a Gladius.

“Dammit Gunjar,” she hissed over her shoulder, “You’re fumbling with the door like it’s my dress on our wedding night!”

“And just like then, Frigga,” there was a faint click as Gunjar threw the door open, “I deliver on my promises!”

We all rushed through into a round room with iron grating all around and slammed the door behind us. I slumped into a chair and panted. I glanced up as the Stormcloak couple looked at me suspiciously. Sitting more upright, I nodded to them both.

“Thanks for getting me out of there. I knew he’d be here, but I didn’t expect... him.”

“You knew ,” Frigga asked warily. “How exactly did you know , and who in Talos’ name are you anyway?!”

I was an old hand at roleplaying games and reenacting, so coming up with a persona was not a problem; that said, I’d be stuck with this one. It needed to be something I’d remember, and that connected to me. More importantly, it needed to be mostly true.

“I’m Hiram Abiff, and I knew because I’m an initiate of the Holy Temple of the Saints John.” At least I could put some of the lore of the Freemasons to good use.

“Never heard of it,” Gunjar scoffed, though he didn’t look like he was outright rejecting my declaration.

I nodded. “I’m not surprised. It’s a secretive order, and we have been persecuted in the past for our secrets.”

Frigga squinted at me. “What kind of secrets?”

In for a penny, in for a pound. “Reading signs and portents, such as those that warned of the World-Eater’s return and led me to Skyrim.” With any luck, that story should ward off any questions about how I know things. “I am trying to find someone in a position to do something about this calamity. I was waylaid by a pack of bandits.” I turned a skeptical side-eye towards the couple. “The last thing I remember before the cart, was one of them ‘thanking’ me for my ‘donation to the Stormcloak cause’.” And that should keep them from trying a recruiting pitch. The slightly ashamed look on the pair told me that this wasn’t a far-fetched story.

Gunjar gave a stuttering half bow. “Then, why did you help us?”

I stood up from the chair and held out a hand. “Because helping is what my order does.” They both clasped my hand in turn. “It helps that neither one of you is wearing my boots.”

We all chuckled, and I sighed in internal relief: my story may have been shot through with lies, but it was unlikely that anyone would be harmed by it, and I now had two allies. “So, now we just wait for whoever comes through one of these doors next.” I nodded towards the main door, and a portcullis leading to a hallway.

Gunjar rolled his shoulders as he looked around. “Oh, and who should we expect?”

Pointed to the door. “If Ralof of Riverwood comes through there with a survivor in tow, then it will be Hadvar of Riverwood and Captain ‘Forget the Lists’ through there.” I nodded to the portcullis, “If Ralof comes alone, it will be Hadvar and a survivor.”

Frigga barked a laugh and looked at her husband, then at me. Her mirth faded before my deadpan stare. “You’re serious?! You know who’s coming through these doors?”

“No, I know who is likely to come through those doors. I’m hoping Ralof is alone; maybe we can minimize the killing, rather than doing the World Eater’s job for him.”

We waited in tense silence until the latch on the door jiggled. Ralof rushed through, alone, before slamming the door shut. The couple looked at each other as I sighed in relief. Now I just have to keep the Hometown Boys from killing each other.

“Ralof,” Gunjar led his fellow Stormcloak into the atrium, “was...was there anyone with you?”

Ralof scoffed. “ Was , but she chose to follow that thrice damned Hadvar. Probably in the belly of that dragon by now.”

“No,” Ralof jumped slightly, only just noticing me, “they're both in that room.” I nodded to the portcullis. “They’ll be along in a couple of minutes; which is good, because they have the key for that door.” I jerked my thumb at the Iron gate behind me. It was a supreme effort not to smirk at the frustrated sounds of the three Nords trying to work the door. Damn, it sure is fun being an all-knowing know-it-all.

I heard faint shuffling near the portcullis. “Hadvar of Riverwood, please come in.” I stepped forward to block Ralof from charging as the gate raised. The Nord in Imperial armor stepped forward, a slight Khajiit woman in ill-fitting Imperial armor close on his heels. 

Must. 

Not. 

Pet. 

Kitty!  

“I am Hiram Abiff, these are Frigga and Gunjar. You already know Ralof.” 

I turned to face the three Stormcloaks. “I know there is no small amount of bad blood between you due to this war, but we all have far greater concerns.” There was a roar from outside, and the entire keep shuddered. “First among them is not getting eaten by that thing.” I looked back towards Hadvar while pointing to the gate. “Shall we?”

Chapter Text

I hung back and allowed Hadvar and Ralof to lead our little troop; partially because I didn’t trust that the keep’s layout was the same as I remembered, but mostly...

“So, why did you join the Stormcloaks?” Hadvar kept his eyes ahead.

Ralof hissed, then let out a sigh. “You remember my cousin Yngvi? He made a pilgrimage to the Shrine of Talos in Falkreath Hold.”

“The one just southeast of the Guardian Stones, I know it.”

“He never came back. I went looking for him, and found a massacre. Farmers and woodsmen from all around Lake Ilinalta were chopped to pieces, burned and left for the crows. The only other body was a Thalmor mage.” I could hear Ralof’s knuckles crack around the haft of his hammer. “Yngvi was nowhere to be found.

“I went straight away to Whiterun: to petition the Jarl, to join the Legion like you had already done, to exact justice for my kin!” He stopped and turned to face Hadvar. “ That was the day I learned about the White-Gold Concordat, the day I learned the Empire had abandoned Skyrim, and granted the Thalmor license to roam the countryside and murder our kinsmen!”

The two men stared for a moment. Hadvar rested a hand on Ralof’s shoulder. “Ralof, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I was... How did Hod take it?”

Ralof sagged against a wall. “One day at a time, with a pint of ale and a chaser of mead. Sometimes it’s all Gerder can do to get him out of bed and up to the mill.”

Ralof thumped the back of his head against the wall. “I know you weren’t responsible, Hadvar, but I can’t look at that uniform without seeing the Penitus Oculatus officers who came to Riverwood. They didn’t come to bring justice and law; they came to tell us the gods of our ancestors were forbidden to us.

“But then we started hearing whispers; that Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak had risen up in defiance of the Empire and their Thalmor masters. I rushed off to Windhelm and swore myself to Ulfric’s banner.” 

He looked up at Hadvar. “I've heard some things I don’t like about Ulfric, but he’s right about this war and about Skyrim’s future!”

Hadvar frowned and nodded. “Perhaps Ulfric’s cause is just, but he is not. When he sent his axe to Torygg, the High King met him as the ancient ways demanded; but when Ulfric faced him, he didn’t cross blades as a true Nord would. He simply shouted him off the ramparts into the sea below!”

All three Stormcloaks turned in shame, but Hadvar continued. “Had Jarl Ulfric crossed steel with High King Torygg, rather than relying on ancient magics, I do not think we would be at war with each other.”

“But we are, kinsman.” Ralof turned back towards the stairwell. “The Empire will never relinquish their grip on this land, and the Stormcloaks will never submit to the White-Gold Concordat.”

There was silence for a moment before another muffled roar and tremor as Alduin continued his rampage overhead.

I looked at the gathered people. “For the moment, there is no war or rebellion; there’s only survival. Ralof, you started leading us down here. I’m assuming there’s a reason for that?”

He nodded and pointed down. “I played here as a boy. The keep is built over a cave system that leads down to the valley.”

We all resumed our descent. I moved to walk beside the Khajiit, whom I assumed would become the Dovahkiin . “I know everyone else's names, and you know mine, but I don’t know yours.”

She side-eyed me as we walked. “Aren’t you supposed to be filled with mystic visions and knowledge?”

I snorted. “I’m a Magi , not a census. I read signs and omens, and have some training in their interpretation, but don’t expect me to be of any use in a gambling den except as a distraction.”

She chuckled. “Fair enough. This one is called M'Rissa-Dro.”

“A pleasure to meet you. I’d shake your hand, but I understand that it can be painful to your people.”

She smirked at me. “Perhaps you are possessed of secret knowledge.” She relaxed a little as we moved. “You are the first person since this one left Elsweyr to know that simple truth.”

I shrugged and smirked back. “Read it in a book once.

We reached the bottom of the stairs, just as a portion of the underkeep collapsed. The only path was a large door to the left. My memory of the game said there would be a pair of soldiers on the other side: Stormcloaks, since M'Rissa had gone with Hadvar. I steeled myself for a fight.

Hadvar opened the door to reveal a pair of Legionnaires instead; they were talking frantically to one another as Hadvar rushed in. 

“Captain, stay your blade!”

The stocky Imperial in finer armor looked in alarm as the rest of us moved into the storeroom. “What is the meaning of this?!”

“A dragon is attacking Helgen! The keep is collapsing behind us; we need to move, now !”

Hadvar’s commanding presence was punctuated by a timely roar from Alduin.

“And what about them,” the captain nodded to the three armed Stormcloaks, M'Rissa and myself.

“We,” M'Rissa stepped up in her borrowed armor, “are people who don’t want to die buried away from the moons, or in the belly of a dragon.”

The Captain gawked for a moment. “Truly, a dragon?!”

Hadvar put his fist over his heart. “Upon my oath as a Legionnaire.”

The Captain’s hand fell from his scabbard. “If the keep is collapsing, then we are trapped.”

“Not true,” Ralof cautiously stepped forward. “I grew up in these hills. If you swear to let us go free,” he gestured to his fellow Stormcloaks, “then I will swear to lead you and any who would follow to safety.”

The Captain looked at Hadvar and the nervous, but hopeful, soldier beside him. He came to a decision, snapped to what I would call a Parade-Ground Perfect Attention, and placed his sword hand over his heart. “Upon my oath, and in the name of the Eight Divines, neither I nor any under my command shall hinder you on your way.” 

He frowned as he relaxed. “I can’t speak for old Skliros. General Tullius brought us both up from Bruma to reinforce the garrison. He sent the old tyrant straight down to work the cells. He answers to the Penitus Oculatus; and if you ask me, he enjoys his work too much.”

Right, the Torturer. I didn’t relish how that confrontation would go, especially since the Captain intimated the old man was outside of the normal chains of command. Yay, Secret-Police State.

We raided the store-room for any supplies, then moved on.

As we descended even deeper, I could hear yelling, then a sound like a Tesla Coil followed by screaming, then silence. The Captain and Hadvar rounded the corner first.

“Ah, good,” a scornful nasal voice called out. “You happened along just in time. Help me clean up this mess.”

“No,” the Captain said as we all stacked up out of view. 

There was a pause. “I’m not sure I heard you right.” The malice in the torturer's voice went up a notch.

“A dragon is attacking Helgen. As acting commander of this garrison, I am evacuating all the survivors I can.”

“You have no authority to command me.” I could hear the sneer on his face.

“Nor you I,” the Captain growled out. “I am giving you notice and opportunity to evacuate before the entire keep comes down.”

There was a snort. “Run from shadows if you want. I have work to do.”

“Very well. Pius,” our third Legionnaire perked up, “bring them around, we’re leaving.”

We all stepped around. There were several weapons, Stormcloaks, and one Imperial strewn around the floor. 

As soon as the Torturer saw us, he hunched up. “What is this treason ?!”

Before anyone could act, he put on a very convincing impression of Emperor Palpatine. Hadvar was thrown to the floor, and the Captain was launched into one of the cages by blue lightning.

I didn’t want to test my unarmored self against Darth Assholius , but I couldn’t just sit idle while he picked us off. I lunged for one of the greatswords lying on the ground, and stood it up in the lightning’s path. There was a bit of a jolt, like accidentally touching an electric fence as the spell grounded out through the sword into the floor.

Skliros looked as surprised as I was that my plan worked as the smoking iron blade clattered to the ground. Before he could muster another attack, a wiry tabby arm snaked around his throat. He began gagging as he was pulled backwards, arms flailing and leaving traceries of static electricity in their wake. After a few seconds, the flailing stopped and M'Rissa let Skliros fall limp to the floor.

She stepped over the corpse and helped me stand up. “Interesting technique,” she nodded at the sword at our feet. “This one has never seen or heard of that before.”

I smiled and smoothed my hair, which stayed standing on end. “Well, whether from clouds or mages, lightning is still lightning; it always moves from sky to ground through the nearest, tallest object.” 

I looked back where Pius, Frigga and Gunjar were helping the Captain stand, while Hadvar was just releasing Ralof’s hand. “Is everyone alright?”

Hadvar rubbed a charred spot on his armor. “I’ll live, though it feels like I’m in a summer thunderstorm.” He  gazed around, and saw something in one of the cages. “What’s that in there?”

I walked over and looked in. I already knew, but there was no need to take my 'omniscience’ too far. “Looks like one of Skliros’ former victims. Blue robes, a book, and some coin.”

Ralof walked over. “Looks like mages robes. Don’t know about the book, but we could always use the coin.” He looked back at M'Rissa. “Think you could pick this--” Everyone flinched at the low throat growl and lashing tail of the Khajiit.

I sidled around her and made my way to the Jailor’s office/cage. “I think I can handle this one.”

Frigga moved over towards me. “Your mystical order taught you how to pick locks?”

I came out of the cage with an iron dagger and a mace. “Not quite.”

- CLANG -

The lock fell to the floor in pieces, and I knelt beside the corpse. When I rested a hand on the robes and book, I could feel a tingle throughout my body. “The robe feels like it’s enchanted.” I looked back at the torturer’s body. “Why would he leave a mage in enchanted robes?”

“What do you mean, ‘feels like’,” Gunjar asked while squinting at the cage.

I wonder... I picked up the book and opened it.

I had never had migraines, but I knew plenty of people who had. This was exactly what they described. By the time the roaring sound and flashing in my vision subsided, I had been pulled out of the cage and was leaning against one of the walls.

“What in Talos’ name was that ?” I couldn’t tell whether Ralof or Gunjar had asked.

I looked down at my hand, and for a moment I could almost see a complex pattern overlay, like the cinematic when you read an Elder Scroll. “I think it was a spell book. Gimme a moment.”

I stood up and walked over to Skliros’ corpse. I concentrated as best I could, and forced the pattern back onto my hand. I could feel and see static electricity arcing between my fingertips. After a few moments of contemplation I felt like I could move a power around my body. It was a little bit like breathing drills for voice, and I launched a surge of static electricity into the Torturer’s remains.

“Definitely a spell book.”

M'Rissa looked between me and the cage. “That makes even less sense; why leave a mage in the cage with a spell tome?”

Hadvar shook his head. “Because he wasn’t a mage. The boy probably had no magical aptitude at all, and Skrilos was just...”

“Torturing him?” 

Hadvar nodded sadly. “Let’s collect anything else of use and get out of here. Hiram, you should probably put the robe on. If they’re enchanted, as you think, they might give you a bit of an edge against anything else we run into.”

There’s a great deal of difference between looting a corpse in a game, and doing so in real life. Still, I did as Hadvar asked. The soft shoes and long robe were a welcome relief from the tattered rags, and I could feel the power I now associated with Mana flowing just a little more strongly and freely. Still, I felt for the poor tortured corpse before me.

I waited until most everyone had left, I took hold of the Mana, and moved it as best I could and put a hand on the corpse’s head.

“ Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thine name. ” It almost caught me off guard that the Lord’s Prayer felt like a foreign language, even though I knew I was saying it in English. Once through, there was a faint glow around the body. I stood and left the torture chamber, hoping I had done at least a little good.

I rejoined the group as they stood in what seemed to be a culvert or cistern. There was a fast moving stream flowing between two raised platforms. There were also a half dozen fresh corpses in mixed Imperial and Stormcloak livery. The air was rank with the smell of blood and fear and burnt flesh, where a different mixed group of survivors had battled to the death.

Both Ralof and the Captain tended to their respective dead as best they could.

Ralof stood and whispered a silent prayer, before looking up again. “Come on, there’s only a couple of chambers before we’re all safely out of here.”

There was another tremor just as we entered a natural cavern, and the tunnel behind us caved in. 

“Well, no going back,” Hadvar turned and began following a stream.

“So, oh great Seer,” Gunjar looked over his shoulder, “is there anything else we should expect?”

I didn’t bother to look at him. “Spiders, and a bear.”

Ralof scoffed. “Nonsense! I played in these caves for years, and the only dangerous thing was the guard captain’s belt if he caught you.”

He turned a corner, and walked right into the thickest web I had ever seen. It was like a ‘Spirit of Halloween’ web decoration, or something used at a higher end haunted house. I pushed my spell into both hands. “These are no longer the haunts of your youth. Alduin’s coming is just one foreseen calamity. Be on guard.” I hoped I sounded more confident than I felt, and stayed back behind all the warriors.

As with my first sighting of Alduin, there was something visceral about seeing a venomous Camel Spider the size of a golf cart. I’d like to think the sound of my double fisted magic drowned out my childish shriek of terror as two spiders the size of large dogs scuttled towards me.

“God himself doesn’t have a slipper big enough for these !” I huffed as I kicked one of the crispy corpses. I knew there were poison glands that could be harvested, as well as eggs for alchemy, but at that moment I just wished I knew fire magic and could scour the cave clean. 

This was the first time I had exerted myself, magically speaking. It was a strange sensation, like being winded from physical exertion but not out of breath. I could feel the flow of Mana from the robes and hood, and hoped that--

“Bear!”

Of course she’s coming in here.

I clambered onto one of the stone shelves, as a brown bear lumbered into the spider cave. Everyone had fanned out, when the bear paused and sniffed. It growled around at us before grabbing one of the smaller spiders and dragging it back into the next chamber.

“She’s just hungry,” Frigga leaned against a clean wall.

M'Rissa growled in frustration. “That’s all well and good, but how do we get past her?”

“Give her a peace offering,” I suggested as I gingerly hoisted up a crispy crawler. “Everyone grab a Nope, and follow me.”

We must have made an absurd parade, with myself, M'Rissa, and Friga each carrying a smaller spider like a torn bag of groceries, while the rest double teamed to haul the Economy sized spiders out. The momma bear looked at us and growled a warning. One by one, we dropped a dead spider between us and her. Hadvar and Ralof were the last, dropping their prize and hustling out of the cave and into fresh air.

Chapter Text

We all huddled outside the cave entrance as Alduin gave one last circle and roared before flying north. 

I remember doing a rough calculation once, and the scale of Skyrim, based on time traveled, was roughly 12:1. As I looked around, that ratio seemed woefully inadequate. Or maybe I was just tired from everything else that had happened. Everything was a lot bigger than I thought.

It’s the world, I chided myself, did you think it would be small?

“Looks like he’s gone for good--” Hadvar and Ralof glared at one another as they spoke simultaneously. I had to resist a chuckle, and instead looked expectantly at the Imperial Captain. 

“I gave my word,” he said with his back to the Stormcloaks, “and I am a man of my word. We part as brothers and sisters in arms, until the twin moons rise. Pius, Hadvar, let’s go.”

I could see both Ralof and Hadvar casting looks northeast, towards Riverwood. “Captain,” he looked at me suspiciously, “a moment if I may.” I gestured slightly to the side, but still in sight of the rest. “Hadvar is from Riverwood, less than a day’s journey from here.” I pointed in the direction Alduin had flown. “It might go a long way towards shoring up support in Whiterun, if an Imperial officer were to bring news of Helgen to Jarl Balgruf; rather than leaving it up to chance.” I flickered a glance at the Stormcloaks.

He seemed to catch my meaning, though thankfully not my true intent, and nodded.

“Hadvar,” he barked as I walked back to Ralof, M'Rissa and the others. I handed a bottle of wine I had liberated from the storeroom to Ralof as Hadvar conversed with his Captain. Once I was certain everyone was otherwise focused, I tapped Friga on the wrist and walked towards the cave entrance.

She warily followed until we were just out of earshot. “What’s in that mad mind of yours now, Hiram?”

“Politics and possibilities,” I said with my back to the group. “Ralof is from Riverwood, just down the valley. If a true son of Skyrim were to, oh I don’t know, deliver news of Helgen to the Jarl in Whiterun, it might go a long way towards swaying his opinion in the Stormcloak’s favor. Just, wait a few minutes out of sight for the Captain to be on his way.”

A side glance showed that, like the Captain, she caught my meaning but not my intent. She nodded, then headed back towards her husband and Ralof. A few whispered words, and they headed south towards the ruins of Helgen.

M'Rissa tucked in close and glanced at the two groups. “What are you up to?”

I really liked this lady; she was sharp. “Just trying to remind at least two people here that their opponents aren’t strangers.” Hadvar walked over as the Stormcloaks slipped out of sight. “Maybe if they get the hint, this damnable civil war can be shortened.” I raised my chin at Hadvar’s approach. “What did your Captain say?”

He huffed and crossed his arms. “It seems I have a temporary leave of absence: I am to see my family, then ensure Jarl Balgruf is informed of what happened here.” 

I gave my biggest, most ingenuine smile. “Well isn’t that charitable of him! We certainly shouldn’t squander this opportunity.” I set off down the hill, with M'Rissa and Hadvar close behind. “So, tell me about your home. The area is quite picturesque.” It was at indeed, with soaring alpine peaks and untamed old growth forest.

Hadvar was about to speak when we came to a mountain road, and met Ralof making his way down the valley.

“Well fancy meeting you on the road!” I never stopped as the two Riverwood natives sputtered and glared at each other.

Then glared at me.

Then glared at each other again.

“I don’t know about you two, but I intend to get a good meal and a decent night's sleep in a real bed. If you want to stay up here glaring at each other, I can send your kin up to fetch you both.” I paused and turned until I could see them both. “Unless it’s your intent to murder one another within shouting distance of your home. If so, I’ll spare them the gruesome details.”

Hadvar and Ralof paused in their glaring and looked almost contrite.

I smiled and turned back down the road. “Good. Let’s be off then.”

M'Rissa caught up and paced me. “This one thought you said you were no good at games of chance, because that was quite the gamble you took.”

I gave her a tired smile. “I’m terrible at dice and cards, but where people’s lives are on the line I always try to err on the side of compassion; that bet almost always pays off.”

“And when it doesn’t?”

I looked up at the ruins of Bleak Falls Barrow in the distance. “I’ll let you know when it happens.”

It was four hours before we made it to the headwaters of the White River, when we came upon the Guardian Stones. As with Alduin, I wasn’t prepared for what was in front of me. I could feel them, for lack of a better word, judging me.

“The Guardian Stones,” Ralof stood beside me. “These are the Warrior, Mage, and Thief Stones. There are ten other Standing Stones scattered throughout Skyrim.”

“Aye,” Hadvar came up behind. “It’s said that if the gods deem you worthy, the stone that aligns with your spirit will glow and serve as a beacon to help guide you to your destiny.”

It was a much better explanation than, ‘poke the stone you want to get a bonus from’, though I was a little nervous about what it would mean if nothing happened.

M'Rissa was not so hesitant, and strode right into the middle of them. The rightmost stone seemed to flare to life, and I could hear power singing off of it. M'Rissa turned around and gave Ralof a mock glare.

He chuckled and raised his hands in surrender. “I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll not argue with the will of the gods.” He looked over at me. “Well, aren’t you even curious what the gods have in store for you?”

I pursed my lips and glanced around. “Considering the last time I went seeking after wisdom from on high, I was nearly eaten by a dragon...” Still, he was right; I wanted to know.

Before I was even fully on the platform, I could feel an almost magnetic pull from the central stone. Light danced on the ancient carvings, and a wizard in flowing robes was highlighted.

“The Mage,” Hadvar said. “Keeper of and seeker after hidden knowledge. Very fitting, wouldn’t you say?”

M'Rissa chuffed in good humor. “It is good this one will be around to save you. Mages are notoriously fragile.”

I snorted back. “Lucky you. We’re also notorious trouble magnets. Speaking of,” I looked at the Hometown Boys, “You two will need a change of clothes. Can’t have tongues wagging about an Imperial and a Stormcloak skipping into town together, hand in hand.”

Ralof sputtered in denial, while Hadvar looked pensive. “He’s right; say nothing about what would happen if word got back to Solitude or Windhelm, think of the chaos and confusion in the Hold itself.”

Ralof growled in frustration. “And just where are we supposed to get these new clothes? The nearest settlement is Riverwood.”

I smirked. “We’ll just get something from the mine down the road: Embershard, I believe it’s called?”

Hadvar hardened up. “I’m not going to rob the miners in Embershard. This is still my home.”

I walked past him and clapped him on the shoulder. “Ah, but there aren’t any miners in Embershard; just bandits.” I looked at them both. “Things have gotten bad since the war began.”

I half expected yet another challenge to my hidden knowledge, but apparently I had made an impression. We moved down the road, and collectively snuck up the path to the main mine entrance. There was a single bandit lounging at the entrance.

Just as I was trying to come up with a plan, Ralof and Hadvar moved. There were no bellowed challenges or bluster as the two seasoned warriors flanked, and swiftly dispatched the bandit. They both eyed the dead man’s gear with disdain.

“That armor looks like someone ran a nest of Skeevers through your sister’s mill, then asked my uncle to hammer the whole affair together.”

We all moved into the mine. Voices echoed up the tunnels, prompting us to sneak again. Ralof spotted the rock trap, so I didn’t need to hand-hold everyone across. It was a welcome, though intellectually understandable divergence from in-game companions.

The two bickering bandits in the first chamber fell to a pair of arrows from the Hometown Boys, though they still disdained the Conan-esque armor. 

I hoped that there would be at least one set of iron armor in the mines, or this would become a very tedious argument.

There was a slight bright side, as one of the fallen bandits had been carrying a steel sword. I didn’t know the extent of my magical endurance beyond the spider cave fight, though that didn’t bode well for my long term combat effectiveness. I just hoped my hobbyist study of HEMA and sport fencing would at least keep me alive.

Just as I was coming up the ramp from the small campsite, Ralof dropped the Bridge.

“I thought we had somebody... Hey!”

“Shit!”

I learned a very important lesson then: bringing a spell up while someone was actively trying to kill you is ‘no bueno’. Still, I managed not to get my skull caved in before Hadvar and M'Rissa hit the bandits from the side. There was something almost mesmerizing about watching a slip of a Khajiit toss mighty Nords around like a Luchedor.

“What is wrong with you?! Are you trying to get yourself killed!? Leave the bladework to us!”

Having her spitting mad at me, not so mesmerizing.

“I didn’t plan on getting jumped by two bandits. I just grabbed the sword in case I needed it; which I did.”

M'Rissa turned a baleful eye on Ralof.

“I thought he was going to stay down by the bedrolls until we’d cleared the path.”

I rested a hand on her shoulder. “I promise to keep behind you for the rest of our time down here. Okay?”

“Grr, you’d better!” She jabbed me in the chest with a claw, then stalked across the bridge. We all followed after.

My earlier estimation of the scale of Skyrim held true in the tunnels of Embershard. It certainly explained why the guard sitting next to a store room hadn’t heard the commotion at the bridge. 

As we knelt by a missing plank looking at the inside of the iron gate, I had a plan.

“I want to try something.” I waved down M'Rissa’s glare. “I’ll stay behind you, I swear, but I think my spell can reach the storeroom door. If I can get the goon to touch or grab the grating, I should be able to shock the hell out of them before you three flank them. Sound good?”

The Hometown Boys nodded, though M'Rissa frowned. “This one will stay here, in case they slip past the Nords.”

Aside from an incensed snort from Ralof, he and Hadvar snuck up to the corner of the tunnel.

I called up my one and only spell, and took a deep breath.

“I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts!”

M'Rissa and the guard both jerked at the absurdity of my singing.

“Here they are, all standing in a row!”

M'Rissa turned and hissed at me to be quiet, while the guard turned around, and leaned against the iron bars to try and see what was going on.

-FZAaAaAaRK-

The flash of static electricity danced across the bars and into the guard, launching them out of the alcove. Hadvar and Ralof lunged around the corner and pounced on the bandit.

I gave M'Rissa a Cheshire grin as I stood up.

“Big ones, small ones, ones the size of your head! ‘Give them a pinch, a flick of the wrist’, that’s what the showman said.”

I whistled as I walked around the corner, while Ralof searched the now clearly deceased bandit. “That was an...interesting plan.”

I smiled at the group, while avoiding looking at the slightly smoldering corpse. “Ancient wisdom from my homeland says, ‘A stupid plan isn’t stupid if it works’.”

M'Rissa flicked her whiskers in annoyance. “No, a stupid plan is, by definition, stupid, no matter the outcome.” 

Must!

Not!

Pet!

Kitty!

I was saved from my intrusive thoughts when Ralof tossed something to Hadvar, and the storeroom opened with a -click-. We all moved into the small space and started cataloging what was there. 

I gravitated to the table, where a small pile of coins surrounded a reddish book. I could feel the same buzzing tug as I had with the Spark Tome in Helgen. I decided to be a little more deliberate this time, and sat down in the guard’s chair before reading the book.

The forced transfer of arcane knowledge didn’t hurt as much this time, though I did smack my head against the bars. Once the lights stopped dancing in front of my eyes, I saw M'Rissa’s worried face hovering in front of me.

I didn’t even realize I had started scratching one of her ears until she grabbed my arm. Her expression was no less concerned, but the claw pressed against the flexor tendons in my wrist told me I had crossed a line.

“Was it worth it,” she asked as she gently pulled my hand away, while moving my head side to side watching my eyes move.

“I’m very sorry about that, and I won’t know until I try it out.” I could only hope that her retracting her claw from my wrist meant she accepted my apology.

Ralof came out of the storeroom wearing a leather harness and spaulders. “What was that, anyway?”

I glanced up at him. “As best I can tell, it’s a kind of prayer to Julianus. It’s meant to help guide me towards whatever goal I’m contemplating at the time.” I shrugged and gave a weak smile. “Seeker after hidden things. I just wish it hadn’t knocked me for a loop.”

M'Rissa helped me stand up, then let go of my hand. “Maybe warn us the next time you try to rummage through Julianus’ purse for loose wisdom?”

We all continued up the shaft until we reached a large chamber with a small spring-fed pool. The air was filled with the scent of coal fire, and a smith could be heard working below. I concentrated on my intent, and it took a moment to feel the correct spell settle into my off hand. I cast, and felt a pull towards the upper level of the cavern.

“The guy with the armor we want is up there,” I whispered while pointing, “but there’s the archer and smith to worry about as well.”

Ralof pulled his bow out. “I’ll go ahead and deal with the archer. That’s guaranteed to alert the others, so you two,” he looked at me and M'Rissa, “deal with the smith. Hadvar can head up and secure his armor. Agreed?”

We all nodded, and got ready. Ralof took his shot while the archer was on the far side of the cavern, and was just as accurate as if he’d been standing next to the archer. We could all hear the other two rousing and calling for their fallen compatriot. Hadvar charged up the walkway, while I descended into the smithing pit.

The smith, a burly mass of body hair, sweat and soot, saw me first and grabbed a greatsword off a rack. I openly prepared my Spark spell in my off hand while guarding with my sword. As he moved towards me, M'Rissa leapt from the sleeping level, aiming a kick at his head. He oofed as he barely managed to block the kick, stumbling as the Khajiit brawler backflipped away to land on the armorers workbench. When he turned to face her, I let loose with all the power I could muster. The smith spasmed, screamed and stumbled as the static charge tortured his flesh and nerves. In his stumbling, he tripped and fell into his forge.

I spent twenty years in the Air Force. I had participated in several active campaigns, both before and after the start of the Global War on Terror, so I had long ago accepted the fact that I was responsible for the taking of human lives. Still, I had been a mechanic: not a pilot, SP, or other combat arms specialist. I was responsible for ending people’s lives, but I had never witnessed it personally.

I blinked as I heard M'Rissa’s voice as if from a great distance; even though she was holding my face in her palms, her nose almost touched mine. I tried to focus on her, but there was a distracting smell. I remembered it from a childhood visit to Dachau when my parents were stationed in Germany. 

I felt as if all I had done was blink again, and we were all outside. I was on a stump, with M'Rissa, Ralof and Hadvar all hovering over me.

“Oh good, you got that iron armor, Hadvar.”

Chapter Text

It took a few minutes before I could stand. I found myself almost hypnotized by the autumnal sounds around me: owls hooting in the trees above, wind through the leaves, water rushing down the White River, and the distant howl of wolves. It was all so...normal. 

At that moment, I couldn’t remember the sounds from the attack on Helgen: not Alduin’s roar, not the collapse of Helgen Keep, not the screams of dying men and women. They were like a tune I knew, but couldn’t remember, and I was fine with that. 

I’d known plenty of Global War on Terror veterans and 9/11 survivors, so I recognized the onset of Acute Traumatic Stress Disorder. I had no idea what to do about it, but I had a solid idea of what I was in for. 

Once I was back on my feet, I noticed the concerned looks from the others. I started and stopped trying to say something several times before Hadvar stepped up and planted a hand on my shoulder. 

“I’m guessing that today is the first time you’ve taken a life?” Hadvar asked. I nodded, not trusting my voice at the moment. “I thought so. I’ve met many a soldier who blustered about their presumed valor, who then froze like a deer in the moonlight once battle was joined. Others reveled in slaughter like mad bears, who needed to be restrained for their own good. No man can say how they will react to battle, until the battle has begun. There is no shame in not being a killer.”

“Aye,” Ralof nodded, though he looked hesitant to agree with Hadvar on anything. “After a few days of rest and home cooked meals, we can head down to Whiterun and pay a visit to Danica Purespring at the Temple of Kynareth.”

“Oh,” Hadvar turned with a raised eyebrow, “not to the Shrine to Talos?”

Ralof snorted. “Nobody deserves to be harangued by Mad-Eyed Heimskr at all hours of the day.”

“Well then,” I took Hadvar’s hand and nodded to Ralof, “I suppose we should be off then.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath of the loamy air. “It is a lovely evening for a forest stroll.”

We were still another three hours from Riverwood once we set off again, so the sun was fully set by the time we approached the South Gate. The road down the center of the village was empty, save for a dog sniffing around a cabbage cart. The closer we got to the town, the tenser I felt.

Ralof sighed in relief. “Good, old Hilde is off the streets.” He glanced back at me and M'Rissa. “She’s as close to a Village Elder as we’ve got, but she’s more interested in spreading gossip than wisdom.”

He and Hadvar turned to face one another and seemed about to speak, before remembering they were no longer merely childhood friends.

Hadvar gave a stiff nod and turned to his uncle’s home, while Ralof headed up towards his sister’s house. “I’d invite one or both of you in to stay, but that’s for Uncle Alvor to decide. The Sleeping Giant Inn is right next to the North Gate. I’d join you there, but Enbry’s going to be there, along with everyone else.” Hadvar huffed in annoyance. “The drunkard is as bad as Hilde when it comes to keeping secrets.”

I nodded absently as my eyes twitched back and forth, looking for...something.

M'Rissa took my elbow and started walking me towards the inn. “We will meet you tomorrow then.” 

As we neared the inn, the sounds from within grew. I felt tenser the closer we got, with indistinct raised voices setting off alarm bells in my head. I felt ready to run for it, when M'Rissa walked us out the gate and past the bridge. She sat us both on the eastern bank looking out over the White River and Whiterun Hold beyond. With the bridge blocking out the noise from town, such as it was, I was able to center myself and get my nerves under control.

“M'Rissa-Dro was not always a free Khajiit.” I glanced over at her as she stared into the sky, eyes locked on one of the moons. “When she was young, a wealthy nobleman stole her off the streets. At first, this one was glad to have shelter and food. But soon came the training, and the beatings if this one did not meet her master’s expectations.

“The nobleman wanted fighters for the Pits. This one was told over and over that she was a worthless thief meant only to die in the arena. Can you imagine a child being told their only reason to exist was to be slaughtered for the amusement of a mob? M'Rissa-Dro wept herself to sleep many nights, wondering if she would live to see the twin moons ever again.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes.

“Clearly you escaped.”

She scoffed and tossed a pebble into the river. “Only to be captured again at the border. Still,” she leaned back and laid on the grass, “there was one person who helped M'Rissa: an old one-eyed Dunmer, who had been traded back and forth in the arena circuit for more than a hundred years. He helped this one to see her worth, to survive, to not fear the creeping death the Pit masters promised. Eventually, he helped this one escape.”

She rolled her head to look at me and thumped the grass beside her. “This one was helped out of despair, so this one will help you out of despair.”

I lay down beside her and stared up into the alien sky. One constellation stood out to me, as if highlighted by some beacon. I guessed this was the constellation tied to the Mage Stone. I lay there, wondering how my stars had led me here, where my stars would lead me, and if that path would ever lead back home.

...

I stood between two incredibly tall castle towers, staring up at the chaos. An A-10 swooped back and forth, shrieking like a tortured soul and breathing fire from its tiger mouth. People ran all around me, crying in terror and confusion. The plane winged over and dove towards me; its mouth opened impossibly wide so I could see its tongue flicking like someone being electrocuted. The rank smell of burnt flesh completely surrounded me. I screamed as the maw closed around me.

...

I jerked awake, the charnel stench still filling my nostrils. I looked over and saw M'Rissa sitting up.

“I’m sorry about waking you.”

She shook her head. “You did not.”

I rubbed one of my eyes as the dream slipped away from me. “Then sorry for startling you. I’ll bet the bandits up in Bleak Falls heard me screaming.”

A small smile tugged at her whiskers. “You would lose that bet. You have been still as the grave until just now.” Her smile faded as she rested a hand on my head. “This one has had that dream before.”

I grunted. “How did you deal with it then?”

She eyed me for a moment, then pushed me down and laid her head on my chest. A second later she began to purr.

“Um...”

“You did not ask this one before.”

I nodded, then rolled onto my side and curled around her.

We didn’t move again until dawn.

Once the sun was up, so were the people of Riverwood. The bustle motivated both M'Rissa and I to head back into town for a real meal. 

I won’t say I was okay re-entering the town, but I was better. I could also feel a little more clearly what had freaked me out the night before: the town was vulnerable. I knew the dragons would soon start rampaging across Skyrim, and the towns and cities would be their chief targets.

We made a beeline to the Inn and were soon seated with hot porridge and small beers. As we ate, the main room began filling up until nearly every person in town was there. The only people I didn’t see were Hadvar and Ralof.

A woman I assumed was Gerdur stood near the middle of the room. “Alright everyone; for those who don’t know, word has come to me that a dragon sacked Helgen.”

The room erupted in shouting, and my hands clenched down on the table. I could barely hear several people alternately declaring the event to be the truth or a hoax.

I almost jumped when a broad, bearded man in a leather apron slammed his hand on a table and stood up. “Enough! I too have heard of the attack, and I trust the source!.” He and Gerdur stared at one another for a moment before he gave the faintest of nods and sat down again.

I began to relax as the din faded away, only then realizing M'Rissa had tucked under my arm and was purring for all she was worth. I squeezed her arm in thanks, then turned to face the tavern hall as Gerdur spoke again.

“I haven’t called you here to discuss the veracity of the dragon sightings or attack. We need to decide on a course of action. Riverwood is exposed and vulnerable.”

“Well, what can we do,” a sallow skinned young man with pointed ears stood up. “I’m a fair archer, but even I couldn’t bring down a dragon .”

There was some murmuring, with a blonde boy in fancy clothes scowling at who I assumed was Faendal.

Gerdur waved everyone back into their seats. “Defense of the Hold and its people rests with the Jarl in Whiterun. We need to send someone to Dragonsreach and petition Jarl Balgruf to send aid. The question is, who?”

The murmuring built again as people began coming up with excuses as to why they couldn’t possibly leave. I gave a side eye to M'Rissa, who in turn gave a short nod.

I stood from the table, drawing everyone’s attention. “Pardon my intrusion, but my friend and I could go.”

Gerdur seemed about to say something, when a spark of recognition flashed across her face. Ralof had apparently told her about us. That didn’t stop others from speaking up.

“Why would you go? Better yet, why should we trust you?” Sven pointed an accusing finger at me. 

“Because we survived Helgen,” M'Rissa stood up as well. “We have the best chance of explaining what happened there, and the need to defend your village.”

“Excellent,” Alvor barked out before there were any further comments or complaints. “We leave it to you then to give an impartial ,” he and Gerdur gave dueling side-eyes, “report to the Jarl. Just follow the river road north into the valley. You won’t be able to miss Whiterun. Gerdur can write you a letter of introduction while you finish your meal.”

Most of the patrons listlessly milled out of the door, while Gerdur scrawled a message onto a piece of parchment. M'Rissa and I finished our porridge just as she was using the pommel of her dagger to press a wax seal.

She handed me the rolled document but didn’t let go once I was holding it. “I wonder if I could make a personal request.” I quirked an eyebrow. “Should the Jarl inquire about any other survivors from the attack at Helgen...”

I smiled and nodded. “I’m hardly in a position to account for the whereabouts of any other survivors who may have made it out, so we won’t bother his lordship with idle gossip.”

She sighed in relief and released the letter. “Gods guide you.”

I handed the letter to M'Rissa, who tucked it into a knapsack. We stepped out and headed across the bridge.

Chapter Text

“So, oh prognosticator,” M'Rissa lazily drawled, “what can we expect in Whiterun?”

I absently played with my Spark spell, trying to see if I could electrify my sword. “To be sent right back to Riverwood.” I smirked as M'Rissa’s ears flagged. “Which is why we aren’t going there directly. You remember the ruins on the south face of the mountains as we came out of Helgen?”

She groaned. “Let this one guess. What we want is in the depths of the ruins?”

“Yup.”

“Ch,” the Khajiit spat, “M'Rissa thinks they will be filled with walking dead.” It was my turn to be surprised. She must have noticed. “Wealthy Pit gamblers loved exotic fights more than anything. It wasn’t unusual for this one’s master to import monsters from all over. He even had a small cabal of mages to summon Atronachs to ‘spice up’ dull matches. This is why M'Rissa fights so acrobatically: if the crowd was entertained, then no spice was needed.”

My eyes bugged out a little bit. “I will absolutely be picking your brain later.” She jerked to a stop. “Sorry, it means to ask a lot of questions. You’re going to get very tired of me asking questions.”

She seemed mollified by that. “If it keeps you from any more ’stupid ideas’, then this one shall endure your questions.”

The climb was everything I expected: very long, and very beautiful. We ended up stopping for lunch before the bandit tower came into view. Once it was in sight, I hunkered down and began surveying the surroundings. This was the World, not a skill grind: I had no desire for any additional blood on my hands than would be needed.

M'Rissa seemed to intuit what I was thinking. She tapped my shoulder, then began scaling the rock face on our right. We came up well above the tower, with only one switchback before the approach to Bleak Falls Barrow.

We stepped out into a headwind that stole our breath. While my robes were a definite improvement over the rags I had arrived in, there was only so much they could do against the elements.

I tried to draw my sword in anticipation for the fight on the steps, but the blade was stuck in the scabbard. Before I could panic, M'Rissa tapped my arms and pantomimed for me to use my spell. I nodded and brought Spark up in both hands. Surprisingly, it helped insulate my gloveless hands, and we moved up.

I was a little shocked at first when we arrived at the top of the stairs. There were no bandits waiting for us, though in hindsight it made perfect sense. Nobody expected anyone to climb the mountain in a blizzard. Unfortunately, that meant there would be half a dozen bandits in the atrium. 

This was going to get bloody.

M'Rissa tapped me again as we approached the door. “Are you expecting anything in particular,” she yelled against the wind.

“Yes, unfair odds. Three to one in their favor.”

I could see her deciding whether to trust me yet again. I couldn’t blame her, but it was still annoying.

“Alright,” she pushed me back a step. “This one will go through first. Wait four heartbeats, then follow after. And Hiram,” I nodded expectantly, “do not hesitate. M'Rissa-Dro’s life depends on it.”

I nodded again and put my back to the door. She pushed it open wide enough for her, then gave a wildcat shriek and charged through.

One-Mississippi

Two-Mississippi

Three-Mississippi

Four-Mississippi

I slipped through the door into the atrium and complete bedlam. There were two archers with their backs to me, shouting for their comrades to get out of the way. I could hear M'Rissa yowling, as well as the pained cries of at least two bandits.

No hesitation. I cut loose.

“ Unlimited Power! ”

My twin Sparks lashed at the backs of the archers. One dropped to his knees, his bow skittering away, while the other was launched into the back of a greatsword wielding Nord. I paused to let my mana catch up, at which point the great-swordsman turned to face me. If I hit him with a double, I’d have nothing left, so I aimed at his sword and let fly while drawing my sword. The jolt made him drop his blade, just as mine cleared its scabbard.

That was when the first archer finally got his feet back under him. He pulled a dagger and rushed me. I just managed to dance out of the way of the wild stab, and grabbed him by the face.

- FZARK -

The archer flew back, and I stop-lunged at the disarmed swordsman. He stumbled back from the unexpected attack, right into M'Rissa’s waiting arms. She grabbed him from behind by his harness, and rear suplexed him into the chamber’s central column. 

She flipped back onto her feet and surveyed the room. She then looked down at me and nodded approvingly. “Very nicely done, but what kind of battle cry is ‘Unlimited Power’?”

I grunted from my over-extended position. “One that presages a pulled groin. Could you help me up, please?”

Once both of my feet were back under me, I studiously did not survey the carnage. Instead, I headed over to an iron bound chest. 

M'Rissa came up behind me as I knelt at the puzzle. “It's locked, and this one does not think there's a key on any of them.”

Looking at the patinaed hinges, I had a crazy thought. I focused my spell to as fine a point as I could on both thumbs, then pressed the tips of my thumbs against the top and bottom of one of the hinges and fired. There was a sharp crack at the initial arc, and the hinge began to glow: first red, then yellow, then white as I dragged my thumbs across the length of the hinge. In a few seconds I was out of magika, but the hinge was a puddle on the ground.

I shook my hands to relieve some of the heat and cramping. “It can’t be stuck if it’s a liquid.” M'Rissa hissed and sputtered for a moment before I got an axe blade under the lid and started prying. The lock popped open, and I contemplated our prize: a handful of coins, a small rough cut gemstone, and two phials of liquid, one of which tingled in my grasp.

M'Rissa huffed and planted her fists on her hips. “Verily, a King's ransom. Was it worth it?”

I smirked as I stood and passed the loot to her: she had the bag after all. “Yes, because now I know for sure that I can do more with my spell than just give myself nightmares.”

After valorizing the two most serviceable bows and every arrow we could scrounge, we continued deeper into the barrow. There was no further bloodshed other than the nest of skeevers near the spiral staircase. 

As expected, the “Thief” book was there, but it was simply anecdotal rather than magical. I suppose those anecdotes could be useful, but overall, all the book did was detail a greedy young man’s rise to infamy and give the skeevers time to climb the staircase.

The true prize, to my mind, was the scroll waiting at the bottom. There were other bits of recidivist bric-a-brac such as a poison phial and a set of lock picks, but I was fascinated by the chance to see and study the scroll. Fascination turned to frustration when upon opening the scroll, I was treated to the same phantom mandala that presaged my Spark spell. I would need to have time and a very secure location if I wanted to transcribe the pattern and puzzle it out.

I huffed and rolled it up. “Oh well; it’s going to a good cause. Start shooting it as it descends, and I’ll blast it once it touches down.” 

“What exactly will this one be shooting?”

“Shelob.”

M'Rissa side-eyed me and readied her new hunting bow.

We could now both hear Arvel “the Swift” pleading from inside the next room. The spiderwebs were thick enough to require a blade. We stepped into the chamber and looked up into the funnel web nest of a spider bigger than an SUV. 

M'Rissa started swearing and shooting as soon as she could, though the Arachnis Fuckofficus didn’t react except to slide down a strand of silk a little bit faster. The moment its front pedipalps touched the ground, I began casting the Scroll.

-BOOM-

The concussion from the Fireball bounced around the inside of the chamber and knocked me off my feet. I rolled as fast as I could as the phobia inducing monstrosity scuttled towards me. I just avoided getting stepped on when its head filled my entire field of vision. I barely caught its fangs, and only hysterical strength can explain how I managed to restrain it. It suddenly jerked away and reared up before flopping on its belly, all six legs curling under in a death ball. Standing on its back was M'Rissa, with just the fletching of a half dozen arrows sticking out of its head.

“You did it; you killed it! Now cut--” 

“Shut the fuck up , Arvel!” I pointed a sparking hand to emphasize my foul mood.

M'Rissa used a dagger to dig something out of the spider’s head before coming over to me and giving me a hand up.

“So ‘Shelob’ is...”

“The Mother of all Spiders.” I smiled in thanks, then headed over to the webbed thief. “ Aight , here’s the deal: M'Rissa is going to cut you down,” I brought both my hands up to his temples. “If your first move after getting free is anything but handing over the Golden Claw you stole, I will cook your brain. Am I understood?”

The Dunmer thief gave a panicked nod, as M'Rissa began working on the webbing. In a few moments, Arvel was free. I could see a spark of greed in his eye, so I fired an arc between my thumbs. 

“Okay! Okay, here’s the damned claw!” M'Rissa took the prize from Arvel, and I let go.

He hesitated for a moment before running the way we had come.

M'Rissa turned on me. “What was that about?!”

I sagged against a wall. “In order to ensure we didn’t need to kill him, or that he wouldn’t get himself killed needlessly, I needed to convince him that I was absolutely prepared to kill him.”

She frowned and looked down at the claw. “So, we have what we came for, yes?”

I sighed. “No, we have the key that gets us to the prize. Let’s pause here and rest up. There’s a lot of Draugr to get through yet.”

...

The descent through the barrow was pretty much what I expected. The mildewed paper smell of the Draugr was an unpleasant touch, but it was bearable. Years of Zombie media had otherwise inured me to the idea of the walking dead, and M'Rissa’s casual professionalism in dispatching the Romero-Rejects was a comfort. 

Finally, we entered the final chamber: the Dragon wall. I kept one eye on the carved curved structure, and one on M'Rissa. As we got closer, I could see her ears twitching to try and follow a sound only she could hear. Her eyes became unfocused as we approached the draconic monument. I paused at the nearby sarcophagus and drew my sword. There was another phial of poison on an offering table nearby, which I poured over the blade. There was a sudden surge of power from the wall that I could feel from nearly twenty feet away.

The occupant of the sarcophagus could as well. The lid was blasted away by a FUS from inside. A glance at M'Rissa, entranced by the wall, told me I was alone on this one. As I watched the ancient corpse haul itself out of its crypt, I had one last ‘stupid idea (tm)’. I dropped my sword, stepped up and grabbed the Draugr’s helmet, and spun it around.

While I had been faintly hopeful that I might break its neck, the helmet simply spun in place to block its face. The Draugr began a string of guttural language as it flailed about. I darted in one more time and grabbed the creature's sword, which was still in the sarcophagus. Its flailing nearly landed me in its grip, so I dove into the sarcophagus.

“Hiram, what in Zagora’s name have you--”

The Draugr turned to the sound of M'Rissa’s voice.

“ FUS, ROH-DA ”

The force of the Thu’um, while contained inside the helmet, obliterated the Draugr’s head.

After a few seconds of silence, I peeked over the edge of the sarcophagus.

“Hiram!” M'Rissa’s valorized Imperial armor was now peppered with bits of Draugr. “Was this one of your ‘crazy ideas’?!”

I remained motionless. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t know what else to do; you were in the Word Wall fugue, so I was alone with this thing, and that seemed to be the best course of action against its Thu’um .”

She was about to say something else, when her face screwed up in confusion. “How does this one know what a Thu’um is?!”

I climbed out of the sarcophagus and rummaged over the Draugr corpse, until I pried out a stone tablet from inside its breast plate. I stood up and approached her slowly. “You know, because of that,” I nodded to the wall behind her, “and because it’s your nature to know. It’s because you are Dovahkiin. Did Frigga and Gunjar tell you about why I came here?” She hesitantly nodded. “Well, I’m not looking for kings or armies or archmages. I’m looking for you. I just wasn’t sure it was you until now.”

Once I was standing in front of her, I carefully wrapped her in a hug. “Everything that’s about to happen, you’re going to be in the middle of it. I am so sorry about all of it; because without you, everyone will die.”

Chapter Text

M'Rissa remained silent until we were outside. 

I let out a shuddering breath as tension leaked out of me, once I could see the sky again. I knew, intellectually, that I could be dealing with the aftereffects of Helgen and Embershard for months, but that didn’t make the stress any more manageable.

I was getting ready to climb down into the box canyon, when M'Rissa sat on the ledge and stared out over Lake Ilinalta. Her face was unreadable, made more difficult by the difference in physiology.

“May I sit with you?” 

She looked surprised for a moment, then sullen and a little relieved, and patted the ledge beside her.

“Thanks.” I sat on the ledge, and let my feet swing lazily. “I didn’t want to overstep yet again .”

“What, that in there,” she smirked and jerked her head back to the Barrow. “If this one wasn’t willing to tolerate a hug from you, you would have walked out of there very differently.” Her smile faded as her eyes became distant. “If you mean the revelation , do not concern yourself. The Divines alone are responsible for what M'Rissa-Dro is apparently destined to become. You have simply warned this one.”

I nodded as another knot of tension slipped away. “Well: the Divines, a Daedric Prince, one power hungry Aldmerii Justiciar, and a Vampire Lord in desperate need of marital counseling. I’ll be sure to introduce you, so you can make them walk funny.”

She stared at me for a moment. “This one cannot tell whether you jest or not.”

I flopped back and laid on the ledge. “‘Or not’, sadly. It’s gonna be a busy year.”

She growled in annoyance. “And you are absolutely positive that it is M'Rissa-Dro who is to become Dovahkiin ?”

“Almost absolutely.” I sat up and looked her in the eyes. “There are precisely two more events that will remove all doubt. First,” I held up the Dragon Stone, “when we hand this over to Magus Farengar in Dragonsreach, a report will come in that a dragon has attacked the Western Watchtower.” I put the stone in her satchel. “Once that dragon is defeated, if you absorb its life essence and unlock the power of the Thu’um you just learned, then that’s it. You will be recognized as Dragonborn. Once that point arrives, we’re on a limited timetable.”

As we both looked out over the valley, our stomachs growled. M'Rissa looked up at the darkening sky. “Come then; you can explain your ‘timetable’ to this one as we walk.”

We climbed down, and I explained the major catastrophes in the works as best I could while we walked. I resisted the urge to micromanage the coming apocalypses, as I couldn’t necessarily count on reality matching the in-game schedule. I did try to work out ways to buy time.

“So you are saying the coming of the World Eater is not the worst of these disasters?” She looked at me oddly as she chewed a piece of dried fish.

“No, I’m saying the ancient unkillable death god Alduin works on a different timescale than we mere mortals do. There are no distinct, salient moments that involve him, save for those that sent him here in the first place. Harkon is not much different in that regard: as long as Magister Dexion, Serana, and the Elder Scroll are off the board, he’s stuck in a holding pattern.

“Yes, they’ll both be sending out their minions to cause havoc and flush out their enemies, but that isn’t as immediate a threat as Ancano fucking with the Eye of Magnus, or Mirak’s imminent return from Apocrypha.” I absently tossed an apple core away. “Those will have very immediate, very dire consequences if not handled as soon as they pop up. Though to be fair, Mirak’s plan is slower. It has fewer points of disruption, but more moving parts. We might be able to hold off going to Solstheim until after we’ve freed Dexion, if Durak shows up in a timely manner.”

M'Rissa wrinkled her nose as she thought. “So, if these Greybeards call this one to High Hrothgar, we should, in order,” she began ticking her fingers, “go to Ustengrav outside of Morthal-”

“Before an agent of The Blades can abscond with the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller.”

“Which this one will take directly to the Greybeards who will, what,” she looked at me suspiciously, “tell M’rissa-Dro what you have already told her?”

I absently played with my Spark spell, as much to refine my control and mana consumption as to see what I could do with it. “No, you’re going there to be formally recognized, taught the rest of Fus , the beginnings of Wuld , and to gain access to High Hrothgar and their expertise. One of Alduin’s peers is on top of that mountain, and we’ll need their help reigning Alduin in.

“After that, you’ll keep an eye out for an absolute unit of an orc, or a pair of asshole cultists in bone masks.”

She huffed and continued on. “Then what is the sign to head off to deal with this Eye?”

I scowled at nothing. “There isn’t one. I may need to just send out letters of inquiry to the College and see if I can be invited to participate in the Saarthal dig. That will guarantee I’m where I’m needed, when I’m needed there.”

M'Rissa snapped her head around and stopped. “You? Not ‘M'Rissa-Dro’ or ‘us’?”

I stopped and turned to face her. “Only Mirak and Alduin absolutely need the attention of the Dragonborn. There will be tasks required of you that I could never accomplish because of that. The Eye of Magnus and Harkon are both immensely, stupidly dangerous, but any canny and courageous warrior could put an end to Harkon. The Eye is simply going to land in the lap of a Thalmor with trust and impulse control issues. They don’t need the attention of the Dovahkiin ; it would just be handy.” 

I walked over and sat on a stump. “It’s already a lot to keep track of, and I don’t have the resources of a Jarl or the Mages College or the Companions to just throw dudes at a problem until something works. But I also can’t ask you to do it all. Once we have a better handle on the timetable, and all the pieces are on the board, we can plan out better how to schedule in all the apocalypses. Then everyone can line up to get their commemorative ‘I got put in Traction by the Dovahkiin ’ tee-shirts without you burning out in the process.”

She looked at me like I had been speaking Greek. I suppose a lot of what I had said wouldn’t make sense, but I was tired and hungry and wandering the wilderness of Skyrim. Sue me.

“Is any of that like when Pit Masters strike commemorative coins to give to fellow Pit Masters they have bested?” 

Guess she gets it after all.

“Pretty much, except you get to keep the purse.”

“This one likes the sound of that very much.”

We continued on back to Riverwood. As we passed the general store, we could hear Lucan and Camilla arguing in the main store area.

I smirked at M'Rissa. “Handy they’re awake; we can get rid of that dumb claw, and maybe pick up some things while we’re at it.”

I could hear M'Rissa sigh ‘of course’ behind me as I knocked on the door and entered. “Good evening! Are you still open for trade?”

Lucan pasted on a classic used car salesman smile, while Camilla huffed and headed upstairs. “Yes, indeed sir! If you have gold, I have what you want to spend it on!”

I waved M'Rissa forward and reached into her pack. “I was thinking more of a direct trade, than a crude transaction. You see my friend and I just came down from Bleak Falls, and we ran across this.” I pulled the Golden Claw out and placed it on the table, conspicuously keeping my hand on top. “Now I’m quite willing to part with it, if the price is right. So,” I tipped the claw up and began rocking it back and forth, “how much is this worth to you?” Given the way he licked his lips and tracked the claw with his eyes, I guessed quite a bit.

We came out of the Riverwood Traders with the cash, a simple tent, two packs with bedrolls, a pair of steel Brawler’s Gauntlets for M'Rissa, and an Oak-Flesh Spell Tome. We both opted to continue out of the town and a little ways down the road to Whiterun before setting up camp. Once my Spell Tome Migraine had subsided, we had dinner and cuddle-crashed.

If I had nightmares that night, I don’t remember them, and I didn’t wake up M'Rissa.

Dawn came late due to overcast skies. Breakfast had to be bread and fruit valorized from the bandit camp in the Barrow due to the damp. Still, we had another six-hour downhill hike before we arrived at Whiterun. We spent the time trading advice: I shared what I could remember of critical events so she could recognize the signs, and she gave me pointers on everything she had ever fought.

Which was apparently everything except Dragons.

“...so all one really has to do is toss some dirt into the open cavity. It gets in the gears, and then the whole automaton freezes up.”

I was fascinated by her experience. “Even the big ones?”

“Yes, though you should focus on the hip area for those. The little spiders you just grab by the gyro on top and toss at a wall... or another opponent.” 

We rounded the Honningbrew Meadery, and were nearly bowled over by a panicking crowd. Once again, I knew what to expect but wasn’t ready for what I was seeing.

“Any advice on fighting a giant?” I couldn’t see the team of Companions that I expected at the Pelagia Farm, and I didn’t trust that we could safely evade the rampaging giant.

She rolled her shoulders and flexed her surprisingly long claws. “Yes: always keep circling, aim low, and don’t get hit!” She let out her wild cat yowl and charged in.

I followed as fast as I could; casting my brand-new spell left me feeling oddly stiff. Once I was close enough to hit the creature, I could also see the Companions. Aela was shooting the brute, with Farkas and a lady with a very mediterranean complexion harrying it while M'Rissa darted in and out from the sides.

It had just failed to stomp Farkas when I hit it in the lower back with a double Spark.

It is possible there were extenuating circumstances, both for why the Giant was there, and why it spasmed the particular way it did. Whatever the reason, my vision went brown . 

It had gone in my hood and down both sleeves. At that moment, I wished that the giant would Five-Iron me far out to sea. I remained completely motionless, trying my best not to breathe while the others finished the Giant off. 

A short shake of my head cleared enough effluent away for me to survey the battlefield. Aela and the third Companion had walked over to the corpse, while Farkas leaned against a stone wall. M'Rissa was circling towards me, keeping a wary eye on the Companions. Given that, during our walk, she had mentioned several times she had been made to fight werewolves, I could understand.

“Ha,” Farkas barked a laugh, “now that was a true test of skills!” 

“Indeed,” Aela began approaching us, “even the cat showed some valor.” She seemed to ignore the subtle hiss from M'Rissa as she raked me with her eyes. “Can’t say the same for this milk-drinker. Mages should keep out of real fights.”

My neck shivered as I turned to face Aela the Huntress, one of the Circle of Companions. 

“I’m gonna hug you!”

Aela the Huntress, one of the Circle of Companions, blanched and began a stumbling retreat and I stalked towards her like Frankenstein’s monster. She may have said a number of things as she backed away from me, but I couldn't hear them and didn't care right then. There was only her, me, and my rancid vengeance.

She had evaded me all the way to the creek, when I finally decided against vengeance in favor of hygiene. I unceremoniously flopped in and did my level best to rinse the worst out.

I was debating stripping in the stream when Farkas came up from upwind. He was holding a fresh set of farmer’s clothes in one hand, and a bunch of Lavender in the other. “Aela likes to tease, but she’s good people. Still, sometimes she could use a little humbling. I can’t share the purse for this job, but the farm hands saw what you did. One offered to clean your gear.”

I looked down at myself. “My thanks. Just put the clothes on the bank and hand me the Lavender. You look like you have better places to be than cleaning Giant shit out of my hair.”

Farkas chuffed a laugh. “Maybe, but come by the Drunken Huntsman later and I'll buy you a pint.” 

I smirked. “Make it a glass of milk. Wouldn’t want to make a liar out of Aela.”

I could still hear Farkas laughing as he rounded the stables.

I had just peeled my soiled robes off when M'Rissa came over. “M’Rissa would advise caution around these Companions. They are,” She faded off. “Let this one guess: you already know?”

I glanced around to see who else might hear us. “That the Circle are all werewolves? Yes.”

“Why does this one even bother?”

I rolled my clothes up and began scrubbing myself with the lavender. “You bother because you care, which means a lot. Thank you.” 

I shook my head as I got the blossoms down to my scalp. “You should probably head into the city. This’ll take me a while, and the Jarl does still need to be informed.”

“But,” she glanced around, “what about the second dragon you mentioned.”

I dunked my head in the creek, then shook vigorously. “Mirmulnir will stick close to the Western Watchtower. I don’t know what his issue is with it, but that’s how he acts.” I paused. “Maybe it’s because it’s right between two Giant camps. If that’s the case, I can’t say I blame him.”

She nodded, then headed into town. I then climbed out of the creek, put on the borrowed clothes, and headed over to the farm to get my robes and gear laundered.

I ended up sitting with a slightly dull Nord and a wood elf at an outdoor kitchen. The Nord, Gloth, dutifully cleaned my gear, while the elf, Nimriel, cooked a simple meal and chatted. Ultimately, the ancient Nordic Frost Blade was the only item spared the giant’s colonic wrath.

I had just finished a bowl of a simple cabbage soup, when I felt tense. I wasn’t sure why.

“Huh,” Gloth commented as he spread out my robes to dry, “wonder what’s gotten into the cows? Doesn’t feel like rain yet.”

I followed his gaze. A small herd of cattle had collected near the gate to the barn and had all laid down. 

I slowed my breathing as much as I could, closed my eyes and listened.

Silence.

There were no bird calls, no buzzing of insects, nothing.

My eyes snapped open. “Mirmulnir!”

I looked at Nimriel as I stood and grabbed the Frost Blade. “Does the house have a basement?” She was startled, likely by the manic look in my eyes, and nodded frantically. “Take Gloth and get in there!” She sputtered a few times. “There’s a dragon coming; get in the basement, now !” I didn’t bother to look back and see if they obeyed, as I ran towards the Western Watchtower.

I had told M'Rissa to go ahead, and I would meet her when it was time to face Mirmulnir; but the reality of a dragon attack stirred a primal fear, a primal need . I had to see it, had to face it on my own. I didn’t expect to challenge it or try to defeat it, but I needed to confront the chiefest and greatest of my fears if I ever expected to survive Tamriel, much less prevail.

I crested a small hill, and saw the tower in flames. I moved into the cover of some nearby boulders and watched as a dragon swooped down to snatch up a guard. It simply flew up, then dropped its prey onto the rocks below, like a seagull cracking shellfish on the shore. After a few more passes, the beast swooped off towards the mountains around Lake Ilinalta.

I saw a guardsman rush past my hide at a dead run, and knew I only had an hour at most before Mirmulnir returned. I ran up to the tower and looked for survivors, or any sign that men could prevail against such wanton hate.

“No, get back,” a voice husked at me from the base of the tower. “It’s still out there somewhere!”

I came up to the clearly injured man cradling a Dane Axe. “I know, I saw it fly south.” I knelt down and tried to remember the years of Self-Aid/Buddy-Care training I had received. “I saw your man running towards Whiterun. The dragon didn’t go for him. How badly are you hurt?”

“It,” he winced, “it dashed me against the rocks, like a sparrow would a snail. My armor took the worst of it, but I think my leg is broken.”

I looked around and saw another of Mirmulnir’s unfortunate victims. I also saw their longbow, snapped in half. I brought the corpse and the bow over to the wounded soldier. “What’s your name?”

“Tor. That’s,” his voice hitched, “that was Frokki.”

“Well, Tor Guardsman of Whiterun, Frokki is going to help save your life.”

I stripped Frokki’s armor, as well as his undertunic. I used the tunic and broken bow to create a splint for Tor’s leg. Once the bone was stable and immobilized, I helped him stand and use his axe as a crutch. Intellectually, I knew the tower was relatively secure and stable, but it was a supreme effort to help Tor up the ramp into the arms of a third Guardsman.

I rushed back down the ramp, donned Frokki’s armor, then headed back inside. Tor saw me come back carrying Frokki’s helmet.

“What are you doing? This isn’t your fight; you need to get out of here!”

I paused at the foot of the spiral stairs. “There are a hundred things I need to be doing, and a hundred more I’d rather not.” I put the helmet on. “Running away isn’t any of them.”

I made it up to the parapet and looked south for signs of a dragon.

I spent the next eternity getting my breathing under control, adjusting my borrowed armor as best I could, and letting Spark dance across my fingers. I had almost gotten to the point where I could play ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ like a living tesla coil, when I saw movement to my left.

A glance confirmed it was Iruleth, and I assumed M'Rissa was with her.

I switched to Clairvoyance. I could feel Mirmulnir swooping around and heading back.

“Make ready,” I bellowed over the crenelations, “he’s on his way back now!”

I switched again to Oakflesh. The stiff feeling of the armor spell was no worse than the armor I was wearing.

I switched one last time to Spark, as soft footsteps rushed up the stairs.

“What Skooma Cat madness are you up to,” M'Rissa hissed as she readied her bow.

We both heard the telltale buzz of dragon wings. “Just trying to get a handle on my fear before we  have to face this beast.”

We heard the whooshing of flapping wings as the dragon hovered. We both stood as it reared its head back to torch the guards. M'Rissa shot first, sticking an arrow between its scales. I Sparked next, aiming for the arrow. As I’d hoped, the spell went right to the metal of the ancient Nordic arrowhead. Mirmulnir screeched in agony and belched flames everywhere except at the guardsmen.

Then Mirmulnir was off again. Iruleth and the guards peppered its belly with arrows as it fought for altitude. I got another jolt of Spark off, but only grazed its tail as it swooped by. I was spent as far as magic was concerned, and didn’t have the ancient Nordic bow I’d picked up in the barrow, so there was almost nothing I could do as the winged beast swooped around and hovered in front of M'Rissa and I.

M'Rissa was firing shot after shot as it reared back to incinerate us, when I charged the wall and jumped. The Frost Blade sliced the dragon’s wing like cutting paper, and my weight dragged the blade down through the wing. Mirmulnir’s roar and frantic flapping almost drowned out M'Rissa’s screech and string of what I am sure were many colorful Khajiit metaphors. 

Then I was in freefall, but only for a second as a dragon tail slammed into me. I barely held onto the blade as Mirmulnir thrashed and tried to keep in the air with his wounded wing. Once I was latched on and gripping the tail with my thighs, I stabbed it between its scales. I could see the rime of frost forming on the creatures back as we suddenly descended.

Mirmulnir hit the ground hard. I bounced clear, with my sword still stuck in the beast’s back. Then he stepped on me. Whether deliberately or not, I felt my spell and several ribs break at once. I couldn’t breathe.

As I was blacking out, I heard the most beautiful sound.

“Dovahkiin? No!”

Chapter Text

My everything ached.

I could hear muffled cries of pain, as well as subdued chanting. I opened my eyes to see a Nord woman in the brown and yellow robes of the Priesthood kneeling next to my bed. I tried to speak, but my mouth was so dry.

She looked up from her meditations. “Oh good, you’re awake.” She stood and put a gentle hand on my forehead. A soothing warmth like sunlight in the spring washed over me. “You should go back to sleep. You still have much healing to do.”

A whispered almost voice like wind through Autumn leaves assured me that I was safe, and all would be well.

The next time I awoke, there were no priests in the chamber. I slowly rose, my ribs protesting all the way. I looked down to see I was wearing my now cleaned robes. All of my effects were in a neat pile at the foot of my bed. The room was dark, except for a beam of moonlight shining down on what I could only guess was an altar. 

The layout of the space was familiar: a central open space, with a shallow pool in the middle, and four alcoves. 

The Temple of Kynareth in Whiterun.

It took only a moment to recall why I was here

“M'Rissa’s gonna give me a hell of an earful.”

“The Dragonborn, Thane M'Rissa?”

I looked over to see the same priestess step from one of the alcoves. 

“I believe so,” I tried to sound unsure. “I’ve apparently been asleep for a lot.”

She gave me an indulging smile. “She told me you’d say something like that. She also told me to tell you to stay here. I have to believe she meant figuratively, as within the walls of Whiterun.” Her smile turned a little puckish. “Though if the stories being told by the Guards are to be believed, then Thane M'Rissa may have a legitimate reason to fear for your safety; at least from yourself.”

I grimaced in chagrin. At the time, my charge against Mirmulnir had seemed appropriate, necessary even; but in hindsight it had been somewhat self indulgent. I hadn’t been the only person out there fighting, so there was no reason to believe we couldn’t have prevailed without my recklessness.

“Did she say anything else?”

The Priestess, Danica, resumed her more benign mien. “Yes. She said that she was sticking to ‘the timetable’ and would see you when she returned.”

My stomach tightened a little. We had agreed to spend no more than one day in Whiterun after Mirmulnir’s defeat, in order to keep ahead of Delphine and minimize the unnecessary running around that would result. That meant I had been out for longer than a day.

She’s a big-ish girl. She can handle herself better than I can. I’m the one that ended up in fantasy Hospice care.

“Now, you really should be resting,” Danica chided and came over to my bed. “Your injuries were quite severe, and you are still mending.”

I held up a hand to forestall whatever she was about to do. “I know. Believe me, I can feel every mending bone. However, this might go faster if I knew how to heal myself.” I let go of her hand and brought up my Spark. “I’m not entirely unschooled in magic.”

She pursed her lips for a moment, then motioned for me to wait. She went into her alcove and returned with a small pile of books. “I will teach you the rudiments of healing magic, on the condition that you assist here in the temple at least once a day.”

I nodded. “An arcane internship? I can agree to that.”

She handed me the pile. “Read these, then practice the healing spell on yourself. Once you are drained of mana, meditate at the shrine.” She gestured to the altar. “After that, go to sleep. We will speak more in the morning.”

Racial Phylogeny was a very informative, if archaic tome on rudimentary biology and interspecies relations. The two Tomes turned out to be Healing and Healing Hand. Their nature as Healing spells didn’t make learning them any less uncomfortable. 

Once the headache subsided, I burned every last drop of mana into healing myself. The sensation of bone and flesh knitting at an accelerated rate was almost excruciating. Still, only phantom pains remained after I was done. I made my way over to the shrine and knelt. I felt a little uncomfortable praying at a non-Christian shrine, so I said a quick prayer to my faith. Now, technically, I was worshiping another god after God, not before.

Technically correct is the best kind of correct.

The meditations to Kynareth were suffused with phantom sensations of an elemental nature, and a sense of freedom and openness. When I stood, I felt like I could jog all the way back to Riverwood if I needed to. 

I wouldn’t, of course. I was in enough trouble with M'Rissa.

Sleep came surprisingly easy.

I was awakened by the priests milling about the space. I stood up and headed over to Danica.

“Good morning, Priestess. As requested, I’m ready to serve.”

She smiled at me, then gestured for me to sit. “For the moment, I merely wish to speak. While meditating on your healing, I noticed a great pain in your soul. Please tell me about it.”

I hesitated. White Anglo Saxon Protestants (especially the males) are not greatly renowned for our ability to openly share our emotions. Still, she was the closest I was likely to get to a therapist in Skyrim, and God did I need one right then.

We spent most of the morning talking about my first experience with Skyrim: the attack on and escape from Helgen.

She listened quietly, only interrupting me when she felt I was being too critical of myself.

“For an avowed scholar and builder of things, you have handled yourself quite admirably. I know we Nords can sometimes come across as uncaring or brutish to those of a more academic nature, but this war has tested many, and many have been found wanting.” She rested a hand on my shoulder. “You have not. You may not be a warrior king of old, but neither are you a coward or bumbling fool. Have faith that you are precisely where you are needed, when you are needed.

“For now,” she stood and motioned for me to rise, “relax a little. Be at peace in the space you are in. Tour the city if you wish; just return to help the acolytes at sundown.”

I stepped out as suggested and breathed in the fresh air.

“ We are but maggots, writhing in the filth of our own corruption! ”

And there goes my mellow.

I tuned out the proselytizing street preacher and took in the park that dominated the ‘Wind District’ of Whiterun. The first three things that I saw were the barren Gildergreen, the palace of Dragonsreach, and Jorrvaskr. My hands fell to the steel sword at my hip; the Frost Blade had been nowhere to be seen, and was either lost in the battle, or with M'Rissa. She was a practical woman, so I expected she would have given it to Lydia as soon as possible.

My various misadventures since arriving in Skyrim flashed through my mind, and I steeled myself. I was going to need training, and the Companions could provide that. I just had to convince them to let a novice mage join their ranks.

I marched up the steps and pushed open the doors of Jorrvaskr. 

A brawl was, as expected, being fought in the main dining area. Several Companions were cheering the combatants on, while giving critique on their various techniques. I could hear both Farkas and Aela on the other side of the room. I made my way around the dining area and was soon spotted by the Companion’s Mistress of the Hunt.

“You!” Aela pointed at me accusingly. “What are you doing here?!”

I raised my arms as if to embrace. “Can’t I just come here and give you a hug ?”

Farkas doubled over in laughter as Aela scrambled over the table and out of reach. “Stop laughing Ice Brain and get him out of here!”

Farkas got his mirth under control and walked over. “Well met. You’ve developed quite the reputation in Whiterun as an unconventional hero. What brings you to the Companions?”

I stood at Parade Rest. “Upon meditating on my recent exploits and misadventures, namely being shat on by a giant and sat on by a dragon,” even Aela snorted a short laugh at that, “I have come to the conclusion that I wouldn’t need to rely on the ‘unconventional’ if I were more versed in the ‘conventional’. I would like to formally petition for admittance into the Companions.”

There was a pall of silence over the hall for a moment, before heavy footsteps came from the stairs. A paternal voice came from behind me. “What is all the commotion about?”

As was becoming a very common occurrence, knowing intellectually that Kodlak Whitemane, the Harbinger of the Companions was a werewolf did nothing to prepare me for his presence. Even with my back to him, I could feel the barely contained beast within. I hadn’t felt anything remotely similar with either Farkas or Aela.

M'Rissa’s definitely going to say this was a stupid idea.

“This... Mage,” Aela growled out the last word, “is asking to become a Companion.”

Farkas grimaced at his fellow Circle member. “This is the man who aided us at the Pelagia farm, and also aided the Hold Guard at the Western Watchtower alongside the Dragonborn.”

“Is he now? Let me have a look at you.” Kodlak’s voice carried both the paternal air of a grandfather that wanted to see a child perform a promised trick, and the menace of a predator evaluating its prey.

I think I might have panicked a little; his combination of subtle influences painted a mental image of a veteran military officer, so I defaulted to military protocol. I snapped to attention, about-faced, and went back to parade rest.

“A military man, eh,” he asked mildly.

“Yessir.”

He slowly approached. “And what did you do in your time of service?”

“I maintained siege engines, sir.” I had been considering if that question was asked of me, and I had no better way to describe being a combat aircraft maintainer. I could hear some surprised sotto-voce comments from behind.

He paused in his evaluation of me. “Then you’ve never taken a life, before recent events?”

“Not...directly.” It had always been, and would always be something I wrestle with.

That got a raised eyebrow. “So, if you did not seek glory during your service, why do you want to become a Companion now?”

“Because the world as I knew it is gone. Alduin destroyed it simply by being. Dragons and worse will be coming in his wake, and the man I was will be of no use in the world to come; but as a Companion, I might make a difference.” I surprised myself with how genuine the sentiment felt.

He squinted at me from the side. “Perhaps. A test first. Come,” he headed towards the rear training yard, “let’s have a look at what we’d be working with.”

I relaxed out of military lockstep once Kodlak wasn’t bearing down on me. I followed after him, and all of Jorrvaskr emptied out behind me.

Once everyone was outside, Kodlak turned his attention back to me. I didn’t feel quite so claustrophobic, so I didn’t lock up.

“Tell me about that blade,” he nodded to the sword at my hip.

I glanced down at the pommel. “Prized from a bandit in Embershard.” I shook off the memory of a man burning to death. “It’s more blade heavy than anything I’ve ever trained with.” My limited HEMA training had focused on German Longswords, rather than arming swords or Viking blades.

“Then let’s try with something a little more balanced.” Kodlak motioned behind him, and a scarred man I assumed was Skjor came around with a greatsword.

I passed my side sword off and took the proffered blade. This was my first time handling one of the oft lauded Skyforged Steel blades. It was honestly what I expected of a great sword: slightly heavier and much longer than I was accustomed to, but very well balanced.

“Farkas,” the brother looked at his Harbinger, “since you have vouched for him, you may test him.”

Farkas nodded, then drew his own blade. Where the game would have one believe the greatsword was a great bar of steel used in ponderous blows, Farkas’ movements were more akin to the flourishing movements I’d seen from people who studied the Montante .

I had never studied any of the 16th or 17th century Great Sword manuals, so I defaulted to my Longsword training. Within the first minute, Vignar, the oldest Companion, scoffed while shaking his head, then headed inside. For a few minutes, I did my best to anticipate when to strike based on where Farkas’ sword would be, while doing my best not to over commit. 

Farkas halted the test and squinted at me, cocking his head like a dog tracking an odd sound. “There’s a technique in there, I can see it. It just isn’t in that sword.”

The doors of Jorrvaskr opened, and Vignar came out with a bundle in his arms. “That’s because you can’t expect a Breton to fight like a Nord, any more than you can expect a wolf to fight like a bear. Try this,” he came up and passed me the bundle, while taking the Greatsword back. The bundle proved to be what I would call a German Longsword, in a well-maintained leather scabbard and belt. “There was a Breton among the Companions, back before Kodlak was a Whelp. He didn’t have any children, so when the Great War broke out, he made me promise to see to it his sword would find a worthy hand.” Vignar stared at me skeptically. “Let’s see if that hand is yours.”

I nodded in thanks, then strapped the sword belt on and drew the sword. The weapon had a distal taper, making the blade very lively in the hands, while its gradual profile taper meant it was better for cutting than thrusting. The balance was nearly perfect and invited a few exploratory flourishes. Once I felt comfortable enough, I saluted Farkas and prepared to attack.

I barely heard the elder comment, ‘Just like Sir Orin,’ before Kodlak bellowed, “Begin!”

The fight was technically identical, but the much livelier blade allowed my strikes to force Farkas to defend more intentionally. Still, I never even scored one touch after five minutes of sparring.

“Alright, I’ve seen enough,” Kodlak declared. Farkas and I saluted and turned to face his judgment. “Though your skill is unrefined, your potential is there, as is your spirit and good intent. I think you could make a fine addition to our ranks.”

I endured the round of handshaking, and appraising nods from the other Circle members. 

I walked over to Aela, keeping my arms crossed in front of me. “If I promise not to hug you, would you be willing to share your expertise in the bow?”

She grunted. “Not hugging me is the least you can do to show me respect, but I’ll teach you what I can.”

“Ah, ignore her growling,” Vilkas came up behind her. “She’s a great big softie, once you get to know her.” He then wrapped her in a bear hug.

“Get off me you great lummox.” The moment she slipped his grip, they were wrestling.

The rest of the day was spent training under Farkas’ and Vignar’s combined tutelage. Once the sun was setting and it was time to return to the temple, I was soaked with both sweat and hard-earned wisdom.

Aid at the Temple was no less taxing. There were still several people on the various healing tables in varying degrees of distress. Danica was always on hand, guiding my efforts at arcane healing, and giving little tips on how to use my mana more efficiently. Once she declared my ministrations for the day were complete, I retired back to Jorrvaskr for a rowdy meal and a fur lined cot.

...

The next two weeks fell into a regular pattern: mornings at the Temple meant afternoons and evenings with the Companions and sleeping in Jorrvaskr, while mornings in Jorrvaskr meant afternoons and evenings under Danica and sleeping in the temple. During my downtime, I toured as much of the city as I could and met with the locals at one of the taverns (I had actually become something of a minor local celebrity who ‘fought beside the Dragonborn’).

I also worried.

It took me a few days to realize I was worrying, and not stressing. It was another few days before I realized about what: I was lying to M'Rissa-Dro. It had been a lie of necessity, but it was a lie nonetheless. If I expected M'Rissa to trust me moving forward once things got really weird, I had to come clean.

That led to the second knot of worry: it had been two weeks. I didn’t know what she had encountered that was taking this long, or if I was just underestimating the size of Skyrim. Either way, waiting didn’t sit well.

At least my training was coming along. My efforts in the Temple had expanded my knowledge and control of my mana. I could even push my spells into my sword for a short time. My time in Jorrvaskr was just as beneficial... I think. Vignar was no longer endlessly complaining that I was ‘shaming Sir Orin’s blade!’. I even managed to get a touch on Farkas in one of our spars.

One touch.

In two weeks.

Still, it was an improvement.

Apparently, the universe was aware I was becoming stir crazy. I had just finished my evening meal with Danica and the Acolytes, when a Whiterun Guard shouldered the door open, an unconscious woman in their arms.

“Priestess, come quick!”

We all rushed over and took the woman to one of the healing benches. I turned to ask the guard what had happened, only to find they were gone. I shook it off and focused on our patient.

The woman was, by her dress, a Nord farmer in her twenties. There was some blood and tears on the bodice, sleeves, and the hem of her dress, but no obvious wounds. She did seem alarmingly cold and was thrashing and muttering.

I was leaning in to hear what she was saying, when Danica began her healing spell. The woman’s spine almost arched back on itself, as she shrieked as if she had been stabbed with a red-hot brand. That was when I saw the fangs.

“Vampire!”

Everyone staggered away in shock. I spun and grabbed my sword from my alcove, while Danica posted at the main entrance.

“Don’t let her escape into town,” Danica yelled, as a radiant aura flowed around her. This was the first time I had ever seen her use anything but benign magic. 

The Vampire hissed and Exorcist scuttled into the rafters. I moved to block the rear door and charged Sir Orin’s sword with Spark magic; the creature hadn’t liked Danica’s magic, so I doubted it would like mine.

The vampire hissed and scuttled above our heads. “The Master wants blood! Give it blood!”

“You want blood, Renfield?” I cut my arm. “Come and get it, you bug-eating-bitch!”

It hissed like a beast and lunged at me. I braced against its charge, and it impaled itself on my blade. The hiss turned into a scream, into a whimper. “But Master promised...” The blood-red glow in its eyes faded, and the body slid limply into the temple’s pool.

One of the acolytes came over and poked the corpse with a toe. “It’s dead now, but how did she become...”

My eyes locked on Danica’s. “The guard.” I was halfway to the door, when the whole building shook.

-Fus, Roh-Dah-

I guess M'Rissa’s back.

I pointed at the corpse. “Keep an eye on that; I’ll check on what’s going on!”

I was out the door and heading for the market square, along with half of Whiterun. I slid down one of the sluices leading to the market, when I saw a Whiterun Guard get spun around and folded backwards with a sickening crack .

M'Rissa, in a mix of steel plate and Imperial armor, stood up, as a solidly built Nord shield maiden ran up behind her. 

“My Thane, are you alright?”

“This one is fine, Lydia,” she waved her Housecarl’s concerns as she knelt next to the remains.

I sheathed my sword as I walked up. “I see your road trip paid off.” She sent me a relieved smile, then went back to inspect the corpse. By this point, a crowd was gathering, including several more Whiterun Guards. 

“You might want to pull out your Bonafide's .” She and Lydia both looked at me oddly. “Your Axe: the one that lets them know you’re official.”

M’Rissa stood as tall as she could, holding the Axe of Whiterun up for all to see. “This one is M'Rissa-Dro, Thane of Whiterun. If you don’t have business here, return to your homes.”

Priest Andurs and several Guards remained, though they all hesitated. I saw a familiar limp in one of the helmeted guards.

“Tor, come over here.” I knelt beside M'Rissa, and removed the dead guard's helmet. The face was gaunt and sallow, with very pronounced fangs cutting into a slack tongue. “Do you recognize him?”

Tor limped over, his knee popping as he walked. “That looks like Hekki’s tabard; you can see the food stains around the belly. Iruleth sent him out to patrol the road near Rorikstead to keep him away from the baker’s stall. But that isn’t Hekki.”

“What is the meaning of this,” Iruleth called as she marched over to us.

I stood and gestured. “There has been a vampire attack.” Iruleth and several guards recoiled. “First, when this creature left a vampire in the process of turning at the Temple of Kynareth; and the second out here.”

M'Rissa stood and planted her fists on her hips. “M'Rissa-Dro is familiar with the stench of Vampires,” she gave me a side eye, “and werewolves. When this one smelled the dead stench, she confronted the Guard. He attacked and paid for it.”

Yep, she’s definitely gonna have thoughts on my associating with the Companions.

“Is the Temple secure?” Iruleth locked eyes with me.

“The creature was dispatched before anyone could be hurt. Now we just have to figure out who the poor girl was.”

My notoriety as a nascent member of the Companions, as well as M'Rissa’s status as Thane of Whiterun, must have earned us a pass.

“Tor,” She turned to the Guardsman, “I want you to investigate this. Find out when and how they got into the city. Hiram,” she turned to me, “assist Priest Andurs in his examination of the mortal remains. Thane M'Rissa, a word please.”

I looked over at the Priest of Arkay as I picked up the surprisingly light corpse. “Do you want the bodies in the Kynareth Temple, or in your catacombs?”

“The temple is a place of healing,” Andurs said as he headed up the stairs. “It is no place for these profane creatures, nor the rites I must yet perform.”

I moved both bodies into the embalming area of the Hall of the Dead and waited for Andurs to begin. 

Today was one hell of a week.

Chapter Text

Her name was Nora of Roricksted.

It took Andurs all night performing autopsies and rituals to determine when Nora had first been infected: noon three days prior to her arrival. With the help of Tor’s investigation we found she had been in Whiterun six nights ago to sell a harvest of leeks.

A seemingly tragic and meaningless end.

Myself, Tor, Andurs, and Danica were all summoned to Dragonsreach to advise the Jarl. M'Rissa and Iruleth were also there, as well as Majordomo Proventus Avenicci, the Jarl’s brother Hrongar, and the court wizard Farengar.

“It has to be Jarl Siddgeir,” Avenicci nervously paced the room. “He’s moving against us after we deployed troops to Riverwood!”

“Nonsense,” Hrongar scoffed. “Next you’ll be saying it was Jarl Igmund.”

Iruleth snorted. “You can’t tell me that the Silverbloods would be above this sort of tactic? They could cut off Rorikstead and--”

“Enough!” Balrguuf stood and began pacing. “I’ll neither make nor tolerate such accusations of my fellow Jarls. M'Rissa,” he paused in his pacing and looked at her, “I am told you are well experienced in facing vampires. What council would you give?”

Her tail lashed as her ears stood in concentration. “Vampires, even at their lowest, are vain and prideful as only the Aldmer could match; they would not serve any master but one of their own except under extreme threat.” She looked at Iruleth. “Did any of the sentries report a host or caravan outside the city on the eve of the attack?”

She shook her head. “Not even the carriage man.”

M’Rissa wrinkled her nose and hissed slightly. “The moment the wretch was out of sight of any who would command it, it would have run. This one stayed and fought, so that was its purpose.” She looked up at the Jarl. “There is a Master Vampire within your hold.”

“And I might know where,” I stepped forward slightly.

Balgruf looked up. “Ah, my Thane’s loyal mage. How might you accomplish this feat: a divining incantation?”

“Nonsense, my Jarl,” Farengar sneered. “There is no such incantation.”

While Farengar’s attitude would test the patience of a Saint, he provided the perfect opening. I put on my most gracious and condescending smile. “My learned colleague is, of course, correct: there is no known spell to force the hidden to reveal itself over such great distances.” Farangar preened for a moment before realizing I wasn’t complimenting him. M'Rissa looked slightly alarmed at my statement.

“Then how do you intend to accomplish this feat of prognostication,” Avenicci squinted in suspicion.

I could actually hear M'Rissa’s tail poof out at my Cheshire grin. “With science! I will need a map of the hold, and a drafting compass.”

I already had a rough idea of where the vampire had likely come from, but I didn’t feel like feeding the delusion of my prophetic visions any more than was absolutely needed. Once the map and drafting tool were on the table, I began measuring out the road to Rorickstead. 

“Okay, Hekki was assigned patrol of the road near Rorikstead. How far would he have patrolled either direction?”

Irileth tapped on the map. “Just the road between the village and the crossroads.”

“All right.” I drew a circle around the road. “Now according to Ysolda down in the markets, it takes Nora four days to make the trek to Rorickstead on foot. That makes a round trip eight days, so she didn’t make it home.” I put a charcoal mark over the town. “If she had been waylaid in her sleep, then she would have been attacked roughly here.” I put a mark on the road at the halfway point, outside of Hekki’s patrol circle. “However we know she could have covered half the distance between there and her home in the allotted time, which would be here.” I put another mark on the map, and drew a circle that had those two points on its edge. This created a Venn Diagram where the two circles overlapped. 

“Since giants roam the plains at all hours, the lair won’t be in the open. Mudcrabs will eat any dead flesh, no matter how much it moves, so nowhere with a pool or stream. That leaves homesteads or caves. Are there any of either within this area?” I stepped back and smirked at Farengar.

Hrongar traced his fingers through the cat’s eye shaped area, then looked up at Balgruuf. “Maybe?”

Balgruuf tapped a finger on a spot on the map, right where I expected. “Broken Fang Cave: it is a fel place where the ancient Nords buried their dishonored dead.”

“I’ll form a muster right now,” Iruleth snapped to attention.

“No, Iruleth,” Balgruuf shook his head. “We are already down several men, not even counting those tasked with defending Riverwood. The Guard are needed here. This is a task best left to heroes of old.” He turned back towards M'Rissa. “Thane M'Rissa, I give it you in charge to purge my hold of this Vampire menace.”

M'Rissa schooled her features, though her ears and tail spoke of great agitation. “By your will, Jarl.” She stood, looked at me and flicked her ears towards the door, then marched out with Lydia on her heels.

I bowed and followed. When I got outside, I could see her glancing around.

“Eorlund Greymane is with his wife today,” I nodded down the hill, “so there should be nobody at the Skyforge.” 

Her nose wrinkled in that ‘Must Not Pet Kitty’ way, then nodded and stalked her way to Jorrvaskr. Once we were all on the platform overlooking the home of the Companions, she spun and jabbed a claw in my chest. “This one left you here to keep you out of trouble!”

I took her hand and gently extracted the claw from my robes. “You left me here because my foolhardiness nearly landed me in the grave, and because we agreed on the timetable.”

“No!” Her ears went all the way flat. “This one left you behind, like she left him, and--”

I scooped her into a gentle hug. “The Guards all say you shouted Mirmulnir’s corpse off of me, then ran all the way back to Whiterun carrying me on your back. M'Rissa-Dro did not abandon me.” I held her as she let that little bit of guilt go.

We stayed that way until I heard Lydia begin shuffling uncomfortably. I pulled back but held M'Rissa’s shoulders. “Alright. Let’s get our last member and make a plan to bust this place open.”

M'Rissa’s head snapped up. “What, them? No!”

“Yes, and you know why. We need all the heavy hitters we can manage, and they don’t come any heavier than the Circle.”

Lydia choked out a cough. “The Circle? As in the Circle of Companions? You may be counted in honorable company from what I’ve heard, but how on Nirn do you intend to barter their service?”

I gave Lydia and M'Rissa a thin smile. “By offering them the location of something they desperately want.”

I stepped back and let go of M'Rissa. “I’ll be back, so don’t leave without me.” She sputtered for a moment, then settled into a glower and waited.

I went straight down to Kodlak’s quarters. I knocked on the lintel and waited.

“Come in, Whelp; there’s no need to lurk about.” I walked in and sat across from him. “So what brings you to me now? I’d expect you to be negotiating your way into following the Dragonborn to glory right now.”

I gave a wane smile. “Not much negotiation needed, except right now. I need at least one more Companion if we expect to pull this off.”

He huffed. “I suppose you could ask around. Dia and Torvar would be more than willing--”

“It has to be one of the Circle.”

Kodlak froze in place. “You do not know what you ask, Whelp.”

“I do know, and you know exactly why. We’ve been tasked with clearing a vampire nest, with at least one Master Vampire and gods know how many other vampires and thralls. If we are going to survive, much less prevail, we need at least one person immune to Vampirism. That means the Circle.”

Kodlak Whitemane’s eyes shifted towards a yellow tint. “Speak very quickly, and very carefully.”

I felt like I was figuratively in the jaws of the beast, with the very real possibility of that becoming literal. “I know the location of one of the Fragments of Wuuthrad. I will give you that location, and the promise of the heads of the Glenmoril Witches within one moon, in exchange for the services of one of the Circle in clearing out a Vampire nest in Broken Fang Cave.”

“How do you know this?” His voice was a husky whisper, audible in several pitches.

“The same way I know that if Aela and Skjor go to Gallows Rock, that Skjor will fall to the Silver Hand agent known as the Skinner.”

Kodlak’s eyes shifted back to a more normal silver shade. “Where?”

“Dustman’s Cairn. You should know that it is a trap.” Kodlak’s breath hitched. “The Silver Hand possesses all remaining pieces save one. If you truly intend to reforge Wuuthrad and perform the Rite, it will require the destruction in detail of the Silver Hand. Anything less, and they will retaliate here.”

He sat still for a heartbeat. “Aela!” I fought the urge to jump at his shout.

She stuck her head in the door. “Yes Kodlak?”

His eyes never left mine. “A challenge has been issued, and the Circle of Companions will answer. Follow Hiram to glory, and return with honor.”

I caught the faintest hint of alarm in her face before she schooled her features. “I shall return with my shield, or upon it.”

As Aela looked critically at me, Kodlak leaned in. “Who else knows?”

“The Dovahkiin, but only because of her years as a Pit-fighter. I don’t know what council she may have given to her Housecarl, but I doubt Lydia will have told anyone.” Aela’s eyes nearly bugged out.

Kodlak sank back into his seat. “Good; let’s keep it that way. Aela, send the rest of the Circle in as you leave.”

I stood, and walked as calmly as possible out of the hall. Aela caught up as I entered the dining hall. “What was that?!”

“That was me nearly shitting my soul.”

She stopped me and spun me around. “You know damn well what I mean.”

I huffed and sat on a chest. “I am fully aware of who and what the members of the Circle of Companions are. It didn’t matter to me until a vampire tried to use one of its kind as a plague weapon. Now, the Jarl has ordered his Thane, my friend, to clear out a Vampire nest that reasonably contains at least one Master Vampire. I don’t think we can succeed without aid or unreasonable loss. I need the Circle of Companions. I need you.”

Aela lowered her head, then placed her fist over her heart. “The hunt is called, and the Circle of Companions will answer.” She offered me a hand as I stood up. “I do think there may be one small problem with your plan,” she said as we exited the Longhouse. “I don’t believe the Dovahkiin likes me very much.”

“Bah,” I chuckled as we walked up to the Skyforge. “We have three day’s travel ahead; plenty of time for you two to bond over stories of all the dumb-ass stunts I’ve pulled.”

...

“So Torvar is clinging to the porch roof with sparks coming off his hair, that Ice Brain Farkas is rolling on the ground laughing, and Vignar is just shaking his head. ‘If you can’t deal with this Whelp of a mage, how do you expect to face a rogue Necromancer or Thalmor Justiciar?’”

I kept a few steps back as per my suggestion and much to my chagrin, M'Rissa and Aela traded stories about my less graceful or dignified moments. I was a little shocked that after three days of walking, M'Rissa still had stories.

Have I really been that much of a buffoon?

“My Thane,” Lydia jogged up a few steps and pointed to a rock formation to the north, “there it is.”

Aela hummed. “I never even knew this was out here. We companions never get called out to Rorickstead, not even to settle scores between clans.”

I drew my ancient Nord bow and began planning out my spells. “With Alduin on the move, we’re likely to see all kinds of long buried evil stirring.” 

Aela kept her peace as she and everyone else drew their bows. She had been a ruthless taskmistress in her chosen field; I was now, in her words, a passable archer. Farkas insisted that was high praise. Vignar had also told me of a trick an Imperial Scout once shared over one too many pints of ale.

With some difficulty, I was able to bring my Clairvoyance to bear with my hands full. While I couldn’t make my arrows follow an unnatural path, I could hit targets as long as I could see some part of them.

Aela insisted it was cheating. Vignar just called it war.

We remained silent once inside the cave. We came to a large staircase leading into a pit; it was strewn with rubbish, embalming tools, and bones. There were also several skeletons, and something slurping to our left. The entire space was rank with death.

We drew our bows as one, each taking aim at a visible skeleton, and fired. All the skeletons shattered, however the slurper was now alerted. It let out an inhuman shriek, then stepped around. I barely got a glimpse of what might have been a Dark Elf woman before it lunged for us. 

The vision of horror was blocked out as Aela swelled into her beastial form and charged. The commotion drew the attention of the rest of the nest, as a sarcophagus on the far wall opened to a tunnel that began pouring out ghouls and another Vampire.

I dropped my bow and drew my sword, charging my opposite hand with destructive energies. The undead horde rushed in, and we began our gruesome work. 

Lydia put the ancient Nord ice blade to very good effect, while corralling undead with her shield. M'Rissa was flowing in and out of reach like a Kung-Fu Ferret. Any of the undead that approached me received a Spark to the face. It worked to stun them, so I could strike more readily. Aela had taken to using her first Vampire chew toy as a cudgel. Once that one broke, she went for the next vampire. By then there was nothing left to fight, so she just pulled the wretch like taffy.

Then there was silence. 

Once the chaos of the fight had passed, Lydia moved to protect M'Rissa from the werewolf that was Aela. I was about to ask her to lower her weapon, when I noticed something.

“Aela, hold on. You’ve got a blade in your backside.” I went to remove the weapon and heal her, when she snapped her teeth and snarled. “Don’t you yar me,” she flinched slightly at my deadpan stare, “you’ve got an axe in your butt; now hold still.” Aela’s ears went back and eyes wide, and I heard a snigger from M'Rissa. 

“You may be immune to Vampirism, but that doesn’t mean you’re immune to everything. You could get Typhoid, or Lockjaw, or gods know what else.” I gingerly removed the offending weapon and began my healing ministrations. “If you get Leprosy, and your ass falls off because you wouldn’t let me help, Farkas will never let you live it down. 

“Now,” I stepped back, “how does that feel?”

Aela experimentally shifted her weight, causing her tail to wag slightly. She gave a satisfied grumble, then put a massive paw on my head and growled.

“No, I won’t tell anyone about this.”

“This one will,” M'Rissa cackled from behind Lydia. “M'Rissa-Dro will be telling the first bard she meets.”

Aela’s grip tightened as she whimpered slightly.

“M'Rissa, be nice; she has my head.”

M'Rissa got her laughter under control, then pushed past a very confused Lydia. “This one promises to name no names nor groups, but this is a story that deserves to be told.”

Aela gave an annoyed grumbling bark, let go of my head and moved into the tunnel. She reverted to her human form as we all followed. 

The next chamber proved to be the last. It was appointed as a plush bedroom; if it weren't for the charnel stench and scattered human remains, it would have seemed almost cozy.

There were also some arcane work spaces and supplies, a steamer trunk, and an occupied cage.

“-cough-Please, have pity and kill me,” a man in blue and white hooded robes and steel plate greaves and gauntlets reached for us. I could see an Amulet of Stendar hanging from his neck. “The beast bit me, and I can feel myself turning.”

“When?” Everyone looked at me in slight alarm. “There’s a small shrine to Stendarr less than half a day's walk from here. If you can make it there, then the Divines blessings could heal you.”

I could see him wrestling his options. “I suppose it is only right; my life is sworn to Stendarr, so it is right and just that he should decide my fate. I was bitten last night.”

Aela sighed and nodded. “Then we should have two days.” Aela made short work of the cage lock, then scooped up the weakened man. “I’ll take the old man; you lot finish up in here.” 

We moved methodically around the room: I searched the research area, M'Rissa searched the desk and various cabinets, while Lydia rummaged through the trunk.

“So,” Lydia cleared her throat, “the Companions are...” she let the statement hang for a moment.

“Are agreeing to assist in clearing this vampire nest out of Whiterun hold,” I finished matter of factly.

M'Rissa scoffed. “For a price, of course.”

“Of course,” I said absently as I studied both the alchemy and enchantment work tables. “I’ve already made good on one part of that payment; I just need to find the time in the next moon to finish.”

Lydia paused in her search and looked over. “And if you don’t?”

I stopped and simply looked back.

Lydia sighed while M'Rissa growled from the other room. “Right, because they are--”

I looked at the Nord pointedly. “Are honorable men and women who have entered into an agreement for a specific payment.” I went back to my study of the arcane devices. “They made good on their end, and I am honorbound to keep up mine.”

I saw Lydia glance back at M'Rissa before digging back in the chest. “Still, I didn’t expect the compaA NEW HAND TOUCHES THE BEACON!”

I almost jumped onto the Alchemy table, as Lydia glowed white and bellowed out.

M'Rissa rushed over. “Lydia, what’s--”

“LISTEN! HEAR ME AND OBEY!”

Once my heart wasn’t beating to ‘Dubstep’ rate, I moved to restrain M'Rissa while Lydia channeled the Daedric Prince Meridia. “Don’t bother; we can’t do anything until Meridia’s robo-call is finished.”

She looked aghast at me. “Whose what?!”

I held up a finger.

“AND I WILL MAKE YOU THE INSTRUMENT OF MY CLEANSING LIGHT!”

I caught Lydia’s shoulders as the essence of Meridia subsided. “Easy there; you’ve had a Daedric prince in your head. Give it a few moments.”

Lydia shivered, then shook her head. “I, what was that? I saw a temple in the mountains. A winged woman...”

“The temple of the Daedric Prince Meridia. It’s just off the road between Solitude and Dragon Bridge. It means a Necromancer named Malkoran is doing-a-don’t inside.” I sighed and pointed at the rough-cut bowling ball in Lydia’s hand. “It also means we have to lug that thing around until we go there.”

M'Rissa’s alarm grew. “Is this one of...”

I shook my head as I scrubbed my face in annoyance. “No, Malkoran’s just a dangerous idiot.” I stared into space. “Though it is just below Wolfskull Cave, so he may be tied to the idiots there trying to bring back Potema. GrrrRAGH!” I headbutted the alchemy table. “I have too much going on to play games like this, but I can’t ignore it either!”

“If it’s that much of a problem, then I’ll just...just!” Lydia strained as she held her hands over the chest.

“Don’t bother,” I said as I rolled my head to face her. “It's a Daedric artifact. You won’t be able to get rid of it until we drop it off at the temple. Just put it in your bag, and let’s get a move on before Aela or the other guy get a little extra toothy.”

We all made our way outside to find Aela holding the man like a sack of potatoes. “Which way?”

I looked north, and could just make out a box canyon nestled against the monadnock that dominated the plains. “Inside that canyon.”  

We marched through the plains unmolested, and deposited the shaking man before the icon of Stendarr. I could feel the power as the man made his supplications. Soon, the shivering subsided, and he pushed himself upright.

“I thank you. All of you. I am eternally in your debt for rescuing me.”

We all accepted his praise, then set up camp. While getting the fire pit ready, I looked over at the man. “If I may ask, what landed you in that cage?”

“My oath to Stendarr.” I could see Aela tense up a little, and the man’s attire made more sense: he was a Vigilant. “I was tracking the whereabouts of a Daedric Artifact,” Lydia shivered a little, “when these bloodsuckers seized me. They interrogated me at first, demanding to know what my order knew about the area near our hall in the Pale; it guards the approach to a shrine to Mehrunes Dagon.” Now it was my turn to get nervous. “At first I thought that was what they were after, then one of them suggested turning me so I would have to talk. They specifically mentioned a crypt: Dim something-”

“Dimhollow.” M'Rissa hissed as I said the name. “I know what they are after in there.” I sighed wearily. “You are Brother Adalvald, aren’t you?” 

“How could you possibly know--”

I went back to my work, attacking the ground to ready the fire pit. “You need to meet with Brother Tolan and convince Keeper Carcette to abandon the Hall. A host of vampires will descend on Dimhollow and kill every Vigilant there.”

“You can’t just--”

“Take everyone to Stendarr’s Beacon in the Rift. A former member of your order, Isran, has restored a nearby fortress and is trying to rebuild the Dawnguard.”

The silence in the camp was deafening. “Who are you?”

I looked him in the eyes. “Il messaggero no importante. Just do it.” I went back to my digging

Chapter Text

We left our camp the next morning and headed straight back to Whiterun. As much as I would have liked to head directly to Glenmoril Coven to secure the rest of Kodlak’s payment, we had Brother Adalvald to consider. He was far more versed in healing magics than I was, so his recovery was not a concern. However, abandoning him moments after freeing him could raise suspicion.

Our march was silent; each of us filled with thoughts we couldn’t put words to.

Adalvald was shaken by my declaration of his order’s imminent destruction. I couldn’t tell if it would galvanize him to save the Vigilants, or dig into Dimhollow and condemn them all.

I have no idea what Lydia had been told, but she kept shooting uncertain looks at both me and Aela.

The Huntress herself had never been subjected to any of my predictions, so she could easily be forgiven for putting distance between us.

Only M'Rissa didn’t shy away from me when we made camp. As always, her Khajiit features were difficult to read, but she seemed concerned. Whether about me, or the future in general, I had no idea.

We arrived back at Whiterun Stables at sundown of the seventh day since leaving, and Brother Adalvald wordlessly boarded a carriage bound for Dawnstar.

Did I accomplish anything out there?

We made our way into the city and had just passed Warmaiden’s Smithy, when the two people I least wanted to see swaggered up to us.

“You there,” a figure in a bone mask barked. M'Rissa drew her Axe of office and flashed it at several guards while the Cultist of Mirak spoke. “Are you the one they call Dragonborn?”

M'Rissa planted her fists on her hips and drew a deep breath.

“ Fus, ” several guards and one of the cultists flinched in alarm, and hastily erecting a Ward, “ Roh-Dah! ” The second cultist was launched up the hill and into the market square, only stopping when they hit and fell down the well like a Skee Ball shot. “Does that answer your question?”

The lone cultist was immediately set upon by every guard near the gate. She managed a few garbled words about Miraak before succumbing to the weight of flesh. One of the guards came out of the melee carrying a bloodied sheet of parchment.

“My Thane, they had this on them.” 

M'Rissa looked down at the sheet and then at me. I didn’t need to look at it to know it was the cultist’s orders. A simple nod was all she needed from me.

“M'Rissa-Dro thanks you for your diligence in dealing with these intruders. This one will inform Iruleth of you and your fellows’ valor.” 

She then turned to me. “This one will meet you by the Gildergreen, once we have informed the Jarl of our success.”

I gave a curt nod, then we continued up to our respective destinations. I would have stopped to assist in extricating the corpse from the well, but there were half a dozen guards all ‘bobbing for cultists’ with the well bucket. 

Once Aela and I turned up the stairs to Jorrvaskr, I could hear Athis throat-singing from inside. We opened the doors to find a party in full swing. 

Vilkas looked our way first. “Ah, our wayward Companions have returned! I assume you were as successful as we were?”

“Indeed,” Aela puffed up, “the Vampire scourge within Whiterun Hold is no more!”

The hall erupted in another round of cheers, and Ria came up and dragged us both inside. 

I had to wave off Torvar’s attempts to pile my plate with venison and goat. 

“I’m sure it’s wonderful, but clearing out a vampire nest can put one off red meat.”

“Speak for yourself.” Aela snatched my plate away and put a goblet of milk down in its place.

I smirked back and toasted her. “My thanks. I’m still a little parched after removing that axe frommrphrt...” Aela was just as quick to stuff a handful of pastries in my mouth.

I guess she saw the look of intrigue in Farkas’ eye and went on the verbal offensive. “So, what is tonight’s celebration for? It can’t just be for the Hold job.”

Kodlak chuckled and pointed at the wall over the staircase. “We are celebrating the return of one of the fragments of Wuuthrad to its rightful home.”

Sure enough, there was a new shard of metal on the plaque where the other fragments were kept. The Companions were one step closer to...

My grip on the table choked as I saw the all-out war I had invited upon the Companions. I saw Skjor’s flensed corpse sprawled on the dining table, and Kodlak’s broken body unceremoniously dumped at my feet. The longer I sat there, the more images flashed through my head, mixed with the charnel stench and sound of wailing voices. 

I stumbled outside and retched on the roots of the Gildergleam.

“This one wondered if you had forgotten about our meeting.”

I jumped a little as M'Rissa stepped around the Gildergreen. She had changed into more courtly attire, and I could see Lydia lurking over by the Talos shrine. “You did, didn’t you.” Her tone was conversational, but I heard a sting of accusation.

I scoffed and leaned against the tree. “Add it to the tally of things I can’t get around to.”

She sat on one of the benches. “The moons do not grow closer if you chase them. Come,” she patted the spot next to her, “sit and talk. It is a good thing to do, and a needful thing at that.”

I slumped into the bench next to her. My head and shoulders drooped, as every conflicting time obligation ran through my head. “I don’t know how to get it all done.” 

“That is what the timetable is for, yes?”

I snorted. “The fucking timetable. It’s a vanity project: me, a half-trained spell-sword pretending I can solve all the world’s problems on a neat schedule. Never mind that there’s a boy in Windhelm desecrating his mother’s corpse in the hopes of summoning a supernatural assassin, or that that same city plays host to a serial killer Ulfric can’t be bothered to deal with, or that Riften’s orphanage is being run by a malicious sadist that torments and abuses her charges.”

I shoved off the bench and began pacing. “Or how about the Jarl of Markarth keeping an insurgency alive and well to fill the coffers of the Silverbloods! I know a thousand little tragedies going on right now, like an Orc stronghold that’s cursed by Malakath to die out because their Chief is an indolent prick, or the Argonian siblings that are planning to wreck an Imperial ship and murder its crew for fun and profit!

“I -huff- I know where Eorlund Greymane’s son is, right now! For God's sake, I know there’s an active plot by the Dark Brotherhood to murder the Emperor! I just can’t do a goddamned thing about any of it!”

I pointed back to Jorrvaskr. “They’re in there partying right now because I put them on the path to war with an order of religious zealots! And then there’s Brother Adalvald: did I warn him, or just put him on a collision course with his own death?”

I collapsed in the grass and stared at the ground. “The only thing I can do is spin my wheels while pretending I have a clue how to fix the world. Every time I close my eyes, I see their faces staring back at me, demanding to know why I’m sitting on my ass in Jorrvaskr instead of out there doing something; and I don’t have an answer.”

I felt M'Rissa wrap me up in a hug. “M'Rissa thinks you should be called Hiram-Ji. You think it wise to steal the weight of all the world's wrongs.” I wanted to pull away, but her grip was iron, and her purr was soothing. “You worry that others will suffer if you are not there to suffer for them. M'Rissa has seen this among new fighters in the Pit: before they are worn down, before they are broken, when the masters say, ‘this is what you make us do’!”

I flinched as she pinched one of my ears in her claws. “This is a lie told to control you. You are kind, and the evil of this world finds a way to make you blame yourself for evil itself.” She tipped my head back. “You will stop lying to yourself. You have done good! You have made a difference, and with this one’s help you will keep doing so.”

She stood up and pulled me up along with her. “You cannot save every person, so don’t try. You can’t right every wrong or stop every evil, so don’t try. Save the person in front of you, right the wrong in front of you, stop the evil in front of you. Do this, and M'Rissa-Dro will count herself lucky to have known such a kind and noble soul.”

“Um,” we both looked over at a somewhat shell-shocked Lydia, “did you just say, ‘a plot to assassinate the Emperor’?!”

...

Lydia walked stiffly down the main thoroughfare of Whiterun, with M'Rissa and I following after. She had demanded an explanation, and I insisted on not discussing it in the town square. I could see she wanted to use my blurting out under the Gildergreen, but M'Rissa backed me up.

“Fine,” Lydia growled at us both. “We’ll go to my home and discuss it there.”

I was slightly intrigued to find out where Lydia’s home was. I was genuinely shocked to find that her home was Breezehome. Once the door was closed behind us, I looked around the rustic space. “Why would Proventus sell your home to the Dragonborn?”

“What?!” Lydia was around the fire pit and in my face in an instant. “What do you mean, ‘sell my home’?!”

I held up my hands placatingly. “Sorry! That’s just how I always see it: the Dovahkiin kills Mirmulnir at the Western Watchtower, is made Thane of Whiterun, you are assigned as Housecarl, and the new Thane is given permission to purchase property.” I gestured around us. “Breezehome is the house that Proventus is selling.”

Lydia stared at me as her face turned redder by the second. “That weaselly little- grRR I’m going to KILL HIM!”

I winced at the raging Nord warrior-maid. “I can understand that you’re upset, but it hasn’t happened yet. There’s no reason to--”

“If Hrongar thinks he can bully me into marrying him by using fordi kjøpere to take my mother’s home--”

I waved my hands and squinted at Lydia in confusion. “Whoa-whoa, Hrongar? And what’s fordi kjøpere? ”

M'Rissa looked thoughtful before nodding her head. “This one had wondered why the Jarl’s brother glared at us so when you were appointed our Housecarl.”

Lydia lost a little steam. “ Fordi kjøpere is how Jarls bind subjects to them. When I swore my service to Jarl Balgruuf, all my family lands and property became his. I expected to have them granted back as a gift of noble service, but apparently his baby brother had other ideas.” She punched one of the walls. “That entitled bastard has always had a problem understanding the word, ‘no’ when spoken by a woman.”

Lydia refocused her intensity on me. “Now, what did you mean, ‘that’s how I always see it’, and what does it have to do with an assassination plot against my Emperor?”

I pursed my lips. I knew I needed to get this out, especially with multiple Daedric encounters likely in the near future, but that didn’t make it any easier. “Alright. First, M'Rissa, I’m sorry about this.”

M'Rissa frowned and her ears began laying back. “About what?”

I sat down on a bench and grabbed three small pieces of bread. “I lied to you.” I could see both of them tense up. “I’m not from High Rock. I said that because I needed Frigga, Gunjar and all of you to believe what I had to say, because the truth is so absurd you would have all laughed me off.”

M'Rissa glared at me. “Where are you from then?”

I held up the first piece of bread. “Alright, this is us right here.”

Lydia frowned. “In Skyrim.”

“No, in Mundus.” I put the second piece of bread down touching the first. “This is Oblivion. It occasionally touches Mundus: sometimes a little, like a summoning spell, and sometimes a lot like-”

“The Oblivion Crisis,” Lydia’s hand went to the pommel of her Frost Blade. “So, you’re a Daedra?”

I smiled faintly. “No, Lady Danica would have banished me on the first day. I and my people are from here.” I held the third piece of bread over the other two. “We are aware of Mundus and Oblivion, but we normally can’t interact: just observe.” I put the bread down. “And it isn’t linear like looking through a spyglass. It’s like reading a book, where you can flip past the parts you don’t want to see, or flip back to parts you like.” 

I faced the two skeptical ladies. “Except every time we do that, the story changes a little. Sometimes the Dovahkiin is a Nord, and sometimes an Argonian. Sometimes they side with the Stormcloaks, and sometimes the Imperials. Sometimes they head straight to Whiterun and follow all the instructions along the way, and sometimes they hare across the countryside to avoid the conflict for as long as possible. But we always see it from the perspective of the Dovahkiin. ”

M'Rissa’s frown deepened. “Always observing, like spectators at a pit fight betting on the outcome...”

“Until somehow, I was in the pit.” I looked desperately at both of them. “I know about all of these events because I’ve watched them play out dozens of times, from dozens of different angles. I know the signs that an event is about to occur, and I know what the consequences of success and failure are. But for the first time, I can’t skip past the part of the story I don’t like or flip back to the beginning if I dislike the outcome. I have this one chance to get it right, but it’s just...us.” I gestured to them both. “And now there isn’t enough time for all the little evils to be dealt with if the big ones are going to be stopped in time.”

My shoulders sagged as the silence dragged on, until M'Rissa sat next to me. “Thank you for telling M'Rissa-Dro the truth.” 

I smiled in relief as she raised a hand to my head. “OW!” And pinched my earlobe. “Alright, I’m sorry for not trusting you with this sooner.”

Lydia looked very uncomfortable. “My Thane, is this wise?” She nodded towards me.

M'Rissa snorted and stood up. “We met under a blazing sky, while an ancient dragon rained fire from the heavens. Wisdom was never in the stars. We should all get some rest. We have a busy life ahead of us.”

Chapter Text

Whatever peace I had made with M'Rissa did not entirely carry over to Lydia. I could understand: I had effectively proven my ‘vision’ and my sincerity in those first few crazy days with M'Rissa. Lydia only had the past couple of days and M'Rissa’s assurances that I wasn’t a Dremora or worse. So, she insisted on a ‘gesture of good will’.

We all climbed out of the wagon and stretched.

“Alright,” Lydia began strapping her harness back on, “so what’s in Falkreath that has to do with... you know?”

I finished getting my sword belt just right. “In Falkreath proper, nothing. What we want is nearby though, and I want to check on something.” 

One of the gate guards walked over. “Hello there travelers, have you seen a dog on the road?”

Lydia looked at me oddly as I sighed and nodded. She shook her head and looked back at the guard. “We heard some wolves on the way, but no dogs.”

“Oh well,” the sentry shrugged. “Keep an eye out while you’re out and about. The blacksmith said he’d pay good money for the beast.” He then headed back to his post, and we headed south to the Hold road.

Once we were out of earshot, Lydia flanked me. “What does this dog have to do with anything?”

I swept my eyes back and forth as we approached the intersection. “Nothing, unless you are super keen on getting a one-on-one audience with a Daedric Prince.” I saw movement from our right. “Here we go.”

As expected, a large shaggy wolfhound trotted up to us. “You are exactly...” Barbas slowed to a stop, his hackles slightly up. “You’re not from around here.”

“No, Barbas, I am not.”

Lydia choked for a second. “Did that dog just talk?!”

Barbas’ hackles came all the way up as he sat in the road. "Skyrim is now host to giant, flying lizards and two-legged cat-men... and you're surprised by me? Yes, I just talked and am continuing to do so!"

Before either Lydia or M'Rissa could drag the matter out further, I knelt in front of Barbas. “I know what it is you want, maybe even need; I don’t know how your bond to Clavicus works, but we don’t have time. There’s just too much that needs doing to take a side trip to Haemar’s Shame, much less the running around he’d have us do to ‘earn’ his boon and take you back.”

Barbas whined and looked at all of us. “Well, who the hell else am I supposed to ask? I’ve already had to kill like, a dozen bandits that ‘agreed’ to help only to try and use me!” He sat back down and started whimpering. “Please?”

“No. We don’t have time to--”

Barbas laid down and poured on the puppy-dog eyes. “Ple-ease?”

-Grr- “I said ‘no’! The last thing I need is to be on a first name basis with a Daedric Prince.”

Barbas rolled over and showed his belly. “ Ple-e-ease ?”

“Argh!” I stood up and circled for a moment. “Fine; let’s make a deal.” Barbas was up and sitting in an instant. “We have a lot of things that need doing, and not nearly enough time to do them all. If you help us with--”

“You,” Barbas barked, “if I help you . No open-ended deals, and it has to be for specific terms; not just ‘help me make people happy’ or some nonsense.”

I frowned at the Daedric dog. “You, Barbas, will assist me, the Hiram, to the best of your abilities, in accomplishing the following goals, in no particular order. First: the destruction in detail of the Dark Brotherhood. Second: Preventing Harkon from accomplishing the Prophecy of the Tyranny of the Sun. Third: Preventing and/or containing the inadvertent triggering of the Eye of Magnus. Fourth: Preventing the return of Miraak, the first Dragonborn. Fifth: assisting in defeating Alduin, the World Eater.

“In return, I the Hiram, will ensure your return to Clavicus Vile’s side and good graces. Do you accept these terms?”

Barbas’ ears flagged. “You don’t ask much. You’re gonna be stepping on a lot of Daedric toes.”

“I know, but this is the survival of the world in almost every single case. You want me to help make your world whole again, then you’ll have to help me keep this one whole. Do we have a deal?” I held out my hand.

Barbas hung his head and put one of his paws in my hand. “It’s a deal.”

I faced down the road. “Right. Let’s go lay waste to the Dark Brotherhood’s sanctuary!”

Lydia finally found her voice. “What?! The Dark Brotherhood?!”

“Yup,” I started walking down the road, “it’s the Dark Brotherhood that carries out the Emperor's death. After some rather bloody internal politics.” I look at Lydia. “Didn’t I tell you that?”

“ NO ,” Lydia and M'Rissa both yelled.

“Oops.” I shrugged and kept walking. “If we sack the Sanctuary, then they’ll be too busy relocating to Dawnstar and rebuilding their numbers to get up to that level of mischief.”

M'Rissa heaved a sigh. “But you are sure they are all in there?”

“Probably not.” The ladies both choked at that. “The survivors will be sending goons after us for a while, until they succeed, or they run out of minions. I’m betting on the second.”

Lydia grabbed me and spun me around. “You just want to march into the Sanctuary of the Dark Brotherhood and pick a fight with them?!”

She was startled when I locked eyes with her. “No, you do. You want to prevent the assassination of Emperor Titus Mede II? Well, this is how it has to be. Ultimately, the Night Mother will demand his death. Not the Stormcloaks or the Thalmor, or some political rival back in Cyrodil, but the Bride of Sithis herself, and it is the Dark Brotherhood that carries out her will.” I turned back down the road. “So, to keep him alive, we need to destroy the Dark Brotherhood, and that starts here.”

M'Rissa caught up to me. “Is all this truly necessary?”

I sighed and slowed. “It shouldn’t have been, but then this was one of those ‘little evils’ I was talking about the other night. Blowing it off would be the height of hypocrisy, and the Dark Brotherhood in its current incarnation is just a ‘murder for hire’ cartel. Putting them down can only be a good thing.” I sped back up. “Plus, Commander Maro of the Penitus Oculatus will pay good money for their destruction.”

We continued around the road for about an hour, until I spotted a ruin nearly obscured by the trees on the left side of the road. “Finally, I was beginning to think I’d gotten us lost.”

“So, they’re in there,” Lydia asked as she drew her sword and started forward.

“What?” I saw where she was headed. “No-no-no-no!” I got in front of her and pointed to the right side of the road. “ That thing’s full of Spriggan; I’m just using it as a marker to know where the Sanctuary is.” I led her towards a gully along the road. “The Sanctuary of the Dark Brotherhood is down there. Come on.”

Lydia followed me skeptically until we arrived at a recessed door; it was adorned with a grotesque base relief. I could feel a sinister energy coming from the portal, likely meant to dissuade the curious. There were no doorknobs, handles, or hinges to indicate there was any way to open it.

I put a hand on the door and waited.

“ What...is the music...of life? ”

I could hear the gasps from M'Rissa and Lydia, as well as Barbas’ uncertain growl.

“Silence, my brother.”

Barbas whimpered as the oppressive energy of the door shifted. “ Welcome...home. ”

I hustled everyone through before the door shut again.

We all stood inside, listening to the cavern for any sign that we had been noticed.

Lydia glanced frantically, her breathing becoming slightly erratic. “Okay; we’re inside the Sanctuary of the Dark Brotherhood. No Problem; just a Daedra Worshiping Death Cult.” Her rambling was silenced as M'Rissa planted a hand over her mouth and pinched her earlobe. Lydia looked at her in relief. “Thanks. Now what?”

I concentrated on each of the Dark Brotherhood members I knew about in turn and cast Clairvoyance. Astrid, Babbette and Cisero pointed back to the door, but the others were all present.

“Now,” I drew my sword, and readied my spells, “It’s killing time.” There was some shuffling in a room just off our left. “That’ll be Arnbjorn. He’s a former Companion.”

Lydia tensed. “By that, do you mean-”

A massive black wolf head snaked out of the room, looked at us, and howled. M'Rissa and Barbas both rushed in as Arnbjorn tried to get into the entry foyer.

“Is this the only entrance,” Lydia yelled over the din of the beastly battle.

“The only one I know about.”

Lydia moved up to the open doorway leading into the main chamber and braced her shield as several shapes moved in the dim light. “Then we make our stand here! Ready your bow!”

I did as commanded and called up Clairvoyance again. I concentrated on Veezara, and felt a hint of direction creeping up on Lydia.

-Twang-

The cloaked Argonian hissed and became visible, just before Lydia smashed him in the snout and sent him stumbling back into the chamber. A second arrow in the hip sent him limping back to the safety of the forge.

Next was Lis. I spotted the spider just as it was readying to spit. I yanked Lydia slightly to the side, then shot the arachnid. I couldn’t see if it was a killing shot, as Lydia blocked my view with her shield.

-Thonk-

I shifted focus to Gabriella and shot but struck a timely summoned Atronach. I could feel her retreating towards the dining area, where Nazir was waiting. A check on the remaining three showed Festus moving towards us from the chapel, while Veezara moved sluggishly by the forge. I couldn’t sense Lis at all. 

Behind us, an agonized howl morphed into wet gurgling.

“Barbas, I’m going to need you up here.” Once I felt him bump my leg, I tapped Lydia on the shoulder. “We have to move up: two of them have moved to the sleeping area, which has two approaches. Krex is coming to us, and we’re in a kill-box.” 

I put my bow away and drew my sword as we made our way into the main chamber. I dispatched Veezara with a single stab, trying to block out the almost relieved expression on his face. We all ducked as a lightning bolt flashed over our heads.

“I am Festus Krex, Archmagus of the Dark Brotherhood!” An old man casually descended a narrow staircase towards us. “Before you die, tell me how you gained entry to the Sanctum?”

I stood and gave him my best insufferable smirk. “What can I say, I’m a good Listener .”

Krex flinched back. “You’re what ?”

I snapped my fingers “Barbas!” The Daedric dog was off like a shot and slammed into the Dark Brotherhood mage like a military police dog. While Barbas savaged the mage, I pointed towards the sleeping area. “The last two here are holed up there. It’s on a terrace overlooking the dining area, with a second door that leads around to where Krex was.” I heard a gut churning crunch over Barbas’ snarling. “We’ll come in from both ends. Lydia,” she looked back at me, “do you want the dining room approach, or the chapel approach?”

“Chapel,” she said without hesitation. “Barbas can cover the dining approach faster than us, with you pinning them down from afar. I can shield Thane M'Rissa until we are in striking range.”

We wordlessly split up. Barbas and I moved into the arcane workshop and paused at the steps to the dining area. A quick check with Clairvoyance told me the ladies were almost in position. I switched to Gabriella and sensed her nearly at the stairs for the sleeping area.

“I’ll draw them, you move.”

I was running low on mana, and knew I only had two more spells in me. One application of Oakflesh later, I stepped out into the dining hall and lashed out with a Spark. I luckily threw off the Dunmer assassin’s aim, as an arrow grazed my cheek. I could feel the sting of poison as Barbas rushed around me and up the stairs but pushed through and launched an arrow at her. That took her in the gut and dropped her to her knees, just as Barbas launched himself at her throat.

I reoriented to help with Nazir, just as M'Rissa hurled him down at my feet. The sound he made as he landed told me I had nothing to fear.

I sat down at the table and began dabbing the cut on my face with a mead-soaked rag. 

Lydia plopped down across from me. “How bad?” I took the rag away so she could see. “Well, at least you won’t look so much like a milk-drinker from now on. So,” she looked around the room, “how bad?”

“Three more.” I took a swig of the mead, then continued cleaning the wound. “Cicero has a charge and no faith in Astrid, so he’s likely to head straight to the second Sanctuary in Dawnstar. Babbette was ten when she was turned into a vampire, so that’s as far as she developed: very powerful, but easy to provoke. Astrid normally would be more methodical, but we just burned her empire and killed her husband.” Lydia and M'Rissa both hissed at that. “I expect Babbette and Astrid to come after us almost immediately. Cicero will go to ground, but he’ll also stay there.” 

I put the rag down. “We’re on their timetable now, so all we can do is press forward.” I drained the rest of the bottle of mead and stood up. “ After we ransack this place.”

...

Lydia and I methodically swept the Sanctuary, while M'Rissa communed with the Word Wall. I didn’t bother stripping corpses, but I did find a complete set of the Shrouded Armor that fit. It turned out my now well-worn robes fit over the skin-tight leather. I could feel the enchantment from the robes fade when worn over the armor, but I was willing to take that hit to have actual armor for once.

Beyond that, some coins, gems and soul gems, and a Muffle spell tome were the extent of our spoils. After that, we cremated the remains and left the Sanctuary.

Lydia looked back at the door, then at the rest of us. “Now what?”

I moved around a little, still getting used to the borderline Gimp-suit. “Well, I still need to get Kodlak his Hagraven Heads from Glenmoril Coven.”

M'Rissa sneered in distaste. “What could he possibly want those for?”

“A cure.” I set off up the road.

Chapter Text

It was another two day’s hike to Glenmoril Coven. We stayed on the road until we came to a hunting lodge. Some camping and a fireside meal did help raise our spirits.

I looked towards the lake at dawn. The Star of Azura was in the depths of the flooded fortress, just a day away. Maybe a day and--

A pinecone bounced off of my head, courtesy of M'Rissa. “Remember, the timetable was your creation; no more side trips until we return the Hag heads.”

I nodded and began breaking camp. The Star would keep; it wasn’t nearly time to use it yet.

We headed down the valley west of Lake Ilinalta, and arrived at the Coven by midday.

Barbas gave a low growl at the cave entrance. “This little excursion wasn’t part of our deal. You’re on your own there.”

“That’s fine,” I said as I ditched the Novice Robes. “Watch the entrance for Orc bandits; several of them have set up in the nearby mine.”

I cast my new spell as we entered. With the Shrouded Armor, I was silent as the night. I also only had enough juice for one casting of Oakflesh. I’d have to either make this quick or refresh midway through. I opted for the Oakflesh, and made my way deeper into the cave. 

The first chamber had a Skeever and the first of my quarry. I readied my bow and could hear Aela lecturing me as I took aim: I really had become reliant on using Clairvoyance to augment my skill. Still, the first arrow struck the Hagraven in the chest, and she collapsed to a knee. The Skeever had only turned to face us when Lydia stapled it to the floor with her own bow. I put one more arrow into the hag, and she fell over without a sound. What little noise we had made didn’t disturb the large spider lurking on the terrace, which we collectively dispatched at range. 

I looked back at M'Rissa and Lydia. “This is my deal with Kodlak; you don’t have to follow me through all this.” I gave a weak smile in the dim light. “Though I wouldn’t mind the backup in case this goes the way it always does for me.”

Lydia frowned and looked at M'Rissa, who just smirked back at me. “We will follow behind. If this one hears you scream like a newborn kitten, we will come and help.”

We methodically cleared the four remaining chambers, with only the last proving a problem. Another spider was lurking near the entrance to that cave, which reared up as I nearly stepped on it. It was dead with a point-blank shot, but the Hag was alerted that she wasn’t alone. I ditched the bow and drew my sword, then hustled into the shadow of a cave column. I could hear her raspy breath as she stalked through the chamber.

“Is that a rat,” she grated out. “A fat, tasty rat? Should I boil you in your own skin, or storm-sear your flesh?”

Her answer came from behind, as I drove the sword up to the quillons into her back. She gave a ragged, rattling gasp, then slumped lifeless off of my blade.

A quick check of the cave showed we were alone. 

I cleaned my sword in the cave stream, then called out. “That’s the last one; we’re clear.”

Once again, aside from my grisly prize, we found a sparse collection of coin and gemstones, an iron hand axe which I applied to the witches then discarded, and a steel dagger with an unusual aura; I would study that once I had time.

We all left and descended back into the valley. The sun was setting when we came upon a hunter’s camp. A little haggling gave us a fresh meal, and no questions about the heavy sack I was hauling around.

The next day was gray as we headed out of the valley and onto the trade road to Whiterun. By the time we reached a suitable camping site, the skies had cleared.

Lydia was banking the coals of our fire for the night, when I guess she saw me staring up. “Please tell me it’s not another omen.”

“Huh?” I looked over in confusion.

“You were staring rather intently at the heavens,” M'Rissa commented from where she was readying her bed roll.

“Oh, no. No omens or signs from on high. I just...” I laid down, staring up at the sky. “I’ve read about the auroras of Skyrim, even seen artistic depictions, but this is the first time I’ve stopped to just look. It’s incredible.”

“You’ve never seen these before?” Lydia’s question was tinted with the faintest amount of sympathy.

I shook my head. “No, my homeland is too far south. I’d have to travel a thousand miles to see something like this.”

I heard some shuffling from M'Rissa’s bedroll. “M'Rissa-Dro is also from a land too far south to see these, though this one does miss the trackless heavens. There are stars in the skies of Elsweyr that cannot be seen in these frozen lands.”

“Hm,” Lydia stopped fussing with the fire. “I don’t think about it too much. It’s like snowfall in the mountains: it’s always there, and you only notice it when it’s gone, or someone says something.” A soft thump came from her bedroll. “I suppose it is quite beautiful.”

The camp fell silent, as the autumn night of Skyrim lulled us all to sleep.

...

The next two days were as uneventful as the last, and we arrived at Whiterun just after midday. After letting Barbas roam the city on his best behavior, M'Rissa and Lydia headed up to Dragon’s Reach to report to the Jarl. I made a detour to Belethor’s Goods to pawn the gemstones and salvageable gear from our excursion. I left feeling heavier of purse, but dirtier of spirit.

Why the fuck does he keep offering to traffic in people?

Then, it was up to Jorrvaskr to pay my debt to the Companions. They were just winding down their midday meal when I walked in. I got a few rounds of appreciative nods, though a couple of the Circle weren’t present: Skjor, Aela and Vilkas.

Farkas stood and took my hand, though he wrinkled his nose. “Good to have you back, though I hope you didn’t intend to share that, ” he nodded towards the heavy sack, “at the feast table.”

“No,” I headed over to Kodlak, who stood shaking in anticipation. “This is completion of payment for services rendered.”

Kodlak hesitantly took the sack. “This is--”

“All five. The Glenmoril Coven is no more.”

Some of the junior Companions looked oddly as Farkas thumped on the floor, having missed the bench seat. “You went to Glenmoril? That means--”

Kodlak headed towards the stairs to the living area. “It means that once our Shield Kin return, we will have all the pieces needed to enter Ysgramor’s Tomb, and the final resting place of the Harbingers of old! Excuse me.”

Farkas looked up from his spot on the floor. “Why?”

I sat down and began serving myself some roasted fish and fowl.  “It was the agreed upon price.” Eventually I’d eat at Jorrvaskr when I hadn’t been knee-deep in something that would ruin my appetite.

“But why would the Old Man make you do that?”

I shook my head as I chewed. “He didn’t set those terms; I did.”

“And you have more than kept your end of our bargain,” Kodlak said as he came back to the table. Although he walked slowly, there was a tension and barely contained energy about him. “When the rest of the Circle returns, I would invite you to become a formal member of the Companions.”

I smiled and raised a cup to him. “I hope I’m still in the city when they get here; there are a lot of things I’ve been putting off that need addressing.”

Farkas pulled himself up off the floor. “Whatever you need, my sword will be there!”

“You say that now.” I took a healthy pull of my cup. “One of the things I need to do is get inside the Thalmor Embassy.” Both Kodlak and Farkas coughed and choked. “Yeah, I’m still working the angles on that one.”

Kodlak got his fit under control. “What in the name of the gods would you be doing there?!”

I nodded emphatically. “Stealing.” That earned me another round of coughs. Still too much fun. “Aside from being a man hating sadistic psycho bitch, Ambassador Elenwen is also an anal-retentive records keeper. If I can get a hold of her personal dossiers, and get them into the right hands, it could bloodlessly end the civil war in a day.”

Kodlak just shook his head and laughed. “Let no man ever accuse you of a lack of ambition.”

We passed the rest of the meal in companionable silence... or shell-shocked silence for the non-circle Companions. Once finished, I trained with Farkas for an hour before heading for the Temple to visit with Danica.

“Welcome back child,” she smiled and ushered me in. “You’ve come at a perfect time: we have no sick or wounded today, and Jenssen is out helping birth a calf on the Battleborn farm. We can just talk.”

So, we talked. I didn’t get into details, but I confided in her about having to take several lives. I also talked about my attempts at growing my magical skill beyond her Restoration instruction.

She poured me a cup of tea as she talked. “I suppose you could build Magicka endurance in other skills the way you have with Restoration. As with any skill, the more you use it the more efficiently you use it, but only in the context of that skill. You should see Farengar for more knowledge about wider arcane theory.”

She had me meditate at the Shrine before leaving. After that, I climbed up to Dragon’s Reach. The guards gave me some aside glances as I walked in, but largely ignored me when I turned into Farengar’s alcove.

I didn’t see him immediately. “Magus Farengar?” The area remained quiet, so I walked over to the Enchanter’s Table and pulled out the dagger from Glenmoril. This was the first time I’d had to study one of these tables in action. 

A hallucinatory image of the spell in the weapon hovered in front of me. I could see how the tendrils of Magicka wove back and forth, binding not just the spell, but the power to use it. I could tell that this was a soulbinding enchantment, and could almost make out how the spell--

“Hm, I didn’t take you for a mage.”

The magic of the table snapped free. The weapon evaporated and the imprint of the spell rushed into my head, driving me to my knees.

“Goddamnit! Every single time.” I looked over at him. “Is there a way to learn magic that doesn’t feel like getting hit in the head with a Giant’s club?”

He helped me stand up. “There are some preparatory mental exercises that ease the process. Your Master should have taught you those first.” He guided me towards a wooden chair.

I sat in the offered seat and massaged my temples. “Other than some studying with Danica, I’m largely self-taught.”

Farengar nodded. “It’s not common, but not uncommon either. If you have the aptitude to learn magic, you will absorb it whenever you are exposed to an appropriate source. The Mages College in Winterhold would be the best place to learn.” He settled into a high-backed chair in the center of the room.

The pain was mostly abated. “In my experience, institutions of learning rarely let people just walk in off the street.”

“Winterhold is no different,” he said as he pulled out a parchment, quill and inkwell. “They will want to test your basic aptitude: have you cast a spell to make sure you aren’t just a talismancer, waving a staff around and calling yourself a Magus.” He finished writing, rolled and wax-sealed the parchment, and handed it to me. “This is my letter of recommendation. Give it to Mirabelle Ervine when you arrive.”

I took the scroll. “Just like that?”

He shrugged and smiled. “Skill in magic is too rare to squander, and too dangerous to leave untamed. Was there anything else?”

I already knew the answer, but I asked for the sake of appearances. “Would you happen to have any spell books you would be willing to part with for coin.”

He stood up and led me to an adjoining library. “Take a look.”

I came away with Calm, Magelight, Flame, Frostbite, and Lesser Ward. He left me there with a short lesson on meditation and breathing exercises to help ease the learning process. I still had a headache by the end; it wasn’t as bad as reading my first spell tome, but still an unpleasant migraine.

I was about to ask about any drill suggestions, when Majordomo Avenicii stuck his head in. “Good, you’re still here.” He waved me over. “The Jarl has asked to see you.”

Since I could see the throne, and its occupant from Farengar’s alcove, I refrained from asking ‘why’. I would know soon enough.

I remained on the lower level when brought forward. Avenicii took his place at the Jarl’s right side.

“My Thane M'Rissa, as well as my Captain of the Guard have reminded me that you have been very active in the defense of my hold.” He was not slouched in his throne, though he did lean towards Proventus. “It would be unseemly of me to leave such efforts unrewarded. I offer this armor, at the suggestion of my Thane.” He smirked towards the side of the Court, where I could see M'Rissa and Lydia dining at a side table. “She seems to feel this is a most appropriate and needful reward.”

The armor that was brought up was the same as worn by the city guards. I had only just started to think how cheap a gesture this was, when he continued. 

“I am also extending my mark of credit to you, to have this armor fitted, reinforced, and enchanted to suit your needs. You have my deepest gratitude.”

I bowed deeply in thanks, and to hide my shame from my earlier mulish thoughts. “Thank you, Jarl Balgruuf.”

I left as quickly as decorum allowed and headed straight to Eorlund at the Skyforge.

“Bah,” he sneered at the armor, “that cheapskate couldn’t even offer you a proper leather cuirass.”

“I think it’s as much about me wearing the Hold colors as it is anything else. I also got the impression he wanted me to send work Adrianne’s way.”

He scoffed and took the piece. “Smart, I suppose. So why bring it to me?”

I smirked and gestured at the Skyforge. “Because you are Eorlund Greymane. If anyone can turn this piece of munitions gear into proper armor, it’s you. Besides, it’s not my money.”

I left him laughing, with the promise that the armor would be ready for Farengar by tomorrow. I then headed to the Drunken Huntsman to wait for M'Rissa and Lydia.

I was into my second pint when they walked in.

“Dame M'Rissa, Dame Lydia,” I bowed from my seat, and indicated two more seats at the table. “If you’ve not feasted your fill, I can order you something.”

They sat and ate. The conversation was light, but M'Rissa’s tension was anything but. We departed and headed across to Lydia’s house. Barbas slipped in right before me.

“This one does not know if they have made a mistake or not,” M'Rissa said as she paced the common area. “The Jarl has been invited to a social gathering at the embassy of the Thalmor.”

I held my peace, and waited. Lydia picked up after a moment.

“The Jarl gets these invitations regularly, though he disdains them. He usually sends Proventus in his stead, but as the date falls on the anniversary of the death of Proventus’ wife...”

“He’d rather stay home close to his daughter,” I finished for her. “Did you volunteer, or were you voluntold?”

“This one volunteered, but was informed that it would be M'Rissa and M'Rissa alone. This one may not take anyone with her.”

I leaned back in thought. “I think we can work with this. When’s the party?”

“In a month,” Lydia said.

I nodded. “Okay. It’s what, a two day wagon ride to Solitude from here?” I smiled as Lydia nodded. “Alright; my suggestion is that Lydia, Barbas and I take the cart the week before. We can do some recon work, plus Meridia’s Temple is in the area so we can at least drop the rock off.” I smirked at Lydia’s sigh of Finally.

Barbas perked up at that. “You got stuck with Meridia’s Lemon? Oof,” he shivered and laid back down. “She don’t take kindly to being blown off, so if you go there you better be ready to go all the way. If you folks are serious about taking on a vampire lord, then Meridia’s the Daedra to have at your back.”

Lydia and I shared a look. “That’ll probably eat two or three days, but it should be doable. Once that’s done, we scout. There’s a cave under the Embassy that leads into Elenwen’s sex dungeon.”

Barbas barked a laugh as the ladies choked and glared at me.

“Hey, no kink shaming here. She’s just way too into hurting people for it to just be about the job. Anyway, after we clear the Troll,” Lydia growled at me. “I’m telling you a month ahead of time. So once the troll’s dead, we wait for the big day. Barbas can watch the front to let us know when you’re inside,” I nodded to M'Rissa, “then start barking to let you know I'm in position. Find some way to get everyone’s attention. Doesn’t matter if it’s on you or the Party letch. I sneak in through the basement, secure the evidence I’m after, then skedaddle. They shouldn’t be any the wiser until they start looking for what I take. After that, we meet up in Solitude to plan our next step.”

“What evidence are you looking for,” Lydia squinted at me.

“Elenwen’s dossier on Jarl Ulfric, proving she is the real instigator of the Stormcloak Rebellion.”

Chapter Text

As promised, Eorlund had my armor ready the day after he received it. I have no idea what magic he had to use, but the result was spectacular. Each of the leather lames of the outer scale vest was lacquered and embossed with the double headed axe symbol of the companions. The chain undershirt looked as if it had been polished, then blued like a gun barrel. Finally, the outer tunic and load-bearing straps had been cleaned and treated. The leather gleamed and smelled of linseed oil, while the tunic shone a golden yellow as if freshly dyed.

Jarl’s chit or not, I owed Eorlund and his wife something for their efforts.

I winced, then started planning as I knew the one thing they both desperately wanted: the return of their son.

Next it was back up to Dragon’s Reach for Farengar’s enchantment. This was far more straightforward, as I wanted an edge in my Restoration spells and rate I recovered from casting. As promised, his enchantment complete with a Grand Soul Gem was accomplished. Watching the process was as edifying as my short study of the dagger.

I lucked out that the Circle returned the week before I left, and that Skjor’s injuries securing the last fragment weren’t any worse. I rendered aid that first night, with Kodlak assuring me Skjor would be fit to travel by week’s end. Sure enough, I was inducted by the Circle the next night under dual full moons.

I may have gone temporarily blind from the party that followed. Lydia took great delight in leading me back to Breezehome, while yelling to ‘make sure I didn’t lose my way’.

I’ve never had an older sibling, but this must be what it is like.

Finally, the day arrived for our departure. I had packed my other armors, while purchasing a pair of leather gauntlets and boots from Warmaiden’s, and paying to have them fitted. I honestly don’t know how I looked, but I felt, for the first time, ready for the adventure ahead.

That readiness washed away in the mid Autumn rain. There was only so much my new armor's lanolin treatment could do. Lydia and I were a wretched pair arriving in Rorikstead that evening, followed by our equally wretched wet dog. Frostfruit only had one room available, so I slept on the floor using Barbas as a pillow. The innkeeper’s son saw our arrangement the next morning, and seemed about to make a comment that would land him or me in traction.

I waved him off as I had a hot breakfast. “I insisted on this trip. She didn’t appreciate it.”

A stale bit of bread bounced off my head, as if for emphasis.

While the rest of the trip was not nearly so dreary, it was still gray the entire way to Solitude. I spent almost all of it ‘flexing’: casting my various non-destructive spells until I ran out of magicka, waiting to recover, then repeating. As Danica had suggested, I was starting to feel how to move the power more efficiently. By the time we arrived, I could keep both my Muffle and Oakflesh up on a near constant basis, with enough Juice for two other spells if I had at least a minute to rest.

Once we reached Meridia’s temple, I had high hopes of adequacy. Seeing Lydia lifted up in the air on a column of light upon depositing the beacon was disconcerting, but I decided to make the most of my time. I entertained myself by trying a double-handed mix of my destruction spells. I had a passable Spark/Flame Arc-Jet when she finally settled back onto the terrace with me.

Barbas sat in front of us once Lydia was steady on her feet. “I know it’s a bad look and all, but I can’t go in there with you. Some of my master’s deals involved people becoming undead, and Meridia’s kinda... intense on the subject.”

Lydia and I sighed. “Fine,” I set my pack next to him, “keep an eye on our stuff.” We then wordlessly entered the temple.

“So,” I commented as we came upon the first desecrated corpse, “what are your feelings on looting the dead?” I knelt and removed a very heavy purse from the body. “Because unless I remember very wrongly, Malkoran paid these guys damn well to come here with him, and paid up front.” 

She snatched the purse out of my hand and pocketed it. “It's Malkoran’s money, and I intend to make him pay in full!”

And pay he did; or at least his hench ghosts did. Lydia was on a tear, and it was difficult to keep up with her while looting as we went. It was equally difficult to keep her hale and hardy as she charged into the various undead without any of the tactics I had come to expect from her. 

I had my first indication of why when we reached the balcony. Lydia stumbled forwards and heaved in exhaustion while holding her head. I came over and applied Calm directly to her forehead. She sank down onto the snow-covered bridge.

“Thank you,” she heaved out over and over. “She just won’t stop, won’t let me pause. She’s determined to kill Malkoran, and doesn’t care if I die in the process.”

I chuckled darkly. “That explains why her cult abandoned her. She is a Daedra.” I knelt in front of her and handed her a wineskin and an apple. “Anything I can do to help? That next chamber is a pretty twisted path, but after that it’s just Ol’ Mal, his stupidly powerfulI magic, and his mob.”

“What’s your advice?”

I shrugged. “Fuck honor, and shoot him in the back with a poisoned arrow.”

She sniffed, then stood up. “Works for me.” 

Lydia was willing and able to wait for me to open the next chest. By then, I had my Arc-Jet trick refined enough that I could use it like a cutting torch, though it was very bright and sprayed molten metal everywhere. I felt it was worth it, as amidst the coins and gemstones, were two Nordic daggers. 

We made good time through the next set of Orb-Locks, and I was more prescient of Lydia’s involuntary mental link to Meridia. One application of Calm after each orb seemed to keep her better in control.

Finally, we reached the ritual chamber. I readied one last calm, but Lydia put her hand up. “No, I think I’m going to need her rage for this one.”

“Alright,” I stepped back and got out my new dagger, and several of the bottles of poison I’d collected in the temple complex, handing one to Lydia that felt like it made the Magicka flee my hand. “Let me get into a flanking position, then we hit him from both sides. After that, it should just be mopping up.”

Lydia nodded as she soaked an arrowhead in the poison. I Muffled up, then poisoned a dagger and slunk into the chamber. I low-crawled between the shades and the chamber walls: dagger hilt clenched in my teeth, and sword slung across my back. I was riding high, Mission Impossible theme playing in my head, when I slowly stood behind Malkoran and stabbed him in the back. The air exploded out of him as his lungs collapsed.

Then a Shade erupted from his corpse and everything went to shit.

I scurried back out of its reach and drew my sword, only to be flanked by more Shades. My only saving grace came when Lydia came charging in, howling like a Bean Sighe and swinging for the fences. The shock of her Daedric inspired charge caused the Shades to spread in confusion. I downed a few before Lydia collided with Malkoran’s Shade. The Necromancer’s ghost was down in three blows. After that, it was just mopping up.

I looked at the human detritus around us, then to Lydia as she robotically walked up to Dawnbreaker’s pedestal. 

“Hey Lydia, you think maybe we could--”

She touched the sword, and vanished in a flash of light.

“Well...shit.”

It took me an hour to make it to the temple entrance, only to find it had collapsed. It was another half hour to get back to the balcony. I hiked over to where Meridia’s statue glowed with ethereal light.

“Dammit, mutt,” I heard Lydia’s muffled voice, “my Thane would never forgive me if I left him buried in there; now help me dig!”

Barbas barked from the terrace over the entrance. “What in Oblivion do you expect me to do to any of those: pee on them? Besides, he’s not in there any more.”

“No!” Something crashed. “I refuse to believe I left him there to die!”

I could imagine any number of maudlin daytime drama or slapstick sitcom moments I could play right then and probably get away with; but Lydia was a friend and deserved better. I walked over to the terrace and sat down over Lydia, who was trying to unbury the temple entrance.

“You didn’t,” Lydia’s head snapped up. “Meridia just snatched you out of there, because that ,” I pointed at the glowing sword at her feet, “is the only thing she cared about.”

Lydia sagged in relief as I climbed down and began healing her raw hands. “How--”

“The overlook balcony.” She pinched her eyes closed and nodded. “Yeah, it’s been a busy day. Got possessed by a Daedric Prince, destroyed a Necromancer and his undead cult, got yourself a sweet anti-undead sword, saved my dumb ass.” I looked around once I was done with her hands. “We still have a little daylight. How about we finish the walk to Dragon Bridge and get some real food and sleep in real beds? Tomorrow’s soon enough to start saving the world.”

She chuckled as we gathered all our gear. “Fair enough. You are paying; I did after all, ‘save your dumb ass’.”

Chapter Text

A warm meal and warm beds set us both in much finer spirits. Even Barbas was in a pleasant mood once we were moving.

“About time we got this deal of yours moving in the right direction,” he barked as we turned up the West Road leading past Meridia’s Temple. “The sooner we resolve all this, the sooner you can get me back to my Master.”

“Speaking of ‘getting this moving’,” Lydia commented as we turned north at Wolf Skull cave, “what exactly are we going to be doing? You know where this cave is, and you know what the threats are. So what else is there?”

“For starters,” I began ticking my fingers, “there’s a group of bandits holed up at a ruined shack near the embassy. I normally wouldn’t bother with them, but they’re squatting on a weapons cache I really want; plus, the cache will make for a good fallback point for when my plan goes sideways.”

“You expect your plan to fail?” Lydia kept the alarm out of her voice, but not the tension.

“I’d rather have a contingency and not need it, than be scrambling for one while being chased by Elenwen’s goons.”

Lydia nodded. “Fair point. Second?”

“Second is that I don’t know precisely where the Reeking Cave is.” Both Lydia and Barbas growled. “Hey, it’s not like I have some magical map in my head with points of interest conveniently highlighted. Elenwen doesn’t want people to know where the cave is precisely because it’s a potential backdoor into the embassy.”

We continued on for another several hours before coming to a gentle turn in the road. “Okay,” I mumbled as I looked towards a bluff overlooking Solitude, “he should be right about-aha!”

I marched into the trees and towards a stone outcropping. Perched on the edge was a charred corpse.

“Who was that,” Lydia asked as I solemnly approached the cadaver.

“This was the former resident of the house the bandits are occupying.”

“What?! Bastards!”

“What?” I looked at her in confusion for a second. “Oh, no; the bandits didn’t do this.” I knelt behind the body. “He lost his family in a vampire attack; spent the last years of his life hunting them back, until he contracted the disease himself.

“ Our father, who art in heaven...” I intoned the Lord's Prayer, pouring as much Magicka into my words as I could in the hopes that he could find some peace.

Once finished, I felt around the remains of his coat. “He came out here, doused himself in oil, and watched one last sunrise, rather than become what he hated most. Here it is.” I held up a key, as the body turned to dust and ash.

We continued silently up the road, hugging the west side as we passed the cart path leading to the Embassy. We didn’t see any Thalmor as we moved farther up the hill. Finally, we came to the last turn.

I looked back at Lydia and Barbas. “Unless you have a better suggestion, here’s my plan: Barbas goes to those pine trees and starts barking. When the bandits come out to see what’s what, Lydia and I flank them. Good?”

There were no objections, and the first part of the plan succeeded: three bandits came out, all carrying shields and axes. Lydia and I rushed in, with Lydia concussing one with her shield while fencing the second with her old Frost Blade. My bandit was either very new, very drunk, or my efforts with Vignar and Farkas had paid serious dividends.

The plan started faltering when Lydia took an arrow in the leg. I looked up to see a steel-clad, greatsword wielding Nord charging down the hill, bellowing about ‘Skyrim belonging to the Nords!’

I moved up and met him, sword on sword. The answer to my earlier question came as I casually deflected his charge, and countered with a strike Farkas would have danced around. This Nord simply took a sword to the forehead.

Then I took an arrow to the hip. There are no words to describe that kind of pain, but I gave it the old college try. I tried to raise a Ward against the archer’s next shot, but the Magicka wouldn’t flow right. Figures they’d use poison specific to Mages outside the Thalmor Embassy!

She never got the second shot, as Barbas launched up the hill like a rocket. It’s best not to dwell on the sounds muffled by the ruins of the cabin. I dragged myself over to Lydia, as she was carving the arrow out of her thigh.

She looked over at me. “At least you can heal us both.” She must have seen my uncertainty. “You can heal us both, right?”

I gestured to my wound. “Not with this poison in my system. I could take afFFFUUUCCCKKK!” I screeched and then bit down on my gauntleted hand as Lydia carved the arrow out of my hip.

“There,” she wiped the blade off on a felled bandit, “now it’s out.”

“The arrow's out, but the poison isn’t,” I ground out. “Get in my bag: I should have some clean linen wraps, and several small healing potions I scavenged from Meridia’s place.”

She did as asked and handed the items over. “Will they be any good? They’ve been in there for gods’ know how long.”

I applied the contents of one phial to a linen rag, and placed it directly on her wound, then bandaged it in place. “Even diminished potions can have a significant effect if placed directly to the injured area.” I rolled onto my back and heaved in exhaustion. “Haven’t been studying with Danica for...”

I must have passed out, because I woke up lying on a bedroll in a cellar. There was candlelight coming from inside an iron caged area. I sat up and groaned, my hip aching where I had been shot. I found an inexpert bandage over the wound, and a linen gauze soaked through with blood and healing potion. The wound itself was just an angry red spot on my hip.

“Gods Damnit,” I jumped a little as Lydia hobbled out of the cage. “Could you go one day without nearly dying on me?”

I allowed her to help me up. “I assure you, no part of my plans ever includes, ‘get shot’. Thank you, by the way.” I gestured to my hip. 

She smiled at that, then looked around the space. “Well, I can see why you wanted to secure all of this. It’s well stocked and quite defensible.”

There was a scrabble from the roof hatch. Barbas jumped down once Lydia opened up. “I smelled a couple of Sabercats, so I led em’ to the corpses. They’ll drag them to their dens. Anyone comes looking, it just looks like a pack of bandits bit off more than they could chew.”

I reached down and scratched behind his ear. “Good thinking.”

He panted and wagged his tail happily for a moment, then shook his head and stood up. “Hey, none of that! I ain’t no house pet.”

Lydia and I chuckled before looking at the cage. “We should leave most of this behind until we’re ready to leave; then we empty it out. I don’t want the Thalmor coming after random Dawnguard or Vigilants because they happen to be carrying crossbows. 

“We should probably get some sleep. My Magicka should be recovered by then, so I can finish healing us both. Then we can get to searching for the cave.”

...

The Reeking Cave turned out easier to find than I thought: we’d missed it the day before while hugging the far side of the road past the embassy. It certainly lived up to its name. I used some of my spare linen cloth to fashion a pair of masks for myself and Lydia with crushed Snowberries, like medieval plague doctors.

“Okay,” Lydia sneered through her mask, “given the smell I can guarantee there’s at least one troll in here. How do we deal with it?”

“Like hunting boar or bear.” I drew my sword and prepared my Flame. “Barbas, I need you to head in first and bay it. Keep it turned around as much as possible. I’ll go in and light it on fire, while you,” I nodded to Lydia, “staple it to the cave walls. Deal?”

Lydia frowned but drew her bow. “Deal.”

I nodded to Barbas, and we headed in. For once, the plan went off without a hitch. The stench was ten-fold once the Troll’s fat caught fire, and the cave began filling up with smoke until I extinguished the noxious pyre. It took an hour to find the exit chute the Thalmor used to dump people amongst the troll’s detritus. It was just a hole slightly above head height, but a shot of Magelight let me see the hatch.

Dozens of feet above.

“That climb’s gonna suck.”

The only pieces of salvage were a few coins, a book I vaguely recognized, and a nearly depleted Lightning Bolt staff. I dragged a mostly intact and frozen horse ribcage under the hole, and we went back to the hideout to wait for the party in two days. My endless magic drills were wearing on Lydia. I thought I was getting pretty good at playing the Toccata and Fugue in D minor using Spark between my hands. Or maybe she was just tired of being cooped up. 

When Barbas scratched on the hatch to let us know the guests were arriving, I changed into my Dark Brotherhood getup and dagger ( a longsword would be too cumbersome to climb with), and we made our way to the cave. I began the tedious climb up the shaft. Once I was at the top and braced, I remembered a key detail of the hatch: it was locked and there was no way to pick it, especially from the wrong side. Still, I felt confident in my Arc-Jet spell combo to make short work of the latch.

“Hiram,” Lydia’s voice echoed up the chute, “Barbas has started!”

My Arc-Jet cut cleanly through the lock, and I lifted the hatch...

Right into the face of a curious Thalmor in armor. I barely maintained my brace, as I grabbed his collar and stabbed him in the eye. The hatch landed on his head with a dull thonk. It took another minute to wrangle the corpse down the chute and out of my way. I then scrambled out of the hole and closed the hatch as gently as possible. If nobody had come to investigate yet, I wasn’t going to invite attention. 

Now that I was inside, I wanted to get Ulfric’s Dossier as quickly as possible. The room had several cells, one of which was occupied by a brutalized Breton, a desk and a chest. I wasn’t above a little good samaritan work, so I opened the cell using a key on the desk.

“Stop, please! I don’t know anything I...oh.” The man opened his eyes and became very calm. “I see; I’ve outlived my usefulness to Maven. I ask that you show more mercy than these Thalmor--” -clink- He stared vacantly at his freed wrists.

“You are not my goal today. The tunnel is clear.”

“Thank you,” he babbled as he crawled out of the cell. “I owe you my life.”

“That you do,” I whispered. “I value my anonymity, so see to it I never have cause to take back that which is mine.”

He stopped babbling and just nodded, then dropped down the shaft.

Now that the distractions were done, I Muffled and Oakfleshed, and began searching the space. There were interrogation letters mentioning Esbern, but not the dossiers I wanted, so I headed upstairs. I could hear some arguing from the foyer, so I risked a Clairvoyance while nobody was listening. What I wanted was on the top floor, of course , so I began searching. 

I had just found and perused two folios and a sheaf of notes in a chest, when the voices from downstairs ended very abruptly. I pocketed all, and found a convenient shadow. Another shadow slunk into the room and began silently rummaging. A woman’s voice swore softly when they apparently didn’t find what they were after. Then they froze, and slowly turned to face me.

“I have no quarrel with you,” she said as she drew her knife, “but don’t think I will die quietly.”

I now recognized Delphine of Riverwood, one of the last two surviving Blades in Tamriel. I stepped slowly out of the shadow, my hands empty. “You are correct,” I kept my voice low, “I do not have a quarrel with you. My prey is much more august than the last vestiges of the Akaviri; though, not the only one.”

She tensed and pointed her dagger at me. “Speak plainly while you can.” Despite her age, I had no illusion she could and would kill me without effort.

“There is yet one more of your order here in Skyrim. A man named Esbern is hiding deep within the Ratways of Riften, though I know not for how long.” I handed Delphine’s dossier with the sheaf of notes tucked inside to her. “Elenwen’s agents have deduced his location, and move to secure him as we speak.”

We both tensed as the downstairs door was thrown open, and metallic footfalls echoed about. There was some indistinct shouting, and one panicked voice, then the footfalls moved to the basement.

“The proof of my words is in the chest downstairs, as is our escape route and your ally Malborn.” I swept past her and drew my dagger. “Whether you believe me or not, our paths align through his captors.”

We both slunk down the stairs as a trio of Thalmor yelled at the dungeon below us, oblivious to our presence.

“You’ve nowhere left to run! Your accomplice has already told us everything, Stormcloak filth! Stop hiding and face us!”

I grabbed the nearest soldier under their arms and pulled them back, then stabbed them in the throat. I left the dagger where it was, pointed my hands at the next Thalmor from under the arms of the first, and Arc-Jetted her. While the Flames didn’t catch anything else on fire, and the Spark didn’t disrupt their Magicka, the concentrated heat of the Jet cut through their armor like a knife through a rare steak. The third Thalmor was readying a counterspell when Delphine stood behind them and slit their throat.

I could see Delphine weighing just killing Malborn and myself, and knew I had to distract her if I wanted to survive.

“The evidence you seek of Esbern’s whereabouts is in that chest,” I pointed at the trunk next to the desk, while retrieving my dagger. “The interrogation transcripts from this chamber’s last unfortunate occupant.” I grabbed the shell-shocked Malborn by the elbow and slipped past Delphine as she moved to the trunk. I leaned in as we came to the hatch. “If you value your life, head down the tunnel and run before she decides you are a liability.”

He gave a panicked nod, then slid down the shaft. I glanced over to see Delphine’s relieved and triumphant smile, before jumping down as well. I ran and grabbed Lydia as soon as I saw her.

“No time to talk, back to the hideout!”

We arrived without incident, and shuttered ourselves inside.

“What in Oblivion went on in there?!” Lydia paced the room while I pulled out and pursued the two folios. “That hole rained bodies for five minutes. Was any of this worth it?”

I held up a hand and read aloud.

“Ulfric first came to our attention during the First War against the Empire, when he was taken as a prisoner of war during the campaign for the White-Gold Tower. Under interrogation, we learned of his potential value (son of the Jarl of Windhelm) and he was assigned as an asset to the interrogator, who is now First Emissary Elenwen. He was made to believe information obtained during his interrogation was crucial in the capture of the Imperial City (the city had in fact fallen before he had broken), and then allowed to escape. After the war, contact was established and he has proven his worth as an asset. The so-called Markarth Incident was particularly valuable from the point of view of our strategic goals in Skyrim, although it resulted in Ulfric becoming generally uncooperative to direct contact.

“Direct contact remains a possibility (under extreme circumstances), but in general the asset should be considered dormant. As long as the civil war proceeds in its current indecisive fashion, we should remain hands-off. The incident at Helgen is an example where an exception had to be made - obviously Ulfric's death would have dramatically increased the chance of an Imperial victory and thus harmed our overall position in Skyrim. (NOTE: The coincidental intervention of the dragon at Helgen is still under scrutiny. The obvious conclusion is that whoever is behind the dragons also has an interest in the continuation of the war, but we should not assume therefore that their goals align with our own.) A Stormcloak victory is also to be avoided, however, so even indirect aid to the Stormcloaks must be carefully managed.”

Lydia slumped to the ground. “By the gods, Jarl Ulfric is--”

I nodded. “An Aldmerii Dominion puppet. The Stormcloak rebellion is nothing more than a Thalmor plot.”

Chapter Text

We stayed bunkered for two days, before packing up the total contents of the hideout and making our way to Solitude in the dead of night. Lydia was understandably quiet, having learned that the folk hero of Skyrim, Ulfric Stormcloak, was a Thalmor ‘Manchurian Candidate’.

We dragged ourselves through the gates at an ungodly hour and secured a room at the Winking Skeever. We didn’t wake up until lunch. Since neither of us intended to wage a pitched battle in the city, we opted for simple clothes rather than robes or armor. We ate lazily, hoping M'Rissa would show up from whatever she had been doing while we had been hiding. In the meantime, we ate and listened.

“I still can’t believe the Thalmor are accusing Erikur of spying on them!”

I perked up a little as two people at the bar chatted.

“I heard that he was trying to seduce one of the serving girls to let him into Elenwen’s private chambers. Got caught and outed in the banquet hall in front of everyone!”

“No! Why would he do that? He knows how dangerous the Thalmor are.”

“Pff, like that’s ever stopped him from getting handsy before. Gisli’s happy as a Khajiit in a barrel of Moonsugar, though. I think she hopes to assume his title in the Court.”

That at least explained the commotion at the party, though I felt there was something off. The sequence of events was in line with what we had planned, but that didn’t take into account Delphine. By this point, she would have to know that M'Rissa was the Dragonborn, and that she was a Thane of Whiterun. Would Delphine have abandoned her at the party for nebulous intelligence?

I finished my lunch and tapped the table. “I’ve never been to Solitude, so I’m going to go see what’s what. Meet you back here at sundown?”

Lydia nodded. “I’ll stay here and keep an eye out for her.” With Barbas watching our things, we had little to fear from thieves.

I smiled, paid and left. The day was much more pleasant than the last few had been, so the stroll through the market square was a nice change from musty dungeons. I next headed up to Castle Dour, and to the Temple of the Divines.

“Stendar’s mercy does not extend to those who give truck to Daedra or their ill-begotten spawn!”

I could see a Vigilant standing near their shrine, haranguing any parishioner who got close enough.

“Greetings my child,” a priestess bustled up. “We welcome you to the Temple of the divines.” I glanced over her shoulder to the armed priest shaking a fist at a retreating couple. She gave a strained smile as she glanced over her shoulder. “We are... blessed to host a Brother of the order of the Vigilants of Stendarr.”

“Really?” I gave her a side eye. “I thought the Vigilants kept to themselves and avoided cities.”

“They do,” she sagged a little, “generally, but their order has recently shifted its focus. So now,” she waved helplessly, “they’re here.”

I smiled and bowed. “I’ll just pay my respects, and let you return to your meditations.”

I stopped by the Shrine to Kynareth, then headed over to the Stendarite.

The Firebrand Preacher saw me coming and focused in on me. “You, citizen; do you revere the Divines in your heart, or merely pay lip service while darkness sweeps the land?”

Going full Pat Robertson ‘Fire and Brimstone’, are we?

“I pay all due homage to the Divines; I would not be alive were it not for Kynareth’s beneficent grace.”

He stood a little taller and thumped his chest. “Then surely the plight of Skyrim’s very soul must drive you to weep at night! Daedric spawn most foul creep through our lands, spreading corruption and heresy wherever they go.”

I had an inkling of where they were going, but I didn’t want to jump to conclusions. “I would think there would be more response if Daedra walked openly across Tamriel once more.”

“Not all Daedric spawn are so easily recognized.” His voice lowered to a conspiratorial hiss. “The misbegotten creations of the Dread Lord Molag Bal, called Vampires, can roam these lands at night with impunity! The shadows hide their subtle malformations, as they seduce and consume all before them.”

I dipped into my limited repertoire of theater acting from high school, and recoiled in shock. “That is terrible! What can be done?”

The preacher stood back up, a flicker of relief on their face. “To the east and south, in the Rift, stands Stendar’s Beacon. Our ancient order gathers there, and the fortress below, to martial our forces and drive out this vile darkness! Journey you hence and join in our noble Crusade!”

I nodded, smiled, and broke eye-contact as the Vigilant latched onto another hapless devotee. At least I knew my efforts with Brother Adalvald were not wholly unsuccessful. I left as quickly as I could without drawing his attention back to me.

From there, I headed towards the Bards College. I didn’t necessarily intend to join, but I did hope I could get access to their library and any rumors they had heard. The streets were thankfully clear of grouchy nobles and madmen.

There was nobody waiting in the lobby, though I could hear at least two ongoing classes upstairs. I entertained myself in the small adjoining library. I found one book on dragons that mentioned another text specifically on Dragon Language, though the book itself was not in the library.

“Can I help you,” a gravelly voice asked from behind.

I turned and smiled at the tall elf, Viarmo. “Yes. I’m visiting Solitude and was curious about the Bards College.”

“The Bard’s calling is not one to be taken as a dalliance. What would be your area of interest?”

“The spoken and sung word: oratory, rhetoric, and of course song. A close friend of mine has recently become embroiled in local politics, and I wish to be able to help them in court.”

“Interesting,” Viarmo stroked his chin. “Most students who come here desiring to expand their skill in order to sway audiences, do so with the tavern in mind. Few think how a skilled tongue can impact decisions, or a whispered word change the fate of nations.”

He breathed deeply before nodding. “I can definitely see my way to admitting you within our ranks. I would like to give you a small test; something in line with your interests.”

Here it comes, find the Epic Waterlogged Book, then BS the--

“You are aware of the recent social event at the Thalmor Embassy, yes?” I nodded silently. “Well, it has come to the attention of the College that there was a rather unseemly disturbance. This coincided with a possible breach of diplomatic immunity. In addition, one of the guests, a new Thane from Whiterun, never arrived.”

I strained to keep from freaking out as Viarmo started pacing. “Obviously, Jarl Elisif and the Imperial Governor are both quite put out, and accusations are flying this way and that in court. If you could find the whereabouts of this missing Thane, perhaps it could shed light on the disturbances at the Embassy.” He stopped and looked at me pointedly. “Hopefully before General Tullius decides to march on Whiterun and make a more... direct inquiry. 

“Think you are up to it?”

I gave a sharp heel click and bow. “It will be done.”

...

I entered the Winking Skeever and headed straight to Lydia’s table. My distress must have been written plain on my face, because she stood and grabbed me before I could speak. “Come along, dear . Whatever you have to say, you’ll say in private.”

Once we were inside and alone, she spun on me. “I know that face. What doom have you wrought now?”

“M'Rissa never made it there.”

“What?!” Lydia stormed up and lifted me off the ground by my lapels. “What do you mean, ‘she didn’t make it there’!?”

For a moment I was tempted to hit her with a Calm so we could work the problem rationally. Another part of me wanted her to let me have it. I’d failed all of us, and now my friend was missing.

But self pity wasn’t going to find her.

“Exactly what I said,” I groaned. “She never made it to Elenwen’s party, and now Jarl Elisif and General Tullius suspect her for Delphine and I breaking in.”

She shook me once, then dropped me and began storming around. “Why wasn’t I there? I was sworn to protect her!” She spun and pointed a finger at me. “This is your fault! If I wasn’t out here helping with your mad scheme, then--”

“Then what,” I tried to keep my tone as even as I could. “We have no idea why she didn’t make it to the party. It could be as simple as a broken wagon wheel, or they could have been waylaid by a dragon. We just don’t know.”

“Because we weren’t there,” she all but bellowed as she pushed over the bookshelf. She stumbled over to a chair and collapsed in it.

I looked down in shame. What could I say? That it was for a greater cause, or that she would have been helpless to prevent whatever-

I squinted and bent down. One of the books, a pristine black bound copy of ‘The Book of the Dragonborn’ lay apart from the others. A single sheet of irregular parchment stuck out. I pulled it out and saw a single black handprint and the words, ‘I know’ hastily scrawled on the bottom.

I rushed downstairs as fast as I could and ran up to the proprietor. “Did a Khajiit stay here in the last four days?!”

He lurched back from my outburst. “What?” 

“Did I stutter?! Was there a female Khajiit here four days ago, yes or no!”

Some of the other patrons had come out of their seats when Lydia came into the room behind me. I caught sight of her hand on the hilt of her sword, glaring at everyone including me, but with the barest hint of desperate hope. “Hiram?”

“Y-yes,” the innkeeper stuttered. “She stayed in the big room I gave you two, and was gone before anyone awoke. She’d already paid, so I didn’t care!”

I panted for a few seconds. “Thank you. Thank you very much.” I patted him on the shoulder, then turned to Lydia and gave her the note. “She made it here . Now we just have to find her. Come on, we’re leaving!”

I ran back upstairs and grabbed everything I could hold.

“Trouble, boss,” Barbas asked as I rushed around the room.

Lydia came in after me. “Hiram, what is this?” she brandished the note.

I finished putting on my Jarl-gifted armor and started cinching my sword. “ That is Astrid’s calling card. She’s a fucking deva and can’t help but indulge in theater. She must have sent the note to M'Rissa at some point, and M'Rissa left it in that, ” I pointed at the Dragonborn book, “in the hopes that one of us would find it.” I paused and looked at the gobsmacked Nord. “Get packing; I know where to at least start looking for her!”

Lydia did as asked, though she still looked skeptical. “And where would that be?”

I got my pack onto my shoulders, and grabbed the Lightning Bolt staff. “Astrid has a shack in the middle of the swamps of Hjaalmarch. She takes people there to be killed or coerced. She took M'Rissa out of this room ,” I stomped one of my feet for emphasis, “and that’s the closest place for her to go.”

We both ran out of the inn, then out of the gates and down to the docks. I spotted a Jolly Boat on the end of the pier. “We’ll take that across, then overland to Astrid’s Murder-Shack.”

Lydia grumbled as she followed me. “‘Astrid’s Murder-shack’, ‘Elenwen’s Sex-Dungeon’, ‘Meridia’s Temple of Doom’; can’t we go anywhere normal?”

“What, like a Temple of Mara or something?”

“Only if I get to drown you in the Holy water!”

A man was walking towards the Jolly Boat as we ran up. “”Hey, what are you--”

I tossed a random gemstone at him as I hopped in the boat. “Keep the change. Lydia!”

There was a thunk, and the boat rocked with Lydia’s and Barbas’ weight as we drifted into the current. We both madly paddled for the far shore. Once there, we jogged up the rise to look out over the distressingly wide expanse of the marshes of Hjaalmarch. Barbas chose to stay with the boat, citing his deal with me not including finding the Dragonborn.

I closed my eyes and concentrated on my Clairvoyance spell. “Give me a moment to concentrate.”

I was grabbed and hauled. “No need; we follow the Dragon!”

My eyes snapped open. “The what?!”

Sure enough, a serpentine form could be seen in the distance, swooping over the outflow of the marsh into the sea.

I was very thankful for my earlier meditations to Kynerath, because Lydia set a brutal pace. After two hours, we could make out the shape of a small structure that seemed the focus of the dragon’s ire. It swooped down and towards us, as we readied our weapons. As it passed near us, I lashed out with the Lightning Bolt Staff, while Lydia laid into it with the Ebony Crossbow and exploding bolts.

- ROAR -

I was nearly driven to my knees by the scream of rage from the winged beast, but I fired again. It winged away and began circling. I looked frantically for some manner of cover, and saw an old Nordic ruin.

“Lydia, this way!”

“Go to Oblivion,” she snarled as she cocked the crossbow.

“We can’t help her if we’re dead, and it can only get at us from one direction in there!”

“RRAAGGHH!” She fired another quarrel, then turned and ran for the entrance of the ruin. I followed as fast as I could while blasting with the staff. I dove inside and just missed being frozen solid. From there, I switched to the Elven Crossbow, and we peppered the beast every time it tried to strafe us.

The beast finally tired of our sniper-camping, and landed directly in front of us. Lydia and I both dropped our crossbows and took up our swords, as well as my staff. There was only one charge left. It glared at us balefully, then opened its maw to flash freeze us. I Jammed the staff down its throat and fired. It let off a garbled shriek and snapped its jaws shut, swallowing the staff. Lydia came around and slashed at its eye, causing it to reel back again.

“ Wuld! ” A lithe figure ran up the dragon’s spine, then trapped a wing elbow in a leg lock and broke it . 

The dragon lurched back dragging its broken wing, trying to track all of us with its one good eye, while hacking around the staff stuck in its throat. It lunged to seize M'Rissa, but Lydia collided with it, shield first. I came around and slashed at its other eye. It reared back and tried to roar in pain, but M'Rissa darted in and kicked at a bulge in its throat. There was a crunch , and the dragon gurgled for a few seconds before flopping to the ground.

We waited a moment to see if it would move again, when it began to very rapidly decay. Wisps of energy swirled around us, until they rushed into M'Rissa. There was a clattering sound, as various bits of everything imaginable fell out of the crumbling mass, including my staff.

I ignored all of that as I went to hug my friend.

“No!” M'Rissa pointed a claw at each of us. “No hugs until you bathe. You reek of burnt troll,” she sniffed at herself, “and this one has been wading through the swamp for two days.”

“My Thane,” Lydia said as she knelt in front of M’Rissa, “I beg your forgiveness for failiow-ow-ow-ow!” She stood back up as M'Rissa pinched her earlobe.

“Mrissa-Dro is too tired for all of this nonsense. Baths, food, sleep, then this one will hear unnecessary apologies.”

“Well,” I put my hands up placatingly, “we may need to see the authorities first. The Embassy job went sideways due to Delphine of the Blades being there, and you not. There’s some pretty nasty allegations, and threats against Jarl Balgruuf.”

Lydia’s eyes went wide. “What?!”

M'Rissa snorted and held up a wet sack. “Then it is good this one has a solid alibi.” She looked over at me. “You said a Commander Maro would pay a blood-price for the Dark Brotherhood?”

It took us all day to scavenge the dragon corpse, then return to the Jolly Boat and paddle up to Dragon Bridge. M'Rissa unceremoniously kicked in the Penitus Oculatus barracks, and tossed in the sack which spilled out the head of Astrid. “This one understands there is a bounty for the destruction of the Dark Brotherhood?”

We bathed, we ate, we slept, and we headed out to Solitude the next morning with a letter from Commander Maro.

“So, tell this one how your week went?”

...

We headed directly to the Blue Palace and presented ourselves and our evidence to Jarl Elisif.

“This is,” she looked up at the three of us. “Did you three really destroy Astrid and the Dark Brotherhood?”

I was about to speak, when Lydia elbowed me. I remained silent.

“M'Rissa-Dro and her compatriots have indeed dealt blows to the Dark Brotherhood, but there are still,” she looked back at me, “two?” I nodded, and M'Rissa faced Elisif again. “Two more members at large.”

Elisif passed the document to Falk Firebeard. “Still, this is a tremendous victory for all good people of Skyrim, and a relief to me. I shudder to think what might have transpired had this evidence not come to light. I want you all to consider yourselves my guests here in the Blue Palace.”

Chapter Text

We only stayed for one day, though that was a very tense day; specifically, the banquet that evening. After being run down to Radiant Raiments for bespoke finery and Altmer condescension, we spent the rest of the day touring the city at a more leisurely pace. Lydia remained right beside M'Rissa the entire time, while shooting me distrustful looks.

I took the opportunity to introduce M'Rissa to Viarmo. He in turn formally inducted me into the Bards College as an Apprentice.

“As I said before,” Viarmo said as we headed out the door, “being a Bard is a lifelong calling, and requires dedication equal to that. When you are ready, the College will be here. Until then, we are open to you.”

After that was the aforementioned banquet. The food was delicious, the entertainment quite diverse and skilled, and the conversation was lively. The difficulty was with one of the other guests: General Tullius, Provincial Governor of Skyrim.

From the moment he sat down, he stared at me. M'Rissa was spared a glance, but his focus was on me. He made no effort at conversation until we broke into social groups between courses. He stood, glared at me, then moved to one of the quieter alcoves.

Let’s get this over with.

I walked over to the alcove and waited.

“I remember you from Helgen.” His voice was calm, but hard as steel. “You knew that dragon was coming. How?”

I knew I needed him to trust me later, if I wanted to effect a real peace in Skyrim. I couldn’t outright lie to him. 

“I have been made aware of certain events, and the signs which point to them. Alduin is a big one...”

“Alduin,” he barked quietly. “The World Eater, Alduin?”

“Yes; and before you ask, neither the Aldmerii nor the Stormcloaks had anything to do with his coming. This was just his time.”

He relaxed the tiniest bit. “I want so badly to believe you on this; I’ve had nightmares about Stormcloaks invading Cyrodil while riding dragons.” His posture stiffened again, though this was more formal than readying for a fight. “Still, I can’t just take your word for it.”

He hesitated for a moment, then stood tall. “I should apologize to you, and Thane M'Rissa. You were right to chastise me in Helgen; I firmly believe that Ulfric needs to pay for what he’s done, but that doesn’t excuse executing bystanders simply because they were there.”

I gave a curt bow. “I accept your apology to me, though I can’t speak on M'Rissa’s behalf. As I said, I know of events based upon the signs, and the execution at Helgen was one of them. I don’t know if there was any way to avoid that moment.”

He snorted and eyed me skeptically. “Omens and prophecy are something I leave to the Synod. I don’t suppose...”

I could tell what he was implying. “I’d be less than useless to you in a tower in Castle Dour. By the time a report of an event came in, it would already be too late to do anything about it.”

“Hmph, figures.”

We returned to the table, and dined in peace.

The next day saw M'Rissa, Lydia and I on a cart bound for Whiterun, Barbas trotting dutifully behind. It was tense, with Lydia glaring at me the entire way. By the time we arrived at the stables, M'Rissa was at her wits end.

I know this because she grabbed both Lydia and I and marched us into Lydia’s house.

Lydia spun out of her grip as soon as the door was closed. “I don’t want him in my house!”

“And M'Rissa-Dro does not want you two fighting like teething kittens, yet here we are!”

Lydia pointed at me and all but screamed. “He almost got you killed!”

“How?” Both of us were rocked back by M'Rissa’s almost conversational tone. “How did Hiram nearly get this one killed?”

“Astrid!” Lydia glared at me. “You didn’t warn her about Astrid!”

“The hell I didn’t,” I had taken my fill of abuse for the evening. “I told you everything about Astrid, including the fact that she was a Master Fucking Assassin! She doesn’t ever show up until after a sequence of events that includes the cold blooded murder of a widow in Riften. We bypassed that, and at your demand, hit the Sanctuary first.” I could see Lydia bristle at that, but I was on a figurative roll. “I should have known better, I’ll cop to that; I know how dangerous Astrid was, and didn’t account for it. But there was literally no way to find her before then.”

“Don’t you dare blame me for this!” Lydia was across the room in an instant.

The next instant, we were both on our knees with our shoulders nearly out of our sockets.

“Enough! You have both said your peace, now this one will say hers.” She frog marched us both to a pair of chairs, and sat us down before letting go. 

She looked at Lydia. “Your oath is to protect this one and all she owns, yes?” She waited for Lydia to nod. “M'Rissa-Dro has now fought and killed one of every beast that walks, swims, or flys upon Nirn, as well as some that are not of Nirn. This one does not need protection.” 

She pointed a claw at Lydia before the Nord could speak. “She appreciates you both, but this one has proven to both of you that she does not need coddling. This one also owns nothing but what she carries. All that is left is what this one values, and that is you two.”

She looked me in the eyes. “What this one needs is allies because there is so much wrong, and too few to help make it right. We will, all of us, make mistakes. We are not gods. We can only do what is right. Agreed?”

Lydia and I looked at each other, both chagrined at having to be chastised like children. “Agreed,” we said as one.

“Good,” M'Rissa dragged another chair over. “Then let us plan our next steps.” She looked at me.

I glanced at Lydia, who squinted at me until M'Rissa snapped her claws at us. “Were you Khajiit, this one would tie your tails together until you learned to get along. Where. To. Next?”

I sighed and closed my eyes. “The Rift. I met a Vigilant of Stendarr at the Temple of the Divines in Solitude.”

Lydia hummed thoughtfully. “They usually avoid cities. What was he doing?”

I opened my eyes and looked at her. “Recruiting. He mentioned Stendarr’s Beacon, and an old fortress it overlooks. That has to be Fort Dawnguard, which means at least some of the Stendarrites listened to Brother Adalvald. He specifically mentioned vampires, so I think they are planning an assault on Dimhollow Crypt.”

“And we don’t want them to do that, why?” Lydia went back to squinting at me.

“Because of the sheer number of lives that would be lost, not to mention potentially driving Serana into her father’s arms.” Both ladies looked at me expectantly. “Sorry, I forget what I have and haven’t told you at times. Serana is a Daughter of Cold Harbor in cold storage, along with an Elder Scroll.” Lydia gurgled a little bit. “Her father is a ‘Pure Blood’ Vampire who is obsessed with a prophecy that details how to blot out the sun. The Elder Scroll has one part of that prophecy.”

Lydia nodded. “So we need to get the scroll away from her.”

“Yeah, good luck with that.” That earned me a glare. “Serana is a direct creation of Molag Bal. Anyone tries to take the scroll from her, and she’ll make finger paint out of them. She can even stand toe to toe against her father; she just doesn’t know it yet.”

Lydia growled in frustration. “I take it the same is true if we tried to restrain her?”

“Imagine when you were younger, and didn’t know what type of man Hrongar was, and I came up and forbade you from seeing him. Assuming beating me to death with my own dismembered fist wasn’t an option,” that got a snort that could almost have been a laugh, “what would you have done?”

Lydia’s glare softened. “I’d have run to Hrongar’s arms.”

“Exactly. Serana has to see for herself what her father has become, otherwise she will become his greatest asset. If, however, we help her get home, we become sympathetic allies compared to Harkon’s bloodthirsty ramblings.” 

I frowned as I remembered the route we would have to take to get to Volkihar, and the debt I owed Eorlund.

“This one knows that look,” M'Rissa sighed. “What else is on the way?”

I shot Lydia an apologetic look. “There’s a Thalmor controlled fort on the coast nearest to Serana’s home. Eorlund Greymane’s son is a prisoner there.”

Lydia grimaced, then sighed. “How many Thalmor?”

“I don’t know, less than an army, but more than a handful.” She shot me a sour look. “It’s not like I keep count of the number of people that need to be killed to get a job done. I’m not a psychopath.”

M'Rissa held up her hands to quiet us down. “This we will address once we are there. Should we retrieve the Vampire first?”

“No, Isran’s paranoid. He was formerly a Vigilant of Stendarr, but broke away and formed the Dawnguard because the Vigilants weren’t extreme enough.” Lydia started coughing at that. “If we show up to join, and then a Vampire shows up asking for us by name, he’ll likely go right off the deep end on everyone.”

M'Rissa sighed and nodded. “Very well.” She glanced out one of the small windows. “There is still light. We should make what preparations we can today, then secure the coachman to Riften tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

The four of us stood outside the gates of Riftin. The late evening chill was made all the worse by a cold rain.

“How badly do we want to sleep in a bed tonight?”

Both Lydia and M'Rissa shot me dirty looks, though Lydia eyed the gate guards with distrust. “Riften has a... less than savory reputation, my Thane.”

M'Rissa strode up to the gate. “This one has been to seedier cities.”

“Hold, cat,” one of the Guards stepped forward. “You want to enter the city, you need to pay the visitor’s toll.” His partner leaned against the wall and chuckled.

I could see M'Rissa’s hackles come up, while Lydia’s hand drifted towards her sword.

I sighed theatrically. “We really don’t have time for this. Barbas, bite his balls off.” Everyone tensed up.

“What? No!” Barbas sat and growled lightly. “I can smell the Pox from here; no way I’m puttin that in my mouth.”

The guards instantly backed up against the gate. “That dog talked!”

“No,” I cast Oakflesh on myself, and readied Magelight in my off hand for the obvious effect, “that former Gate Guard talked. Just open the gate.”

The second guard pointed at Barbas. “I know what I heard! I’ll tell the Vigilants!”

Lydia laughed in his face. “Really? A city guard for the Skooma capital of Skyrim is going to go on a rant about talking dogs?” The guards both wilted at her contempt.

“Besides,” M'Rissa purred, “it sounds to this one as if you have,” her eyes darted to his crotch, “greater concerns.”

“Fine,” the Pox guard unlocked the gate. “Welcome to Riften. I hope you get robbed blind!”

We entered the home of the Thieves Guild in Skyrim. The Gate Guards flinched back as Barbas snapped his jaws at them.

Lydia glanced at me as we walked. “Was that really necessary?”

“No, but it felt good.” I frowned and looked at Barbas. “He did bring up a point, though. We can’t take Barbas into either the Fort or Beacon.”

“Bah,” Barbas kept his voice low, “I’ll just head to the cave ahead of you. Where is it, anyways?”

“East of the Shrine of Mehrunes Dagon. Just follow the mountain path, and it’ll be on your right.”

“Right,” he turned towards the canal lock, “I’ll go ahead and go there now.” He ran to the end of the boardwalk and jumped into the lake.

We headed into the Bee & Barb and were almost instantly accosted. 

“Repent, sinners,” a Vigilant harangued the tavern. “Have you not seen the signs? Dragons rule the skies of Tamriel! Even Kyne’s sacred grove is not spared from Akatosh’s winged wrath! Turn away from your poisons and games of chance!”

We did our best to squeeze past the evangelical and approach the Argonian at the bar.

“We require room and board for the evening,” M'Rissa placed a hand on the counter, a hefty gemstone peeking from underneath. “Preferably a room with locks.”

The Argonian lady patted her hand and palmed the gem. “I think I can get a room available. Follow me.”

We did as asked and began weaving between patrons when a redheaded man approached us. Our hostess began raising her frill in a threat display; but before either could speak, another man came up behind the redhead. 

“Brynjolf! You know how things work here: no working in here, right?” He looked at us... no, at me in a mild panic, and I finally recognized him from the cell in Elenwen’s dungeon.

I gave him the faintest of nods, and he heaved a sigh of relief as he led the frustrated Brynjolf away.

The Argonian relaxed her frill and hissed. “Maven’s people get bolder by the day.” We continued up the stairs and were admitted to a room with a very large, obviously communal bed. She then handed M'Rissa a key. “I hope your time in the Rift is profitable.”

We settled into the room and peeled out of our traveling cloaks.

“I may have a bit of an issue, though I don’t know how bad yet,” I said as I draped my cloak over a chair back.

“It has to do with one of those two men from the bar,” Lydia asked, a hint of accusation in her voice.

I nodded. “The second one was one of the escapees from the Embassy. When he first saw me, he mentioned ‘Maven’ seeing him as a liability. I wasn’t certain till now, but I think he meant Maven Blackbriar.”

“I’ve heard of her,” Lydia said as she pulled off her mud encrusted boots in favor of softer shoes. “She’s a powerful businesswoman.” 

I nodded. “And the de facto head of the Thieves Guild, as well as pretty much everything else in Riften.”

Lydia paused and looked over. “You were in your Dark Brotherhood getup at the time, right?”

“Yup, and a member of the Thieves Guild assumed I was there on Maven Blackbriar’s orders. As I said, I may have an issue.”

M'Rissa hissed lightly. “Then let us leave her territory as soon as possible. We have more important business than the machinations of a would-be Cartel boss. But just in case,” she passed a knife over to me. 

It was a narrow blade of blackened steel, with what looked like flecks of blood clinging to the blade: Astrid’s Dagger, the Blade of Woe.

I frowned as I sheathed the fel weapon. “Great, now I have the full set.

“Exactly,” M'Rissa went back to securing her gear for the evening. “Should the worst come to pass, you can effectively pass yourself off to those less knowledgeable.”

I grimaced. “I don’t know if we can count Maven amongst them, but here’s hoping.”

Lydia snorted. “You always think of something. This time won’t be any different.”

The evening passed without incident, and we were ready to move with the dawn. As we approached the gates, a bull of a man lurked under the eaves of one of the houses. He caught sight of us.

“Hey, you; come over here. I want to talk to you.” There was absolutely no subtlety in his tone, and several people rushed on their way like a Western shootout was about to happen.

“Keep going, but stay in sight in case this goes sideways,” I whispered and palmed the Blade of Woe, as Maul stalked towards me. I started to retreat towards a small alley, out of everyone's view.

“You’re new here. Maven wants--” He had just caught up to me, when I walked into him, pressed Astrid’s dagger into his hip and spun him around. His eyes widened slightly as he backed up until colliding with the wall. “That’s a big mistake buddy. I work for--”

“I know who you are, Maul, and I know who you work for.” I kept my voice low and emphasized my annoyance with a slight twist of the blade; just enough to draw blood and a hint of its dark magic. “If you are nearly as important to Maven as you intimate, then you should know what this dagger is, and who it belonged to, yes?”

His eyes darted down, then grew a little bit wider. “I know it.”

“Good. You wanted words? Hear mine: tell Maven Blackbriar that whatever deal she had with Astrid, died with Astrid. Say it back.”

I saw genuine fear in his eyes, and for a moment it was as sweet as honey. The spell was broken as he repeated my words back, and I fought the urge to throw up.

“Good,” I choked down my bile, “I will be most upset if I have to have this conversation again. Good day.”

I resheathed the dagger, and marched back towards the gate. Once we were all outside and out of view, I lunged for a tree and dry heaved.

I felt M'Rissa’s hand on my back as I regained my composure.

“I don't want to be that man. I hate that man. What the hell?!”

“This is good,” M'Rissa rubbed my back as I got my nerves under control. “ That man is a terrible creature. It lurks inside all of us. He is a useful servant, but a terrifying master.”

I coughed a few times, and finally stood up. “Yeah, well he really likes this city, so let’s get the hell away from it.”

“Who was he,” Lydia asked as we stepped onto the road.

“The goon in town?” She nodded and looked expectantly. “His name’s Maul. He’s Maven Blackbiar’s right hand, which means she’s going to feel the sting of that conversation.”

Lydia frowned. “That will be a problem for us.”

“Maybe,” I fidgeted with the Blade of Woe. “A good chunk of Maven’s power is predicated on her ties to the Dark Brotherhood; the unspoken promise that she can find and end you anywhere, any time. That’s not the case anymore.” I resheathed the blade and tucked it away. “We’ll see how that shakes things up.”

It took the rest of the morning to walk to the entrance of the Dayspring Canyon where Fort Dawnguard was hidden.

Or would be, if two Vigilants weren’t standing outside in full harness. Even from several feet away, I could feel the various overlapping spells and enchantments coming off the pair. Clearly the Vigilants were taking the vampire threat very seriously.

“Hold, citizens,” one Vigilant stepped forward, while the other rested a hand on the mace at their hip. “You approach the stronghold of the Dawnguard of the Vigil!” I could hear the possessive emphasis in his tone and wondered what it meant for the two organizations. “What brings you here?”

A puckish mood almost overcame me, as a dozen movie quotes ran through my head at that moment; half of them from ‘Blazing Saddles’, and therefore guaranteed to get our collective asses beat. Luckily for us, the indecision on which snark to end my life on meant M'Rissa could take the lead.

“We are warriors from Whiterun Hold. We have encountered vampires menacing the innocent in our travels, as well as holy warriors who opposed their scourge. We have come to join in that good fight!” Both Lydia and I stood just a little bit taller after her declaration.

Both Vigilants relaxed a little. “Your zeal is admirable sister. Enter and present yourselves to Brother Isran; he will determine if you are worthy of the Dawnguard.”

M'Rissa glanced at me as we walked through the almost idyllic canyon. “What should we expect once we get there?”

I couldn’t help but frown. “No idea; every time I’ve seen this moment, the Dawnguard was a breakaway faction. The Vigilants would have been decimated with the loss of their hall in the Pale. Isran is always very hostile towards the Vigilants because they ignored his warnings. Now,” I looked at M'Rissa and Lydia, “I don’t know whether we’ll see a rejuvenated militant order, or Isran digging his heels in because the Vigilants are trying to take over.”

As Fort Dawnguard came into view, we could hear the sounds of construction. A wooden stockade was in the process of being set up, while a lanky blonde Nord in a gray Jack-of-Plates bustled around. 

“No, you need to brace it here and there, otherwise this wouldn’t keep out my Pa’s goats.”

We slipped past the young Nord wrangling his Vigilant work crew and continued up to the fort proper. There were more Dawnguard standing watches at the keep, who waved us through.

A pair of bald men, one Redguard and one Nord, were arguing in the entrance foyer.

“Damn you, Isran, we have to go back!” Tolan’s voice cracked with stress.

“With what men,” Isran growled out. “You Vigilants swooped in and all but occupied my fort, and set my Dawnguard to work repairing your beacon, when they should have been out scouring the countryside for Vampires!”

“This is about vampires!”

“No, this is about--”

“ AHEM .” Both men’s heads snapped towards me. “Is this a bad time? Should we come back later?”

Both men squared themselves away. Isran moved closer to us. “Who are you? What do you want?”

I looked at Lydia and M'Rissa, who both subtly nodded. Guess they also think this deserves some snark. “We were considering taking up arms and joining the Dawnguard; but if all we’re going to be doing is building palisades, we can do that back in Whiterun.”

Isran shot Tolan a nasty look, then got a Cheshire grin. “No, I think you are exactly what is needed! The Hall of the Vigilants was recently attacked; at least one Vigilant was abducted to, where was it, Tolan?”

Brother Tolan ground his teeth but nodded. “Dimhollow Crypt. Brother Adalvald warned us about a possible Vampire expedition for a Daedric artifact there. Keeper Carcette sent most of us to scout the cave out, but we were waylaid by a vampire pack on the mountain. Barely half of us escaped, only to find the Hall in ruins, Keeper Carcette dead, and Brother Adalvald missing. We retreated here, and are trying to recover our strength, but Brother Adalvald is still missing, and the vampires are unchecked in the Pale.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Isran nodded. “You want to join the Dawnguard? Head up to the Pale and see what these vampires are after.” He turned back to Tolan and waved vaguely around. “You can stock up on anything you might need. And here, take a--” He started to pass us a steel crossbow, when Lydia and M'Rissa unlimbered the Ebony and Elven crossbows valorized from the hideout near the Embassy. “-ahem- Yes, well, anything else you need, just take it and go.”

We headed deeper into the fortress to stock up and get M'Rissa out of kicking distance of Isran. There were a number of random armor pieces lying around the fort, and tucked away in a bookshelf was the prize I was really after. I settled onto a bunk in the sleep room, performed the preparatory meditations Farengar had taught me, and opened the Sun Fire Tome. The effect was similar to a sinus headache, rather than a blinding migraine, but I finally had a spell that was genuinely deadly to undead.

I met Lydia and M'Rissa by a large map of Skyrim, and we planned our route.

A week and a half later, after hiking nearly the breadth of Skyrim, we stood at the entrance to Dimhollow Crypt. Barbas trotted out and sniffed around us.

“You guys alone?”

Lydia theatrically looked around. “No one here except us Dawnguard of the Vigil.” 

Barbas scowled as best a dog could. “Yeah, very funny. So, I snooped ahead a little bit. Couldn't get too far, cause they’re sealing gates behind them as they go. There’s a pack of four vamps and a pair of Hell Hounds in that first chamber. After that, I got no clue.”

“I do, but thanks. Four in the entryway is a little bit of good news.” Lydia snorted, and I side-eyed her. “It means Tolan didn’t get here ahead of us and get himself killed. That they're still here, means they haven’t opened Serana’s casket, so we might also have a chance to save Adalvald.”

We snuck in and arrayed ourselves along a shelf facing a barred gate and the vampire pack. Barbas continued slinking up, until one of the Hellhounds started sniffing the air.

-THWANG-THWANG-FWOOSH- “GRRRWOOWOOWOOCRONCH”

Two crossbows and a Sun Fire bolt launched a trio of vampires against the cavern wall, while one Hellhound ragdolled into the cave’s glacial spring. Barbas launched himself at the last vampire, and I torched the last Hellhound. I was genuinely surprised at how little the spell drained me. Danica’s drills may have been exhausting, but they definitely worked.

“All good up here,” Barbas barked as the cadaver at his feet swiftly decomposed to ash.

Lydia smirked and cocked her crossbow. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“Yeah, now we just have...” I silently counted the various chambers and the vampires that would be--

“Well,” Lydia huffed, “how many.”

“Damnit, you made me lose count; they’re scattered all over the place in here.” She didn’t like that answer as I started counting again--

“Too many,” M'Rissa walked out of an adjacent structure as the iron gate began to rise, “the answer is ‘too many vampires’.” She cocked her crossbow. “Let us correct that issue.”

We stalked through the crypt chamber by chamber, hallway by hallway. Where in the game I would have searched every alcove for possible loot, this time we only paused long enough to catch our breath and heal our wounds. We finally arrived at the main chamber, where I heard voices from below...

“I’ll never tell you, Vampire!”

Before Lydia or M'Rissa could say anything, I charged and leapt over the ledge, raising my Ward as I Five-Star-Frog-Splashed on top of Lokil. The second vampiress and their thrall flinched back, though she wasn’t fast enough to avoid a cut to the stomach. 

“Move!”

I rolled off of Lokil at M'Rissa’s bellowed order and maintained my ward as two alchemically charged bolts slammed into Lokil and the vampiress: he dissolved into bones and dust, while she was hurled into the water below. That only left the--

“ BOWOWOWOW! ” Barbas collided with the orcish thrall in a near perfect Belgian Malinois throat take down.

I resheathed my sword and turned to the lone human, hands alight with Healing Hands. “Brother Adalvald.”

“You?” The stunned Vigilant looked up in a daze. 

“ YOU!” M'Rissa thundered up behind me. “Finish up there and get over here so this one can kill you!”

I didn’t bother to milk my work and stood up to face the music. 

I was surprised as Lydia came to my defense. “Now, my Thane, let’s not be hasty. That was a tremendously valiant and--”

M'Rissa turned her aside with a glare. “Reckless and stupid thing to do!” She was on me in a proverbial flash, claw jabbing in my sternum. “This one has seen it too many times before: another lays down their life because this one ‘can still go on’, or this one ‘has their whole life ahead of them’. Well so do you !” She reached up and grabbed the back of my head and pulled me into a bone cracking hug. “You are not expendable! M'Rissa-Dro will lose no one else to this stupid notion.”

I returned the hug as she shook. “I can’t promise you anything. It’s a stupid-guy notion, I know. But it’s in there deep and it's going to pop up from time to time. You’re important; not just to fate or the universe, but to me and I’m going to do stupid shit from time to time to protect you. I’ll try to remember that, at least to you, I matter.” I squeezed her a little harder.

She growled and pinched my earlobe lightly. “That will have to do for now.” She let me go and stood back. “So, how many more vampires to go?”

I nodded to the circular Gothic platform in the center of the cavern. “Just the one we came for. Though there’s a whole circus sideshow of skeletons, Draugr, and a couple of Gargoyles for good measure.” 

Brother Adalvald stood shakily. “What do you mean, ‘the vampire you came here for’?”

I looked at Lydia and M'Rissa, all but willing them to let me try to explain. Lydia held her hands up, stepped back and crossed her arms. M'Rissa gave a worried nod and tensed for a possible fight. Barbas just sat on his kill and panted.

I turned back to Brother Adalvald. “The ‘Vampire artifact’ all these bloodsuckers came here for: it’s a girl. Her name is Serana, she’s a Daughter of Cold Harbor, and was interred here by her mother with an Elder Scroll to keep it and her from her father.” I gestured to Lokil’s ashes. “He’s the one who sent this lot after her and tried to wipe out your order.”

“A Daughter of Cold Harbor?!”

I saw the panic and default fanaticism creeping into his face, and knew I had to nip that in the bud. “Yes, as in a child who was put through a degrading, debasing ceremony by her mother more than a thousand years ago without her consent or understanding.”

“She is an abomination! The Order of the Vigilants--”

“She is an innocent who was transformed against her will, and you cannot proclaim to serve Stendarr while spitting on his most basic and fundamental tenet: Mercy. ”

“Why are you trying to spare her life?!”

“I’m trying to spare yours .” Adalvald gawped like a goldfish, and I dove in headfirst. “She is unimaginably powerful, but she was transformed when she was still a child. She was given no chance to grow into a rational woman, before her humanity was stripped from her by the people who were supposed to protect her from the world. If Harkon’s minions get to her first, or if we try to strong-arm her, then that’s it: she’ll run straight to Daddy dearest and never look back. If that happens, we’re all dead.”

I grabbed him by the shoulders and shook, subtly calling up my Spark. “If we are to have even the slightest chance to win, then we need to give her the two things she has never been given by anyone else: mercy, and a choice. We give her that chance, and we’ll have already won.”

I heaved a sigh of relief as he closed his eyes and nodded. I let go of his shoulders and pushed the spell away from my hands. Instead, I rummaged in my pack and pulled out my old faithful Novice Robes, Hood and shoes from Helgen. “Here, it’s not the best, but no sense in surviving everything else and dying from exposure once we’re done here.”

As he was dressing, I toed the remains of Lokil, and found a pair of ornate bottles filled with a red liquid I’d really rather not think about. Serana’s going to be parched when she wakes up. It would be better than her looking at us like walking twist-top bottles.

We all made our way to the platform that contained Serana’s sarcophagus. I walked up to the pedestal in the middle, then turned to face everyone. “Okay, this thing is a bit of a vampiric cipher lock.” I grabbed a bone off a nearby skeleton, readied a Blood-Potion, and pressed the top of the post. As soon as the spike came out the top where my hand would have been, I poured the potion on the spike. I could feel that the spell lock was trying to draw continuous power, which depleted the potion almost immediately. I felt a tingle of magic running through the platform’s floor, but not enough to trigger the array. 

“Of course that wouldn’t be enough, you filthy piece of...” M'Rissa and Adalvald looked at me oddly as I swore stream of consciousness style while rummaging in my pack again. I came up with a Curative Potion, a linen wrap, and a bottle of Colovian Brandy I had liberated from Fort Dawnguard’s kitchen. I triggered the spike again, cleaned and sterilized it with a shot of Brandy and another of flame. I then took off my gauntlet and cleaned my own hand.

Brother Adalvald came over as he figured out my intent. “Is this wise? Perhaps there is another way.”

I passed him the Brandy and sighed. “Alduin the World Eater is returned because ancient Nords kicked the cosmic can down the ages; Miraak, the first Dragonborn and ancient Dragon Priest is trying to claw his way out of Apocrypha so he can rule the world as an immortal god-king; the Mages College of Winterhold is digging up a pre-first age arcane artifact that could wipe out the continent if poked wrong; and a pure-blood vampire lord is trying to trigger a prophecy that will blot out the sun. Wisdom is taking a back seat on this one.”

I pressed down on the pedestal.

- SCHINGK-

“MOTHERPUSSBUCKETGODDAMNEDSONNOVABITCH”

-SCHINGK-

I slid down the side of the pedestal, as I felt the magic array link with and draw upon my natural stores of Magicka to power up. I took the Brandy back from the stunned Vigilant and downed the rest of it, then the Curative, then healed my hand. 

M'Rissa came over and helped me stand up, then pinched my ear. “What were you thinking?!”

“I was thinking that I couldn’t in good conscience ask anyone else to do that; and I’m currently thinking I’m going to invent time traveling magic, just so I can find the asshole who designed this thing, pick his brain and then feed him his teeth !” I kicked the pedestal, then headed to the first brazier and began opening the lock.

Once the last brazier was in place I looked at Barbas, who reluctantly moved and stood beside Adalvald while the platform shifted to reveal the central stone casket. I walked over and looked at M'Rissa. “Could you give me a hand with this?” 

“Why?” She came over just as the casket face retracted, and lunged with me to catch the striking Nord woman who fell out.

“Easy there, Serana,” M'Rissa and I helped her sit on one of the stone tiers. I passed the remaining blood potion to her. “I don’t know if this is corked or not, but it’s the best we’ve got.”

She gulped the potion down like a frat boy on pledge week, then leaned back in the terraces. “Thanks.” She paused for a moment and looked at me and M'Rissa as we sat on either side of her. “Who are you? You know my name.” She tensed a little. “Who sent you?”

I smiled as disarmingly as I could. “I’m Hiram. This is M'Rissa, the current Dovahkiin , that’s her Housecarl Lydia of Whiterun, over there are Brother Adalvald and Barbas.” I pointed to everyone in turn. “ I sent us here because of that,” I flicked the end of the Elder Scroll, “little fragment of creation. There’s a lot going on right now, so let’s get you up to speed. Do you remember who the High King of Skyrim was when you were laid down?”

She wrinkled her brow. “I... think it was Nurnhilde? Or maybe she was High King before.”

It was my turn to frown. “That’s, what,” I looked at Lydia, “late Second, early Third Era?”

Lydia nodded dumbly. “Almost a thousand years ago.”

I gave Serana a pained smile. “So yeah, there’s been some changes. Let’s focus on current events, shall we?”

It took about twenty minutes of question-and-answer, carefully dodging any leading questions.

“So,” Serana looked back and forth between me and M'Rissa, “are you here to take me back to my father, or to kill me?”

“Neither,” M'Rissa purred gently. “We are here simply to release you, and let you decide.” Adalvald shuffled uncomfortably, causing Barbas to shift a little more in his way. “There are some that would argue against this choice, but this one has lived before devoid of choices. She will not take choice away from you.”

Serana looked uncertainly at her hands for a moment. “I...no one’s ever given me a choice.” She looked up at M'Rissa and me. “I want to go home. I want to see my father; see what he’s become. I have to believe daddy’s,” she choked up for a moment, “that my father is still in there somewhere.” 

I nodded, stood up and gave her a hand up. “Then that’s where we’ll go.”

I could see Brother Adalvald bristling, and Barbas generally being in his way. I left Serana with M'Rissa and Lydia and headed over to the Vigilant.

Barbas stood and moved to my side as I placed myself between Adalvald and Serana. “You disapprove.” There was no question.

His face screwed up like he was being tortured. “Why?! Why are you doing this? She will take the Scroll to him! ”

“Because this is the only way to ensure she doesn’t leave it there with him. You heard her: no one has ever given her a choice. Not her father, not her mother, certainly not Molog Bal. By giving her this choice, we are giving her the chance to be better than everyone else in her life.”

He shook his head, and I could see doubt and fear in his eyes. “But how can you know she will be better?”

I absently scratched Barbas behind his ears. “I don’t. But a very wise man from my homeland once said, ‘Hate is always foolish, and love is always wise’.” I looked over my shoulder to where M'Rissa and Lydia were helping Serana get settled. “Always try to be nice, but never fail to be kind.”

...

Once we had exited Dimhollow Crypt, Brother Adalvald chose to head his own way.

“I must meditate on what has transpired,” he said as he settled a satchel of supplies on his back. “I should also return to the Hall of the Vigilants and give Keeper Carcette a proper burial.”

From there, we made the eight-day trek across Hjaalmarch and the Kilkreath Mountains, and finally to the sea. 

“There it is,” Serana pointed to a mist obscured shape across the water. “Home sweet... castle.”

While everyone else squinted at the fortress in the distance, my eyes were locked on the one much closer. Northwatch Keep dominated the approach to the jetties we were ultimately heading towards. 

Lydia noticed my distraction. “That’s right, you said Thorald was being held by the Thalmor. This is the place?”

Serana looked in confusion. “What about that ruin?” The vampiress squirted in the dusk light.

I heaved a sigh. “You aren’t the only child that’s locked away from their family. The son of a man I greatly respect is being kept there.”

I gritted my teeth as I glared at the fort. “The Thalmor took him because he’s a Nord, and they’re keeping him because they can.” I looked at everyone else. “I can’t ask anyone to do this. This is effectively an act of war, and I can attest to how sadistic and vindictive a bitch Elenwen is. I have to do this, because saving the world while abandoning the people that live in it is unacceptable.”

“Enough, Hiram.” M'Rissa patted my shoulder. “This one will help. M'Rissa-Dro is a Thane of Whiterun, and the defense of its citizens is her duty.”

Lydia huffed, then nodded. “I am sworn to M'Rissa’s service: her fights are my fights.”

Serana looked at us all, then her home, then back at us. “Eh, it's on the way. Might as well.”

I sighed in relief. “Thank you all. This was going to be a real pain in the ass if it was just me and Barbas.” Barbas growled. “I know, I know.”

“How are we doing this,” Lydia asked.

I gestured at the fort. “Given our resources, how would you do it?”

She rubbed her chin. “I doubt that the fort will have a sub level, due to potential flooding. There’s probably not more than a dozen troops, and we can see six of them in the yard and on the Palisade.” She considered the sloping ground in front of us. “If we could draw them out to us, we’d have a better chance than fighting them inside the bailey.”

I smirked at her, then leaned into Barbas. “Wanna have some fun?”

Five minutes later, we were arrayed in a staggered line facing the fort. We all watched breathless as Barbas brazenly walked up to the Thalmor at the gate, barked once, then peed on him and ran right towards us. I will give the Altmer language this: even when swearing to high heaven, it sounds sublime.

We watched as a line of Thalmor ran after Barbas, with only one guard staying on the wall to watch the spectacle.

-THWONK-

The charging Thalmor didn’t hear Lydia’s shot, nor the lone sentry’s death rattle as they fell off the rampart. They were halfway up the rise when M'Rissa struck. 

“FUS, ROH-DAH!”

My Lightning Bolt Staff blasted the lone Justiciar while he was still in the air, while Lydia and M'Rissa shot two more dead the moment they hit the ground. The remaining two tried to rally; then Serana resurrected one of the crossbow victims, who set upon their former comrades like an animal.

“WULD!”

M'Rissa flashed into the last standing Thalmor soldier and folded him like a dishrag over her fist.

We policed the bodies for any clues or evidence we might leave behind. A quick search of the various troops netted little but a single ring that tingled in my hand. Slipping it on, I felt an elemental rush. We stealthily approached the entrance to the fort’s interior but heard nothing. We entered, with Barbas remaining outside. The late hour meant that all the remaining troops were either bedding down or eating. 

I slunk as close to the door as I could, my Muffle proving its worth, then stepped into the room and let loose with an Arc-Jet. I swept it back and forth; the augmented Flame melted the armor to those wearing it. Their dying screams drew the few remaining Thalmor, who were no match for a seasoned pit fighter, an enraged Nord Battle Maiden, and a ravenous vampire. Within a minute, the fort was still.

“Hello?”

I turned from my charnel work and headed to where a man was chained to a wall.

“Thorald Greymane, I presume?”

Thorald sagged as much as his chains would allow. “Thank the gods; I feared I would never see a friendly face again.”

I smiled and started examining his restraints. “Well, I owe your father, and I was in the area.” I looked over my shoulder. “Do any of them have a key on them?”

Serana peeked her head out of the dining chamber and gave a weak smile. “I found part of a key.”

I grimaced and took my gauntlets off. “Oh well; it can’t be stuck if it’s a liquid.” I readied my double Sp-Ark Welder trick. “Now I need you to remain very still .” The manacles were much more substantial than the hinges on the various chests I had used the technique on before, but it still only took a minute to cut through the metal on both wrists.

Thorald looked at me in surprise as he rubbed his sore limbs. “You a mage?”

“Aspiring mage. Were there any more prisoners?”

He led me back to a chamber with several occupied cells. A much more restrained Arc-Jet made short work of the various locks. Once everyone was accounted for, and every nook and cranny ransacked, Lydia and I retrieved all the battle dead and brought them back inside the fort.

Lydia eyed the various torched locks and manacles. “You know you leave very distinct handiwork.” She looked over at me. “She’ll know it was you.”

I looked at the cell block, and felt the cold air leaking in. “That’s why I’m going to bring the whole house down: let the rubble muddle the evidence. Alright everyone, outside.” Once the chamber was clear, I began alternating Frostbite and Flame on the loadbearing walls. Once I heard the first crack , I ran for the rear exit.

I got outside just in time to see the fort’s semi ruined tower collapse in on itself, burying the evidence in tons of masonry.

“Thank you all,” Thorald and the rest of the former prisoners shook all our hands. “What can I ever do to repay you?”

“You can come with me,” I clapped him on the shoulder.

M'Rissa and Lydia shared a concerned look, though Thorald simply beamed. “How could I refuse my savior? Where are we going?”

I turned and faced the Kilkreath Mountains. “Home. Your parents are worried sick about you.” I could see Lydia’s relief, though M'Rissa’s worry shifted. “Your Mother in particular. She’s almost daily picking fights with Olfrid in the streets.” I turned and faced Thorald again. “See your family, assure them you are hale and whole. After that, you are your own man. What say you?”

He chuckled and nodded, then moved over to the other escapees. M'Rissa took his place.

“What are you planning?”

I sighed and leaned on the wall, then stood up when it shifted and leaned on a nearby tree. “I’m planning to head to Winterhold. I’ve been putting that off for too long; I need to know how far along the Saarthal expedition is, so I can plan accordingly. Besides,” I nodded towards Castle Volkihar, “we’re getting to the point where it’s diminishing returns to have us all in the same place.”

She grimaced, then nodded. “This one does not like this, but she understands. Be careful and think before you act.” She smirked and gave my ear a pinch.

I chuckled, then clasped her arm and shook. “I’ll send a courier to Stenndarr’s Beacon as soon as I have any progress to report.”

She nodded, then we walked over to Serana. “You’ll be okay?” I nodded towards the castle in the distance.

Serana glanced worriedly over her shoulder. “I think so. I can’t thank any of you enough for this.”

“Think nothing of it,” M'Rissa patted her shoulder. “Should you require aid, this one can be contacted at Riften, and that one,” she pointed her thumb at me, “will be at the Mages College in Winterhold.”

I smiled, then turned to the escapees. “Alright little ducklings, let’s get y’all home.”

Chapter Text

The escapees disappeared into the wilds of Whiterun Hold as soon as we came to Rorikstead. Thorald stayed with me as promised, and we entered Whiterun just as the gate guards were changing for the evening.

“Hail, Companion,” Tor called as I passed him. “I haven’t seen you in town in... Thorald?!”

I shrugged. “It’s been a busy month. Excuse me, but I have some business to attend to.”

Tor simply bobbed his head as he let us through. Various people were moving about as businesses shuttered and the mead halls opened. Over the bustle of Whiterun, we could hear raised voices in the market.

“‘Holding him’? Why I’ve got him in my cellar; he’s my prisoner!”

I could see Olfrid Battle Born and his son Idolaf’s backs as they loomed over a woman who I knew was Thorald’s mother, Fralia. I tapped Barbas and whispered, “Go to Jorrvasker; bring Hircine’s hounds.” Barbas bolted up a side street.

“Easy, Gray-Mane,” I put a restraining hand on Thorald as we walked. “You swing on Olfrid in the streets, and the Jarl will be obligated to arrest you. Swing on his son, and he’ll have to hand you over to Imperial authorities.” There was a part of me that warned word of this would make it back to Elenwen, but it was impossible to argue with Thorald’s desire to be reunited with his family.

I could feel him bristling, but there was a certain satisfaction in the Battle Born duo being completely unawares as we stopped and stood behind them.

“Come on father, there’s nothing more to be said here.” Idolaf turned his father around, and jumped back as he saw Thorald and myself. “Thorald!” His hand went to his sword.

Olfrid’s eyes went as big as saucers before he grabbed his chest and began gasping in shock.

Fralia finally saw Thorald, and collapsed onto her cart.

“Mother!” Thorald leapt around the Battle Borns and caught her. “I’m here, mother!”

I moved casually around and placed myself between Idolaf and Thorald. “Stay your hand Battle Born. As you said, you have nothing else to say here.”

Idolaf scowled. “Stand aside, Milk Drinker. This is Imperial business.” 

“What is?” I kept my tone conversational. “Is a long lost son being reunited with his mother an offense in the Empire?”

He was about to draw his sword, when his eyes went as wide as his father’s.

“Thorald,” I heard as Eorlund Gray-Mane stumbled down the steps to the market square. Several other steps could also be heard, along with Barbas’ panting and one familiar voice.

“Gods damned Milk Drinker did it again!”

I smirked and chuckled at Aela’s favorite name for me. I then locked eyes with Idolaf. “Take your father and go.”

Idolaf’s scowl deepend as he lifted his father off the ground and retreated down the hill.

Once I was sure they were staying gone, I turned to face the family reunion and the Companions. Eorlund had wrapped his prodigal son and wife in a fierce hug, as they all cried in joy. The Circle of the Companions all stood in a protective semi-circle, either basking in Eorlund’s joy, or staring at me. Kodlak’s look was calculating, while Aela simply looked gobsmacked.

I decided the scene was dramatic enough. “Aela! You chased off those mean-nasty Battle Borns and saved me again! I could hug you!”

She snorted. “And I could shoot you, so let’s not.” Barbas gave a canid barking laugh and sat next to me.

I smirked and looked around. “Perhaps we should move this reunion off the streets? I’m certain seats at the table in Jorrvaskr can be made available to Fralia and Thorald.”

“An excellent idea,” Kodlak helped the Gray-Manes off the ground. “This is certainly a night for feasts,” he shot me an unreadable look, “and tales.”

We did indeed retire to Jorrvaskr. For once, I could indulge in Tilma’s various roasted meats. And of course, tales were told.

“So before either Thane M'Rissa or Lydia could do anything, I leapt over the banister and tackled the lead vampire. Nearly died there.”

“I’m not surprised,” Vilkas said around. “Taking on a vampire on your own is no mean feat.”

“Oh, no.” I waved him off with a rabbit leg. “I threw up a Ward just before landing on him; didn’t feel a thing, but M'Rissa was pissed!” The hall broke in laughter. “She came down the stairs and laid into me like my own mother during my stupider childhood antics.” 

“I certainly know that feeling,” Fralia said from Thorald’s side. “The stories I could tell from his youth...”

“Come now, dear,” Eorlund reached over Thorald to take his wife’s hand, “we only just got our son back. No need to embarrass him to death.”

The evening eventually wound down, with the Gray Manes returning to their home, and most of the Companions retired until all that was left was me, Barbas sleeping by the fire, and Kodlak.

“I must ask,” he handed me a horn of mead, “how long have you known Thorald was taken?”

I watched the fire absently. “Since before coming to Skyrim, just like I knew about the nature of the Circle, the Silver Hand’s plot, and a hundred different schemes and tragedies all happening at once.” I sighed and drank deeply. “Every day, I wake up and have to choose which disaster to avert, and which to let stand so I can do the most good. When an opportunity like Thorald’s comes along, I have to take it.” I finished my mead with one last drink. “In a world where you can be anything, be kind.”

Kodlak snorted. “Your kindness has earned you a debt that is not easily repaid.”

I grimaced. “It will also earn me some enemies not easily thwarted.” I stood and paced. “Idolaf will certainly send word to his superiors about Thorald’s return, and my association. That will get back to the Thalmor, and they have recently suffered some embarrassments.”

“Let them come,” Kodlak growled. “Unless they send their entire force, or the Dark Brotherhood, they will fall before the Companions!”

I smiled and saluted him. “I sincerely doubt they will send troops over this; it would implicate them in something that I’m certain they don’t want coming to light. They'll try to rely on political leverage that Balgruuf will rebuff. His neutrality depends on it. 

“As for the Dark Brotherhood...” I fished the Blade of Woe out of my pack and set it on the table.

Kodlak reached out and plucked the dagger off the table. “You?!”

I shrugged. “I can’t take credit for that kill. Astrid kidnapped M'Rissa, and M'Rissa came away from it with Astrid’s dagger. The only member still at large that’s a threat will most likely come after me.” I took the dagger back and stowed it. “Which is one of many reasons I will be leaving on the morning coach to Winterhold.”

“Hm,” Kodlak nodded and stood. “Well then, know that whenever you call, the Companions will answer.”

...

I was in a car, or a bus. The perspective was off, but I was driving. The back was full of people. Some were happy, some were scared, all of them mattered. As I drove, the vehicle went faster and faster down the dirt and cobble road. No matter what I tried, I couldn’t slow us down until we came to a sharp turn. The bus-car flew off the road and into the shadowed valley below, where dark, laughing, writhing shapes rose to meet us.

...

I jerked awake in the dim candle light of Jorrvaskr’s dormitory. I glanced around and saw everyone else asleep.

Another silent nightmare.

I got dressed in my traveling clothes, with all my various armors safely tucked in my pack. I almost walked into Aela as I headed out.

“Walk with me, shield brother.”

Her tone didn’t invite refusal, so I followed her deeper into the chambers where the Circle kept their rooms. We turned into hers, and she shut the door behind me.

“Whatever dark vision Vermina sent you has you reeking of fear.”

I huffed. Figures I’d wake a werewolf with my nightmares. “Just my subconscious telling me to slow down for everyone’s sake, or else.”

“You’re worried about Thalmor reprisal because of Thorald?” She held up a hand as I was about to speak. “I can also smell Altmer blood on you; among other things.”

I slumped into a chair. “It’s not just them. I’m worried I’m going to rush things, maybe miss a clue because I’m being so damned clever, and then everything is made worse.”

“Then don’t be.” She leaned against the wall. “I know enough about you to know you like to plan ahead of problems. That’s fine for strategy and war, but not for the hunt, not for battle. Battle is not the time to plan, but to act. Plan when you can, act when you must, and know that you’ve done all you could.”

She tipped her head back and sniffed. “Tilma’s started the morning porridge and fish. Come on,” she pushed off and opened the door, “let’s get in a few minutes of practice before breakfast, and whatever madness you’re off to next.”

We were just winding down some fundamentals drills when Eorlund came over to us. “A moment with your Shield Brother, please.” Aela nodded then headed inside.

The old blacksmith paced for a few moments gathering his thoughts. He stopped abruptly and faced me. “I owe you everything. My son has returned home, and my wife glows with a happiness I thought gone forever. There is no way I can possibly repay you, yet I must find a way.”

I knew that any kind of deflection or humility would drag this out indefinitely. As I thought about what I could ask for that wouldn’t endanger him any more than he was already, my hand came to my sword.

“There is something I would ask. I know your steel is peerless, but how adept are you with Dragon-Bone?” I fished the bones I’d picked out of the Hjaalmarch corpse, and handed it to him. “M'Rissa, Lydia and I slew one in the swamps of Hjaalmarch. I have heard some legends speak about arms and armor fashioned from dragon bones and scales. If you could craft me such a sword, similar to Sir Orin’s but mine and mine alone, then I would count your debt as paid.”

He took the bone and evaluated it before nodding. “A sword of Dragon Bone, crafted upon the Skyforge: your’s will be a legendary blade indeed.”

I nodded and smiled. “Then I will endeavor to live up to your craftsmanship.”

With that, we retired to the hall for breakfast.

...

I’d thought the treks through the Kilkreath and Pale Mountains had been miserable alpine excursions, but the trip through Winterhold to the Mages College was next level suck. No matter where the mountains were in relation to us, the wind was always howling. Even Barbas was put out by the ordeal and chose to ride in the cart with me.

The cart finally came to a rocking halt. “End of the line,” the coachman called over the ocean effect blizzard.

I dragged myself off the cart, vowing to introduce Skyrim to the fantastical wonders of suspension. “I suppose I should get myself a room for the night then.”

“Night? Hah,” the cart driver walked his horse to a nearby stable. “It’s barely midday!”

I looked at the inn beside us, then up to where the College would be if I could see it.

“Fuck it, let’s get this over with.”

We trudged up to the arch that marked the path to the Mages College. There before us stood... a bald Breton who looked as miserable as we felt.

“Sorry, but the college is closed to visitors.” Phinius, or something like that, waved dismissively and went back to shivering.

I hope this is just a rotating post. “I’m not here for the Septim Tour.” I fished in my pack and pulled out Farengar’s letter. “I’m applying to join.”

He squinted at me and the letter, or just against the frigid wind; it was hard to say. “Well,” he glanced at Barbas, “if you’re skilled enough for that level of binding, I suppose you’ve got what it takes. Follow me.”

We made our way up the winding path. We came to several apparently broken sections of the walkway, though the air shimmered just a little bit. I went out on a hunch. “What’s with the illusions?”

Our guide chuckled. “You caught that, did you? Part of the deterrence strategy: nobody wants to make the climb, if they think they’ll plummet to their doom.”

We continued up to the final gate, and he handed me the letter back. “All the faculty should be in the Hall of Elements.” He pointed at the main tower. “Just give that to Mirabelle, and she’ll get you set up.” With that, he headed back down to the gate.

I walked into the hall, just as a pulse of energy came from the central chamber. It blasted the gates open, and I could see most of the faculty. The Thalmor Agent Ancano was standing to the side, scowling at the entire affair, while Tolfdir and Savos Aren were directly in front of me. 

Savos patted Tolfdir on the back. “Very nicely done, old friend. Now we can get down to the business of studying this fantastic find.”

There in all its apocalyptic glory, was the Eye of Magnus.

Fuck my life...

Chapter Text

“...and this is the Hall of Attainment. This is where you and most of the junior students are housed.” Mirabelle walked me and Barbas through, while giving a rundown of the basics of the academy.

“How will the instruction be organized,” I asked as she stopped at an unoccupied alcove. “Aside from my limited study under Danica Purespring, and some advice from Farengar, I’m accustomed to a rather structured pedagogy; this all feels much more freeform.”

“Each day of the week, from Mondas to Loredas, is dedicated to a different school of magic.” Mirabelle turned and faced me. “The appropriate Master Mage will give lectures in the Hall of Elements after breakfast, with structured drills and research time in the afternoon and evening. Sondas is dedicated to personal projects and recreation.”

It seemed much more reasonable than what I remembered: just arrive, one lecture, then off to an archeological dig. Speaking of...

“Will that...whatever,” I vaguely gestured towards the Hall of Elements, “impact the schedule?” I went for broke with a white lie to sell my later knowledge. “Because I can feel it from here; it makes my teeth buzz. Gods only know what will happen if I try to cast near it.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Really; you can feel it?”

Shrugged and looked around for effect. “I can’t be the only one.”

She frowned and looked away. “No, you aren’t wrong; but I hadn’t thought the effect was so pronounced. I’ll have to discuss this with the Arch Mage.” She looked back at me and nodded. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention.

“As tomorrow is Sondas, you will have the day to become acquainted with the grounds and faculty, as well as several of your fellow students.” She gave a perfunctory bow, and left me and Barbas to settle in.

Barbas looked over at me. “You can really feel that thing from here?”

“Nope.” I popped as I started unpacking my pack, leaving the Shadow Armor and Blade of Woe at the bottom of the pack. “I just need them to take the threat of that thing seriously. Maybe we can head off some problems if they lock the Eye down.”

As suggested, I spent the rest of my day getting acquainted with the college. 

“You there,” I could tell from the contempt in the voice that it was Ancano, “come here. I would speak with you.”

I heaved a sigh, and turned. “Yes; Encanto , wasn’t it?”

He scowled and tried to loom over me. “ Ancano . You would do well to remember it.”

“Why?”

“Because you are new here, and I must ensure that--”

“No,” I casually interrupted him, “why would I do well to remember your name?” He sputtered when I began slowly circling him, forcing him to work at making me focus on him . I absently rubbed my chin in feigned thought while Barbas circled in the opposite direction. I continued, “You aren’t of High Rock, so no relation of mine; you aren’t an agent of the Cyrodilic Empire, within whose borders we reside; you aren’t a student here, so I will not be working with you; and you aren’t an instructor here, so I don’t answer to you.”

I came to a stop facing him, hands clasped behind me and Barbas sitting perfectly at my side. I raised my chin to finally meet his gaze. “Ultimately, you’re nobody here; so why would I ‘do well to remember your name’?” 

It took a supreme effort not to grin at the look of loathing that crossed his face. “Be certain that I will remember yours .”

I gave him my most contemptuous smile. “Good to know we understand where the power in this relationship lies. Good day, Nobody .”

Ancano’s face turned an almost fluorescent orange before he stormed off to the Hall of Elements.

Barbas looked up at me. “You really enjoyed that.”

“Yes, absolutely, one hundred percent.”

“That was a delight to watch. Let Enthir know you’re going to do that next time,” a sophisticated voice came from behind me, “he’ll sell tickets.”  

I smirked and turned, only to be confronted by another sallow skinned elf. She wasn’t the Destruction Professor, Feralda, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember her name. 

She frowned when I flinched. “I do wish people would learn the difference between the Altmer and Thalmor.”

I frowned and bowed my head. “My apologies. Nearly all my previous encounters with your kin have been confrontational.” I mildly grimaced. “Even the two tailors in Solitude left a bad taste in my mouth. That doesn’t excuse my conduct.”

The elf sighed. “I know the sisters. They’re good at their craft, but trapped in Skyrim due to family politics.” She looked me in the eyes. “Just know that Ancano is not all Altmer.”

I deepened my bow. “I will of course defer to your wisdom, Miss...” I looked up at her questioningly. 

She smiled. “Nirya will suffice; at least, until I am proclaimed Archmage Nirya.”

I stood back up and shook her hand. “Hiram. I look forward to learning alongside you.”

She chuffed a laugh. “And I look forward to seeing you humble Ancano again. Good day.”

From there, I went back to lazily touring the college grounds, taking special note of the two access hatches for the Midden. I encountered everyone I was familiar with except Onmund.

J’Zargo let slip the secret of who had discovered the Eye.

“This one has heard that Onmund was the one who found the orb with Master Tolfdir. This was a week before you arrived. He was then sent off to find several tomes which had been stolen, though J'Zargo does not know which ones, or where they were taken.”

By my calculations, it was likely another week, minimum, before he returned, and I had to deal with Ancano’s burgeoning treachery.

As the day wore on, I went out into Winterhold proper and sent a letter by courier to M'Rissa: Eye already in play, improvising. Then it was up to the library, where I checked out a full stack of primers on various magical disciplines. Finally I headed back to my cell for the evening.

One difference that pleasantly surprised me, was that each alcove had a heavy woolen curtain for privacy. This made my plans for that evening much more manageable. Once I had finished reading all of the texts (I was surprised at how quickly they read) I changed out of my assigned Novice robes and into my Shadow Armor. Then, I waited.

Barbas gave a soft borf to let me know everyone was asleep. I then slipped out to the courtyard, and entered the Midden. I managed to slip past a Draugr and enter the lower levels, intent on paying the Augur of Dunlain a visit.

I couldn’t say what motivated me to do so, but as I came to the ice bridge leading to the Augur, I saw a chest on a lower ledge. There turned out to only be a few Septims inside, and I was just about to scramble back up when I heard footsteps.

I could tell my Muffle was still in effect, so I hugged the wall just below the bridge.

“‘Unimaginable power’, is it,” I heard Ancano chuckling as he came to the ice bridge from the Augur.

Dummy! You knew he talked to the Augur before the books were retrieved!

My mind raced through scenarios on how to stave off the calamity Ancano would cause, and ultimately came up with only one solution.

As the Thalmor passed overhead, I reached up, grabbed his ankle, and yanked. He squawked  and windmilled his arms, before his other foot slipped and he fell down the shallow ice chasm. While not a particularly long drop, he landed bad, and broke at least one major bone.

I spent a moment staring down at him. Am I really going to do this?! I saw him feebly raise a hand, and felt him try to muster a healing spell. I brought up my Ward, and jumped on top of him. The Ward spared me from any harm, but I could feel one of Ancano’s ribs break under my weight.

I looked both directions in the chasm: one way led to an ice shelf under the college, while the other led back towards the various Midden Chambers. I knew one of those chambers had at least two substantial Frostbite Spiders: they could provide ample plausibility to Ancano simply falling victim to the hazards of the midden.

For all his height, Ancano was surprisingly light. I dragged him with little difficulty until I heard the telltale clicking of spider pedipalps on flagstone. I hoisted Ancano up and tossed him like a hay bale, ignoring his gasping pleas. I stayed just long enough to see one of the spiders stand over Ancano, then lunge down.

I ran for the ice ledge.

Once outside, I ripped the Shadow Hood and Mask off and vomited. After five minutes of dry heaving, I stood up and gasped for air. “Whatthefuck! Whatthefuck-whatthefuck!”

As I tried to wrap my head around what I had just done, I heard the spider sound once more. I scurried out onto the cliff, and ran all the way to the sea. It took me almost until dawn to make it back to my alcove without anyone seeing me.

Thankfully it was Sondas, and nobody expected anyone anywhere. I peeled out of the Dark Brotherhood armor and stuffed it into the bottom of my pack again, then crashed into my bed. 

My sleep was fitful at best, filled with deep shadows, glistening spiderwebs, and a crone’s voice whispering from the darkness.

Chapter Text

I spent the next week at the college throwing myself into my studies; as much to keep the recurring spider dreams at bay, as to expand my magical acumen. I found that arcane studies came very naturally to me, as by the end of the week, Urag told me he had no more books he was allowed to check out to students without express permission from the various masters. 

“How about texts on other topics,” I asked as I looked around. “Elder Scrolls, Dragon language, vampires; there’s a lot going on out there.”

Urag squinted at me and growled. “Those subjects are all almost as dangerous as the books I can’t share.”

“As are the subjects of those books,” I leaned against his desk, “and two of those subjects are becoming a more and more common occurrence. I’ve even heard a rumor that at least one Elder Scroll has been seen in the last year.” I pushed off and held up my hands. “It’s only prudent to understand the forces at play before I encounter them in the wild.”

I came away with all the texts I wanted, including the one from Septimus Signus. I had plans that involved him, and M'Rissa would need the Elder Scroll in Blackreach.

In addition to our regular studies and new spells, the faculty had us working on a single joint project. By Loredas, all the figurative and literal pieces were in place.

Savos stood in front of the class. “You have all worked very diligently this past week; studying the peculiarities of Magicka transference, learning the intricacies of bindings and wards, and finally crafting several Soul Gem holders meant to be used in large ritual castings. Today, you will see the fruits of your labor.”

He turned and faced the training cadre, and they each placed a Soul Gem holder with a Grand Soul Gem on a particular spot on the ground around the Eye. At first there was nothing, then wisps of energy began flowing from around the Eye and into the Gems. One by one, they lit up from within. When the last one began to glow, a barrier snapped into existence around the artifact.

The teachers all began shaking hands as Savos turned back around. “Remember this, students: it is not enough to simply learn magic. It must also be safeguarded, lest tragedy be unleashed.”

The gate behind us creaked open, and a rather well-worn Onmund staggered in. 

“Ah, Onmund,” Tolfdir came up to the exhausted Nord, “welcome back. Did you recover the texts?”

Onmund heaved a sigh. “There were Sorcerers, wolves, vampires, and a crazy lady that just kept summoning Atronachs!”

Savos came over. “Ah, the halcyon days of simple academia: exploring hidden corners of the world, discovering ancient secrets,”

“Being lit on fire while frozen solid,” Onmund tiredly finished.

“Which is why, my boy,” Tolfdir slapped him on the back, “we learn to master Wards. Come, let's head up to the Arcaeneum and get these to Urag.”

I followed after, until Savos turned towards me. “Is there something you needed?” The dismissal was implicit.

“Yes, actually. I checked a book out that Urag suggested, and...” I pulled ‘Ruminations on the Elder Scrolls’ from my robes. “It’s gibberish. I’m wondering if I’m being hazed, or if I’m just not understanding what I’m supposed to be getting out of this.”

Savos took the book. “Ah, this is by Septimus Signus. Some consider him the foremost authority on Elder Scrolls. Did Urag give you any others?”

“Yes, ‘Effects of the Elder Scrolls’. It doesn’t mention the kind of mania this writing indicates.”

Savos nodded and handed the book back. “Septimus was a student here but left to pursue his own research. I’m not certain where, though Urag might: they maintained correspondence for a time. I would ask that you allow one hour for myself and Master Tolfdir to conclude our business, then you may consult.”

With the Barrier up around the Eye, I was much more comfortable leaving the college, and felt I had time.

“Yessir.”

He paused as he was heading for the Arcaneum. “By the way, have you seen Ancano?”

I had heard people asking that question all week. “The first time we spoke, was the last time we spoke.”

“Hm, strange. Oh well, carry on.”

I did. Once I saw Onmund come downstairs, I headed up to consult with Urag over the book. With my pretext for finding Septimus secure, I headed back down to find Mirabelle.

“Madame Director,” she tensed slightly at my title for her position, “a moment, if I may?”

“Just a moment,” she shot a look towards the stairs leading to Savos’ quarters. “There’s been a development that requires my attention.”

Sounds like the Psijics made their appearance right on cue. “I’ve come across some anecdotes I’d like to follow up on, but they may take some time. What is the college policy on extended leaves of absence?”  

“You’ve done it,” she gestured towards me, “notify a senior member of the college that you are departing. Do you know when you’ll be coming back?”

“Not at present.”

“Then I will ask you to clear your sleeping area. When you return, if your quarters aren’t occupied, you may move back in. If they are, then we will find you new accommodations.”

I bowed in thanks and headed to my alcove. “Alright Barbas, we’re on the road again.”

He gave a diffident borf . Once I was fully packed, leaving no sign that I had ever been there, we were off.

Once we were descending to the coast, Barbas finally spoke. “We’ve only been here a week. What gives?”

“With Ancano out of play, and the Eye contained,” I grunted as we navigated the rocky goat path, “I can afford to get ahead of some of the things we need to do.”

“Such as,” he asked as we stepped onto the beach.

“M'Rissa’s going to need a particular Elder Scroll to put Alduin out of commission for good. It’s in Blackreach, and the only way to get there is with a gizmo owned by one Septimus Signus: Master Mage, and sock puppet to Hermaeus Mora.”

Barbas stopped and stared at me. “Are you going on some world tour to piss off every Daedric Prince there is?”

“No,” I waved him forward. “There are a bunch of Princes I intend to avoid altogether. There’s just some I can’t help but deal with. Herma-Mora’s one of them.”

It was dusk, and the tide was going out when we finally arrived at Septimus’ iceberg. I hauled our boat up onto the ice flow. As we made our way inside, I could hear Septimus muttering to himself, though it’s possible he was holding a conversation with his patron.

I came most of the way down and perched over his bookcase. “Septimus.”

“Who?” Septimus spun around. “What speaks?”

“Up here.”

He came over to his bookcase and began shifting books around. “Hello?”

“-sigh- Further up.” Once he was looking at me, I smiled. “There we go. My name is irrelevant, but yours is not. I’ve heard you have a bit of a puzzle, and I think I can help with that.”

He scrutinized me. “One block lifts the other?”

“Exactly.” I hopped off the ledge and stood next to him. “You have a locked Dwemer box without a key, and I need an Elder Scroll. I know one is in Blackreach, and you have the means to get me in there.”

His eyes went wide, and one wandered a little as he went to a nearby crate. “Yes, in the depths of Blackreach lies a hidden archive! Locked within, and Elder Scroll and the means to transcribe!”

He came up and pressed an inert Dwemer Lexicon and an engraved metal orb into my hands.

“Quickly, to Blackreach! The door must be opened, the question must be answered!”

Barbas beat me out into the polar air. “I know some Princes use their people up, but that was just... brrrrrrrr !”

I refrained from pointing out that most of Clavicus’ deals were intentionally skewed to screw the mortal. We paddled back to shore and camped at the lean-to where we’d gotten the boat. In the morning, we headed up into the Pale Glacier to find Alfthand, and the entrance to Blackreach.

As we walked, Barbas kept shooting me odd looks. Finally, he broke down and spoke. “Just what do you intend to do about Hermaeus Mora? He’s gonna take one look at your wackadoo nature and decide he’s gonna keep you.”

I glanced down at him. “Will it affect our deal if I tell you?”

Barbas moved in front and sat in my way. “No, but I need to know that you can keep your end of the bargain.”

“Alright,” I knelt down. “I intend to trap Mora.”

Barbas let out a braying laugh. “You?! What makes you think you could pull something like that off? There’s nothing of Nirn that can contain a Daedric Prince.”

“Maybe not,” I shrugged, “but there’s plenty of things not of Nirn that can: for instance, the Star of Azura, which happens to be sitting in a sunken keep on the north shore of Lake Ilinalta.” Barbas abruptly stopped laughing and stared intently at me. “If I can get the circumstances right, I can trap him inside the Star of Azura, then toss the Star in the Dwemer box Septimus wants us to open. That has Mora’s Oghma Infinium inside, and Mora can’t get at it. Which means...”

“That he won’t be able to get out of it either,” Barbas whispered. “When--”

I stood up. “This was always my plan. Once I pull this off, Clavicus will take you back just to get me to leave the room.”

Barbas trotted after me. “You seriously think you can pull this off?”

“Mora wants something on Solstheim. He wants it badly enough to physically manifest inside a village that has kept him at bay as thoroughly as the Dwemer Box. If I get the purified Star there, and a few Expulsion Staffs for good measure, then yeah; I think I can trap Hermaeus Mora and put him away.”

Chapter Text

-skitter-skitter-skitter-CLANKITYCLANKITY-

Barbas and I had camped in the entrance to the Alfthand dig, rather than in the windblown camp near the exit elevator. Once we began delving into the depths, I found M'Rissa’s advice on dealing with Dwemer Automatons mostly useful.

-zap- “Goddamnit!” 

Grabbing the spiders was a no-go for me, since every other one carried a stupid static electric charge. The ‘dirt in the gears’ trick however was effective against the roller-balls. I had even managed to cobble together a complete Dwarven Crossbow from the several disabled machines. It was saving me tremendously on my magicka.

Barbas was also a Godsend when it came to detecting Falmer traps and Charrnus’. As in ‘ye olden times before’, I came to detest the black arthropods even more than Frostbite spiders. As the nests made for target-rich environments, my Clairvoyant trick was less useful, though it did keep me from getting turned around in the mushroom-lit caverns.

When I arrived at the elevator, there wasn’t a pair of dueling soldiers: just the Wonka-Vater up, and the locked spiral staircase down. We headed down, and entered Blackreach.

“...Why the hell does everything smell like feet down here?”

Barbas gave a test sniff. “Doesn’t seem bad to me.”

I gave him a flat stare. “You clean your own asshole with your tongue, and regularly roll in dead animal carcasses. Your argument is invalid.”  

I sighed, took aim at a static Rollerball, and fired. The first shot stuck in its mobility wheels, so it slewed a bit as it unfolded to attack me, while an Ice Spike into its gear box froze it in place. One sword pommel smash later, and I was harvesting it for quarrels, oil, and soul gems.

I climbed on top of the Dwemer hut in front of us, and surveyed the cavern itself. The artificial ‘sun’ and its city glowed off to my right, while various platforms and recessed buildings lined the left wall. Off in the distance, stood the tower I was looking for. 

Since one route sucked about as much as any other, we set off towards the left. Barbas and I fell into a rhythm: he’d flush any Falmer by running ahead and barking, and I would snipe the archers and Charnus’. When the melee types reoriented on me, I switched to sword and magic for their spellswords and witches, or just sword in two hands for their pure melee fighters. Barbas would double back, and harry them to keep them from overwhelming me.

I won’t say we made decent time, but we did cross the cavern in good order and only a few stops to heal. I was also getting a decent haul of talismans that I could break down and learn later. For the moment, I was fixated on getting to the tower, and the Elder Scroll within.

The device itself was as intuitive as I remembered: just socket in the Lexicon, start on the right, and push the buttons until they lock out. After a minute of button mashing, the Lexicon charged up, and a compartment opened revealing the Elder Scroll, ‘Dragon’. I collected my prizes, and headed to the elevator. “Comon, Barbas, we’re done here.”

As we neared the head of the shaft, Barbas began sniffing the air and growling. “Something’s wait’n for us.”

I readied my sword and spells. When the platform reached the top, there was a squad of Justiciars waiting outside the gate.

“You! Surrender in the name of the Aldmerii Dominion!”

I triggered the elevator switch. “How about noooo, you crazy Altmer bastard.”

They fruitlessly lashed out at the shaft gate as we descended back into Blackreach.

“Crap,” Barbas barked, “now we have to go all the way back?!”

“No, not really.” We stepped off the elevator and made our way down and out. “Blackreach links up three different Dwemer cities; each has its own surface access. We’ll just use one of those.”

We made our way to the Mzinchaleft lift and rode it up. When we reached the top, we could hear indistinct voices, though they sounded suspiciously like Altmer. We went back down.

“Where the hell are they all coming from?”

Barbas cocked his head at me. “You could always ask.”

We got to the bottom, and I saw a shape lumbering in the distance.

“I think I’ll let somebody else do the asking.”

We skirted around the giant circling the city, and activated the elevator on the slope. I was about to send a Mage Light to draw the Giant, when several Falmer stalked down to investigate the lift.

I sent a Mage Light into the elevator chamber. Once all of them were inside, I Telekinetically threw the switch, and sent them up. I remained in hiding, waiting to see who came down.

“...can’t believe the Commander is sending us to investigate,” a pair of armored Thalmor soldiers complained as the lift stopped.

“Oh, but she couldn’t possibly come down while nursing a bruised ego.”

“I’m just surprised she’s willing to stay up there alone with all the dead.”

I shot a Magelight towards the giant.

“What was that?”

“ROAR!”

The first Thalmor actually ‘Wilhelm Screamed’ just as the giant swatted them over the wall and into the city of Blackreach. The second tried to run, but was swiftly stomped into a mud puddle. Before the giant could lay eyes on mine and Barbas’ hiding spot, I nailed it with a Calm. The Giant looked confused about the mess, and wandered back down towards the city.

“Okay,” I looked at Barbas, “so there should just be the one Thalmor Justiciar up top. We sucker her in, then hit her hard and fast. Hopefully she has something like orders on her.”

We took the elevator back up, but I Muffled and hid against one of the vertical supports. When the elevator stopped, I heard some shuffling. 

“Delar, Orlan? What do you have to report?” She waited for a moment. “Know that if you are making sport of me, you shall both suffer greatly!”

She stalked in, and I could feel her readying a Spark.

“BOWOWOWOWOWOWOW!”

She flinched away from Barbas, and right into my grip. I put my left hand over her mouth and Flamed, while stabbing her in the back with my Nordic Dagger.

I did my best not to notice the smell coming from her charred mouth as I began riffling her corpse. There was a torn and bloodied letter, but it was written in the Daedric script used by the various Mer.

I showed the paper to Barbas. “Can you read this?”

He looked at the page for a few moments. “Nope, sorry. This pictoglyph could be part of a Daedra’s name, but the rest is Mer script, not Daedric iconography; it’d just come out as gibberish.”

I pocketed the letter, as well as a pendant that felt as if it shifted in my grasp. “Well buddy,” I patted Barbas’ back. “Looks like we’re heading to Windhelm for a translator.”

...

The sun was just setting two days later when we made it into Windhelm. The city felt old. Not in the rustic or nostalgic way, but in the sense that it was at the end of its life. The cobbles of the street were uneven, while granite steps were misaligned and worn into troughs. The various retaining walls were sagging where crumbling mortar had long since blown away.

Windhelm was an occupied ruin, clinging to past glories and surviving on blind faith and desperation.

Ulfric just let his place go to shit.

I was startled out of my assessment by a small voice. “Would you like to buy some flowers, please?”

I looked over and saw Sophie: the orphan of Windhelm. She was the picture of wretched endurance, with a wicker basket of wildflowers and a too-thin dress for how cold I knew the night would get. Buying a flower, or all of them, would alleviate her immediate situation; but would do nothing in the long term.

Just a Band-Aid over the gaping wound that is her deceased family. What the hell am I even doing here? I’m just in this rat hole to pay a few pennies to a Dunmer slum dweller so I can find out what the Thalmor know. What good am I to these people?

“Can... can I pet your dog?”

I wanted to blubber like a baby. “If he’ll let you. He’s kinda choosy.” 

She reached gingerly towards Barbas’ head, and the Daedric hound stepped into her hand. Her smile was heartbreaking in its innocent wonder. She stepped up and fiercely hugged Barbas’ neck.

I felt the sudden irrational urge to burn Windhelm to the ground: to drag Ulfric out into the streets and see what his once great city was becoming. But I couldn’t. I was just one Spellsword in a world gone mad.

“Save the person in front of you, right the wrong in front of you, stop the evil in front of you.”

M'Rissa’s advice echoed in the empty desperate streets. I closed my eyes and took a centering breath. “In a world where you can be anything, be kind.”

“What was that, mister?” Sophie looked up at me.

I chuckled and smiled. “Just trying to remind myself why I’m here. Come on, let’s get you some place warm for the night.”

She followed me as I walked up a short ramp and turned up another street. Ahead of us was a house that arched over the road.

Sophie hugged Barbas a little closer. “Mister, that’s--”

“I know; that’s the home of Aventus Aretino. Like you, he’s lost everything and is trying to find his way; but he’s become disconnected. I hope we aren’t too late to help him find his way back. Barbas,” the hound looked up, “please check to see if he’s still in there.” 

He stepped out of Sophie’s grasp and padded up to the door. He sniffed, then put his head to the door and listened. “I can barely hear someone in there, but the house reeks of death.”

Sophie’s eyes got huge. “You have a magic dog?!”

I tapped my nose conspiratorially. “It’s better to say we have each other. Anyway, if he’s making sounds, then I don’t think he’s on death’s door yet.” 

I walked up and tried the door. It was locked, so I decided to put some of Tolfdir’s precise control exercises to use, and telekinetically picked it. Once the door was open, a wave of fetid air wafted out.

“Wait with Barbas, Sophie.” I walked in and listened for the faint voice.

“Sweet... mother... sweet... mother...”

I climbed the steps two at a time and turned into the alcove where Aventus was sprawled next to a mutilated skeleton. I scooped him up and brought him to the bed in the main room. Everything from the Black Sacrament went into the fireplace and was torched. I then started opening windows.

“Barbas, Sophie, come on up.”

“You came,” Aventus’ voice was hoarse and weak. 

“Yeah, sorry about being late. I got a little sidetracked.”

Barbas climbed into the bed with Aventus, and Sophie started cooking a simple meal of cabbage soup and bread, while I cleaned up the place. I scooped all the flowers out of Sophie’s basket, balled them up in my hands, and conjured up Flame. Without blasting, I let the flowers smolder as I walked around the house. Finally, I combined Frostbite and Flame, and steam cleaned the alcove where Aventus had been. 

With the house as sterile as I could make it, I settled in for the night.

...

“You came!”

I jolted awake as Aventus tried to sit up in bed. He was hampered by Barbas and Sophie being on top of him.

“Yes,” I yawned, “sorry for taking so long. I was busy destroying the Dark Brotherhood.”

“What?!” Aventus crawled out of the warmth of his bed. “No, I did the Black Sacrament! They’re supposed to--”

“To murder someone for you?” He balked at the bold-faced statement. “Would the Divines approve of that sort of thing? Would your parents have?”

“But, but what do I have without...”

I stood up and laid a hand on his shoulder. “You have an opportunity.” He looked up in confusion. I pointed to the other child in his bed. “This is Sophie. Like you, she lost everyone she cared about, and everyone that cared about her. Like you, she’s alone. But unlike you, she doesn’t have a home; no roof over her head, no food except what she can barter in the streets.” I gently turned him back towards me. “You have the opportunity to fix that; to give her the opportunity that you didn’t when you were sent to Honorhold. You have the opportunity to be better than Grelod. When you have the chance to be anything, be kind.”

I spent the morning with him and Sophie, helping them come up with a plan to survive. After that, Barbas and I stepped out into the city to--

“Another one. Terrible.”

I stopped in my tracks. Right, the Butcher.

“Buddy,” Barbas quietly growled from my side.

“Being kind doesn’t always mean being nice, and this motherfucker needs to go down hard.”

I ducked back into Aventus’ house and dropped off the Elder Scroll, then headed to the city graveyard, and began the process of exposing Calixto Corrium as the serial killer known as the Butcher. It took very little to convince the town watchman to let me assist, as I could see him shivering from exhaustion. All the reports (and lies from Calixto at the scene) were as I expected, and I secured permission from House Steward Jorleif to take over. Barbas was useful to keep people from becoming interested as I broke into the manor where the murders took place. The ritual sight was far ghastlier than any media could ever represent, but I was laser focused on my task. I collected the journals, and the amulet left at the scene, and headed back to the palace.

I approached Jorleif once Ulfric left for the ‘war room’ with Galmar. “Steward, I’ve found the murder sight, but there are some esoteric elements to it I’m not qualified to assess. Does Ulfric have a Court Mage?”

“Yes, Wuunferth. He should be up in the royal wing. I’ll give you my writ; the guards should let you in.”

The interior of Ysgramor’s Palace was at odds with the dilapidated city. I see where the non-war funds are going. I arrived at Wuunferth’s chambers.

“Magus Wuunferth.”

“Huh,” his head came up from his workspace. “Who are you? I’m very busy.”

I stepped in and gave a small bow. “My name is Hiram. I’m a recent attendee of the College in Winterhold.”

Wuunferth relaxed. “Ah, my apologies. I’m so accustomed to Ulfric’s hangers-on coming up here to gawk, like I’m some strange beast caged for their amusement. What can I do for you?”

I reached into my pack and pulled out the Butcher’s journals and the Necromancer’s amulet. “I’ve been granted leave by Steward Jorleif to assist in the investigation of the murders. I came across these in an abandoned house, along with the remains of several victims. There was more than just calculation to the acts; I think it was ritual in nature.”

He flipped through the journals, then looked at the amulet. “The Necromancer’s Amulet. This is indeed a dark ritual, but a fortuitous find. Come allow me to tutor you in some augury techniques.”

With the Amulet as a sympathetic link, Wuunferth managed to use a city map and a Clairvoyance spell to pinpoint not only the place, but the time of the next murder.

I stood in the shadows of the market square beside the smelter. It was warm, gave me excellent sightlines, while also hiding me from view. At the appointed hour, an Altmer woman was walking from the produce stall. A shadow detached itself from the wall near the market and blocked her way, drawing a curved embalming knife. Calixto didn’t bother to hide his features of his glee, thinking himself safe to commit his crimes.

Before the elf could even scream in surprise, I whistled and Barbas launched himself at Calixto, latching onto his arm and wrenching him off his feet. His cries of surprise and pain drew the city watch.

I stepped out and presented my credentials to the Chief of the Watch. “By order of the Steward of House Stormcloak, I am empowered to investigate the string of murders committed by this man,” I pointed at Calixto. “Priestess Helgrid can corroborate that the blade there,” I pointed at the embalming knife, “is a near match for that used in all the previous murders. This woman,” I next pointed at the elf, “was to be his latest victim. And lastly; this, my dog, can let him go.”

Barbas stepped back as the guards seized Calixto and hauled him off. The captain was stunned. “I can hardly believe it. I remember seeing you come through the gate last night; yet here you are the next day; ending the terror that has haunted our streets for months.”

I smiled, and desperately wished I had a cowboy hat I could tip. “I was just in the neighborhood, and thought I’d do some good.”

Chapter Text

I delayed returning to Jorleif, and instead headed to Wuunferth. The elder mage looked up from his table and smiled. “Ah, you’ve returned! Triumphantly too, if the commotion from downstairs is any indication.”

I nodded. “Calixto Corrium was the Butcher. The City Watch just barely got him to the keep for incarceration before the citizens ripped him apart.”

He huffed and walked over to a small dining table. “Well, you should see Jorleif about some recognition.”

I could see a flash of frustration cross his face. Because Ulfric can’t be bothered with running his city while Elenwen is running him. “Before that, I’d like you to look at something I picked up; on the road, mind you, not here in the city.” I handed him the daedric-script letter I pulled off the Justiciar.

“Hm,” he contemplated the page, then took it to his Enchanting workbench. The moment the page hit the table, a phantom spell array appeared. “Very interesting. Who did you get this off of?”

“One of several teams of Justiciars who were waiting for me outside of Blackreach.”

Wuunferth looked up at me. “You bested multiple Justiciar teams?”

“No, I bested one by suckering them into a pack of Falmer and a Giant. I killed the last one, and she had this on her.”

“What about the other team you mentioned?”

I sat on the edge of the table. “They were waiting at a different entrance to Blackreach. What is that?” I nodded to the page and spell.

He picked the page up. “A tracking spell, disguised as a set of orders to find and capture someone for, ‘crimes against the Aldmerii Dominion’. It doesn’t say a name, but it looks like there might be a sympathetic link: not to the target but, maybe to something they've done or someone they’ve wronged.” He gave me a hooded look. “Anything you’d like to share?”

I covered my mouth and gave a resigned sigh. “I figured this was coming; I just didn’t expect the response to be this quick.” I looked up at Wuunferth. “I recently engaged in multiple actions against Aldmerii sites, including a prison. I was perhaps less than circumspect in how I returned one of those prisoners to his family.”

Wuunferth barked a laugh. “I think you’re underselling your efforts. This,” he shook the page, “is no ordinary spell. To compel someone to seek and intuitively identify a target, using a reversed synecdoche link? This is Master level conjuration and enchantment, and that kind of power comes at a cost.” He put the page down and stared at me. “What did you do, really?”

I grimaced, then heard Aela’s admonishment to stop trying to be so clever. I reached into my pack, and pulled out Ulfric’s dossier. “I took this from Elenwen’s residence during her last diplomatic soiree.” I handed the booklet to the mage and continued while he read. “I later hit the Thalmor garrison in Fort Northwatch: freed the prisoners, and left no Thalmor survivors.”

Wuunferth stumbled to a chair and sat down heavily. He looked up from the booklet. “This... this is--”

I plucked the dossier from his limp fingers. “That is something Elenwen can’t afford to have out in the wild, something she would spare no expense to retrieve. Because if word of this got out, it would render the White-Gold Concordat null and void.”

I pocketed the booklet and retrieved the spell-orders. “You work on Galmar. He believes in Ulfric, but he’s ultimately dedicated to the cause. Suggest that the Thalmor are moving and operating closer to Windhelm, because they are. Hopefully by the time the summit rolls around, he’ll be receptive enough to not try to murder me when I present this to him.”

“Summit,” Wuunferth looked up. “What summit?”

“The one the Dovahkiin will call at High Hrothgar to address the whole Alduin situation. I’m going to head downstairs and see Jorleif. After that, if you don’t mind, I’ve several enchanted items I’d like to classify.”

...

As I expected, but was no less annoyed about, Ulfric was ‘unavailable’ when I presented myself to Jorleif. I tried to remind myself that he was effectively a ‘Manchurian Candidate’, and not entirely in control of his actions. It still galled me that he was so disconnected to the day-to-day running of his home city.

I was offered a sum of coins and Jorleif’s thanks, then returned to Wuunferth’s chambers to render down some of the enchanted items I had collected. Between those and the Soul Gems I had picked up in Alfthand and Blackreach, I came away with a silver and moonstone circlet of Alteration, the Illusion amulet I prized from the Thalmor, Gloves of Armor, and Boots of Stealth. The rest of the enchantments were learned, while the gemstones and Soul Gems were sold. Ultimately, I received more coins from Wuunferth than I did from Jorleif.

My last night in the city was spent with Aventus and Sophie. Hardship had certainly aged them beyond their years, and I almost felt like I was in the house of a married halfling couple. I left Jorleif’s bounty payment with them, then retrieved the Elder Scroll and left at sunrise to make my way back to the College. 

We were nearing the end of the first day of our trek. Barbas trotted along beside me. “So boss, any reason we’re walking instead of riding?”

I grunted as I used my Lightning Staff as a walking stick to climb. “Because carriage service doesn’t head up to the Shrine of Azura.”

Barbas nodded. “And you need to ask her permission to use her Star to trap Mora. Smart: Daedric Princes don’t do the whole, ‘better to ask forgiveness’ thing you mortals like to pull.”

“Yup,” I paused to listen, as I’d thought I’d heard something. “Plus, I want to make sure the Star is where I think it is.”

Barbas shook his head towards a pile of boulders and snapped his mouth, indicating I hadn’t just been hearing things. I shifted the Staff to my left hand, and quietly cast Oakflesh on myself. I saw the tip of a greenish-gold blade peeking above the rocks. Another quick casting, this time of Clairvoyance focused on the Spell-Orders proved what I had suspected: at least one of the Justiciar teams from Blackreach had caught up with me. 

Rather than waiting for the Thalmor to spring their trap, I blasted the exposed sword tip with a lightning bolt and drew my sword. “Stand and deliver, for I am the boldest saber!”

One armored Thalmor slid bonelessly down the hill, while three more and a robed Justiciar jumped out from behind the rock calling for my surender. The Justiciar was charging up a lightning bolt of his own, so I planted my staff in the snow in front of me. The bolt went for the staff as expected, and I began circling it to keep the impromptu Grounding Rod between me and the Justiciar. The other Thalmor moved up to try and flush me out, only to be flanked by Barbas.

With the threat of encirclement gone, I raised my Steadfast Ward and rushed up to the Justiciar. He got one more Dual Lightning Bolt off. My Ward shattered, and I felt the tiniest bit of electricity jolt through me, but by then I was on top of them. He was still drawing his dagger when my two handed over-hand blow hit. Whatever resistance his own protective magics granted was not enough, and he silently crumpled at my feet.

-ZAP-

I staggered as a Lightning Bolt struck me in the Elder Scroll. I turned and saw two of the armored elves: one pointing my Lightning Staff at me, while the other moved up with a greatsword in hand. 

“Watch the Artifact,” I shouted as I finger-gun shot the staff wielder in the face with a Fire Bolt. I began stalking down the hill as the survivor came charging at me. This was the first time since Jorrvaskr that my sword skill had actually been tested. Granted, the Thalmor was no Farkas, but neither was he a common bandit. In the end, it was the novelty of my swords duel nature and half swording technique that let me prevail against the professional soldier.

Then, all was silent. A cursory check of the Thalmor provided little more than another Spell-Order, a few potions, and a healthy handful of coins. I sat down and did my best to self heal, but was hampered by the frazzled nerves from getting hit with a double-whammy Lightning Bolt. The potions were a welcome if foul tasting supplement to my own efforts. 

I looked over at Barbas’ blood soaked muzzle and sighed. “We gotta find a fix for this.” I brandished the fresh Spell-Order. I stood up, and we continued on up the mountain towards the Shrine of Azura. Between the weather and the incline, it took almost two days to reach the Shrine.

The Dunmer Priestess guided me and Barbas to a small camp in the lee of the shrine. “Welcome travelers. Azura has seen your coming. Eat, rest, and then we shall commune with Azura in the dawning light.”

We woke before dawn, and headed up to the shrine. The Priestess gestured to the altar in front of the statue of Azura. “Come traveler, and hear the words of the Mistress of Twilight.” I fought mightily to suppress images of sparkly vampires as the Dunmer woman’s eyes rolled back into her head. “Your coming was not foreseen, not foretold; and by your arrival the once clear path is now shrouded while new paths are revealed. Beware the Keeper of Secrets, for his desire is all consuming. The Great Star and the workings of the Heretics can bind mighty foes for a time, though a price in trust and sacrifice must be paid. The path to the Star is one you know well. Take it, and we shall prepare it as a holy vessel.”

The Priestess came back to herself. “I have rarely felt so clear a vision.”

I shrugged. “I already knew a bunch of that, and could guess the rest. Still, it’s good to know I’ll only be pissing off one Daedric Prince with this scheme of mine.”

She raised an eyebrow at me as the sun crested over the Sea of Ghosts. “Then may Azura’s wisdom guide you on your path.”

We made our way back down the mountain. Barbas cocked his head at me. “So we’re off to get this Star now?”

“Not quite,” I stumbled a little as we finally found the road. “First, I want to drop this,” I thumbed at the Elder Scroll on my back, “off with Urag. There’s no point in lugging it around the countryside and inviting more attacks than we’re already dealing with. I also want to see what the faculty can do about this damn tracking spell the Thalmor are using.”

It took another two days to finally arrive back at the college. I made it to the Arcaneum just as Urag was cleaning up. “Urag, hold up.” 

The orc sighed and looked up. “Gone for two weeks, and the first thing you do is prevent me from getting dinner?”

I unlimbered the Scroll and set it on his desk. “Yeah, well I figured this would be worth your time.”

Urag choked for a second. “Where in Oblivion did you get that?”

“Blackreach.” Urag gurgled again. “Your buddy Septimus put me onto it.”

Urag’s hands hovered over it. “How much do you want for it?”

“Nothing.”

The librarian growled. “Be serious. How much?”

I crossed my arms. “I am serious, because I’m not selling it. I’m asking you to store it until the Dovahkiin comes for it. After that, we’ll talk cash and restricted tomes; but until then, I need this in the deepest, darkest hole in your archives.”

“Ah,” Urag’s demeanor straightened up suddenly, “that makes a lot more sense. I’ll need to talk to the Arch-Mage. Student’s storing books here isn’t uncommon, but this is something else.”

I waited as Urag went to fetch Savos. It took a few minutes, but I soon heard several footsteps coming back up the stairs. I stood as Urag and Savos came in, followed by nearly every other instructor.

I shrugged as they approached. “This works. I’ve got a bunch of questions for several of you.”

Tolfdir was the first to come up to me, rather than the Scroll sitting on the desk. “This is unprecedented! How did you come to possess an Elder Scroll?”

I gave a sanitized rundown of my adventure in Blackreach; that is, I didn’t dwell on the graphic violence. Still, there were some questions.

“Can I see one of these orders,” the Illusion Master Drevis Neloren asked. He flared his Magika just a little, and the same phantom spell array appeared as I had seen in Wuunferth’s lab.

“Magister Wuunferth seemed to think it was similar to a Clairvoyance spell, though there seem to be some additional elements.” I pointed at several spots on the array.

Drevis nodded absently as he moved over to the Conjuration Master. “Phinis, could you look at--”

“I can see it from here,” the Breton groused. “It’s a Daedric binding, though it looks to be reversed.”

Drevis frowned. “That’s what I thought.” He looked up at me. “It appears as if this is intended to passively link the mind of the holder to something, or someone in Oblivion, and influence their actions. In this case,” he highlighted a particular part of the array, causing a mild corona to form around me, “to home in on you wherever you are.”

He stopped charging the scroll, then incinerated it. “What did you do?”

Don’t be clever, be in the moment, I could hear Aela’s voice in the back of my mind. I pulled out the twin Dossiers. “About a month and a half before I first came here, I broke into the Thalmor Embassy during a social event and took these.” I handed the booklets to Savos. “I’m ninety percent sure Elenwen’s the one sending these teams out after me, though I think this batch predates another incident where I and a team sacked Fort Northwatch and released several illegally detained Nords.”

Savos shook his head. “You certainly don’t make our status as a neutral institution very easy. Still, I would love to discuss you delving into Blackreach. Unfortunately that will have to wait, as we are currently embarking on an expedition of no small import and delicacy.”

It took me a moment of mental calculation: Onmund had just returned from retrieving the texts stolen by Orthorn when I left, and that was several weeks before. If there had been zero turnaround from consulting with the Augur of Dunlain, he would have left for Mzulft the next day. He could have made the Dwemer ruin and returned by then, so that meant...

“Right, Labyrinthian and the Staff of Magnus.” As soon as the words left my mouth, the room became deathly silent. I knew I’d made a mistake. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No,” Savos walked over to one of the nearby tables and motioned for me to sit down, “I think you should have said that. I realize I may have been remiss in my duties as Headmaster of the College.” I sat as instructed. “Introductions seem to be in order. I am Savos Aren, Arch-Mage of the Mages College of Winterhold. Who are you?”

...

The Masters of the College were quite thorough in their interrogation. Drevin maintained a variation of the Calm spell that apparently acted as a lie detector. I didn’t test it beyond his calibration questions. Every master was involved in some kind of diagnostic magic: checking my aura for minor fluctuations, seeing if there were imbalances between my magicka and that of the college. All the while, Savos listened to my story, and asked questions.

After some hours, the ordeal was done. Everyone except Mirabelle and Savos left.

“I have one last question,” Savos looked serenely at me. “When I asked you if you had seen Ancano, you mentioned that the first time you spoke was also the last. What did you mean by that?”

I heaved a sigh. “I meant what I said, since the last time I encountered Ancano, we didn’t trade words.”

“Speak plainly,” Mirabelle coldly stared down at me, “we have neither time nor patience for obfuscation.”

The words wanted to pour out of my mouth, but I could equally feel the desire to protect myself: to lie or excuse my actions. It felt like spiders crawling in my brain. I couldn’t afford to lose the support of the Mages College; not now, so I did my best to replicate Drevin’s spell. Both Savos and Mirabelle tensed for a moment, then seemed to relax; I guess they figured out what I was doing. 

“I had descended into the Midden to consult with the Augur of Dunlain. Apparently Ancano had headed down there earlier than me. I was out of sight when Ancano left the Augur. I took the opportunity, and tripped him off the ice bridge and left him to the Frostbite Spiders.”

I huffed for a few seconds as Savos and Mirabelle glanced at me. “Why,” Savos asked quietly.

“So that if an investigation did find his remains, they would implicate no one save Ancano, for venturing alone into the Midden Dark.”

“So you were protecting the College?” Mirabelle asked as she paced around the table.

“No,” I shook my head and stared at nothing. “I killed him because it was the ideal place and time to do so: no one knew he had gone down there save the Augur, and he is widely disliked so no one was likely to press the matter while there were greater concerns.”

“And what was served by his death, hm?” Savos leaned forward.

“To keep you two alive.” That stopped them. “Ancano was always going to die, but not before his meddling with the Eye caused a breach that killed both of you, and endangered Winterhold.”

The two master mages looked at one another, then nodded. Savos turned back to me. “I believe you. Your forthrightness is all that stays my decision to summarily expel you. However,” he held up a hand at my relieved expression, “you will make amends for this breach of trust.”

I sat up and waited, until Mirabelle continued. “As you surmised, we were planning an expedition to Labyrinthian to retrieve the Staff of Magnus. We had been preparing to send Onmund on this task, but I assume you are aware of the dangers associated with that ruin?”

I nodded. “Morokei draining the Magicka of anyone trying to delve too deep into the ruin.”

Savos gave a mirthless smile. “Yes. Onmund has some potential as a Mage; perhaps enough to be a master some day, but he is at the end of his endurance. Labyrinthian would likely be the death of him. It may not be for you; so this will be your penance,” he set a Torc on the table between us. “Proceed to Labyrinthian without delay, retrieve the staff, and return here. We should have a solution to the tracking talismans by then.”

We all stood, and the two masters turned and walked away.

“Make ready; you leave at dawn.”

...

Labyrinthian was a six day hike from the College. I spent most of it planning with Barbas how to deal with the many threats inside, besides Morokei. The Dragon Skeleton room was a major concern, but so was the sheer density of Draugr. I debated on whether to rely on the Shadow Armor and stealth, or the Jarl’s armor and magic. 

I ultimately decided to use the Restoration Armor, since I could Muffle myself. It didn’t help that I’d been having recurring dreams about me sneaking around a spider web in the Combat Cat-Suit.  

I managed to sneak through the courtyard of the city ruin without attracting the attention of any Trolls, and entered the main complex. There were no free standing ghosts having a discussion, though I could hear voices faintly; like hearing someone whisper on the other side of an empty cathedral. I did manage to find a spell book for Ironflesh. It only took a moment to center myself and learn the spell, then cast it before heading into the Dragon chamber.

“Are you sure about this?” Barbas looked up at me with some concern.

I sighed and leaned on the wall next to the switch. “We need to keep the dragon busy, and that means you getting underneath it and keeping it turned around. I’ll follow in after the commotion starts, and deal with the adds.”

“The ‘whats’?”

I lightly thunked my head. “All the skeletons that should have their backs turned to the door. Once they’re cleared, we double team the Dragon Skeleton, and move on from there.”

The plan went mostly right. Barbas drew everyone’s attention as he hid under the chest of the dragon. I could only clear one side of the beast before everyone reoriented on me, at which point Barbas ran out and started wrecking skeletons while I dodged the beast’s frost breath. We finally cleared the room and brought the Dragon down.

“See,” I huffed from on top of the dragon skull, “no problem.”

Barbas glared from where he lay panting. “I would bite you right now, if I didn’t need your thumbs to get out of here.”

We took some time to recover, scavenge, and for me to recast my protective magics, then we were off again. The next room had the same faint feeling of voices from a distance, then a booming voice that drained my Magicka.

“Hold on a second,” I yelled out as I pulled out the Dragon Language book. “Can you say that again?” There was nothing, so I waited until my Magicka recovered and we pressed on. 

I saw the Frost door before Morokei yelled at us again, so I drew my sword, and held it by the blade like a hammer. As soon as we stepped in, several Draugr started to stir. I focused on the one stepping through the Frost Door and smashed it into the ground before it had taken two steps. I could hear Barbas going house on another as my Magicka recovered enough to unlock the spell-bound door. 

As soon as the door opened, Morokei’s voice boomed out again, and my Magick faded to nothing. I grabbed the book one more time.

“Can you slow down? I’m relying on a phrase book here.” Again, silence. I put the book and sword away, and readied my Dwemer Crossbow. Once my Magicka was up, I cast Muffle and began sniping my way through. 

The voice boomed out again as I tried to cross a stone bridge. “Why do you not answer, Aren?”

“Finally,” I yelled out. “You could have not been such an elitist prick and just spoke in the common tongue from the start.”

“You, you are not Aren.”

I snorted. “And you, you are not very bright if it took this long to figure that out.”

“Such arrogance from something so small.”

I sniped a Draugr that had been attracted by my voice. “And such bluster from someone who was trapped down here by an Apprentice Mage.”

“What are you doing,” Barbas hissed from my side.

“Pissing him off.” I shot another Draugr as we descended deeper.

“Clearly! Why?!”

“Because people who are pissed make more mistakes.”

I paused and listened for a moment. “That’s it? One mention of Aren and the Scooby Gang is all it takes to shut you up? Seriously, you should just give me the Stick of Destiny and save yourself a lot of pain.”

We reached another door, just as Morokei found his voice again. “If you are so eager to meet your doom, then come: face Morokei, who is called Glorious!”

I gritted my teeth as my Magicka was once again drained. “I am so going to enjoy wearing your face as a hat.”

The remainder of the descent was just rinse, repeat. The only time I paused was to collect a few samples of Ghost weapons, and any charged Soul Gems I came across. I did switch to using the Ghost Bows, rather than waste my few remaining Dwarven quarrels. Luckily, there were a lot of bows.

We finally reached the chamber where Morokei was contained. I could feel the power coming from two spectral forms facing Morokei.

“Alright, Barbas; you ready?”

“Nope.” He slunk up to the spot I had suggested, just outside of Morokei’s prison bubble. I snuck up to the wall overlooking the entire area. I set my weapons out for easy access, then readied Sun Fire in each hand. I had found that I could aim my spells very naturally and very accurately using the ‘Finger-Gun’ technique.

“Now,” I yelled as I blasted the two spectral mages simultaneously. Barbas immediately lunged for Morokei as I took up one of my last two Drain-Spell Ghost Bows. I emptied its charges into the Dragon Priest while Barbas harried him. I then switched to the much harder hitting Crossbow. In less than thirty seconds, Morokei was reduced to rags and ash.

I hopped down, then made my way to where Barbas was digging through the mess. He came up first with Morokei’s mask, which he tossed at my feet. I put the mask on and felt a surge in my Magicka as Barbas came up again with the Staff of Magnus.

I took the Staff, and shivered as it pulled at my Magicka for a second. I wrapped it in linen along with the rest of my valorized weapons. 

I was relieved that there was no Thalmor waiting for me just outside of Morokei’s prison. 

“Almost done with this bit buddy, then only four labors to go.”

Chapter Text

Two weeks after being sent on my penance run to Labyrinthian, I returned to Winterhold. It would have been nice for it to have been a triumphal return, but I was exhausted, and so were my supplies. I just wanted to give Savos the Staff of Magnus, grab a meal from the dormitory kitchenette, and fall face first into my bed.

It was in this half-dazed state I plodded into the Hall of the Elements.

“This is simply unacceptable!” I blinked blearily at a squad of Thalmor trying to menace the entire faculty and student body of the College. “The Aldmeri Dominion was gracious enough to assign one of the esteemed Justiciars to your college as an advisor, and now you say he’s disappeared? I demand to know what you have done with him at once!”

I had a number of conflicting thoughts at that moment, not the least of which was slitting the Thalmor’s throat. That the thought was specific to using the Blade of Woe was a little alarming. Still, in my state, I was slow to react as the irritatingly familiar Thalmor in Hooded Robes finally noticed my entrance.

“You there; tell me this instant where Justiciar Ancano is!”

There was a tense moment of silence before I blinked through sleep enthralled eyes. His name danced on the tip of my tongue, but the only one I could clearly recall was ‘Aldmeri Adviser’. Ultimately, I didn’t care enough to try. “Aren’t you Ancano?”

The silence dragged for another second before a snort of laughter escaped Nirya, which earned a hiss from Mirabelle

The Justiciar’s face started to gain the same orange tinge Ancano’s had in our one fateful conversation. “You think to make sport of me?!”

I blame sleep deprivation on my lack of inhibitions. “Me? Never,” the sarcasm in my voice was thick enough to spread on toast. “It would be disgraceful for me to engage in a battle of wits with an unarmed opponent.” 

I have to assume that the audacity of my answer bought me the precious seconds needed to walk over to Savos and the rest. “Here’s this back.” I handed him the Torque. “I’ll give a full report once I’ve had something to eat and a nap.”

Savos took the torque with a frown, then looked at the Thalmor. “As my student has pointed out, Justiciar Estormo,” that’s right, the prick that’s supposed to kill you just outside Morokei’s chamber, “it has been a long and trying day for all and you have traveled far. I would strongly suggest you seek lodging at the Inn tonight, and we can address this matter in a more civil and deliberate manner in the morning.” Savos was working hard to sound pleasant. He then turned to me.

“I realize you are quite weary, but I must insist on your report now. Follow me.”

I stumbled along while all the students headed out, to their beds. We arrived at the Arch-Mage's quarters, followed closely by Mirabelle Ervine, the Enchanter Sergius, and Master Colette Marence.

Savos pointed to a chair. “Sit.” I got the distinct impression I was a hair’s breadth away from becoming a permanent fixture of the College’s architecture. He nodded at Colette, and I felt a rush of vital energies.

I gripped the chair’s armrests and sat straight up. “I’m awake! I’m awake!”

Savos relaxed somewhat. “I had hoped that your provocation downstairs was the result of exhaustion. Since that seems to be the case, I will forgive your breach of decorum. Now, about your expedition?”

I unlimbered my wrapped package and passed the staff to Savos. I gave the bundle of Ghost weapons to Sergius. “I’m keeping one of each for my own research.”  

Savos held the Staff reverently, then looked up at me. His face was tense, as if preparing to defend himself. It took me a moment to figure out what he was waiting for: What about the two mages I left behind to bind Morokei. 

I relaxed back in my chair. “Aside from a few Trolls around the city itself, there should be nothing to stop the College students from conducting a more thorough investigation.”

Savos sighed in relief. “That’s good to know: Labyrinthian has always been a point of interest for me and the College. Was there anything else?”

I gave the faintest of nods. “Nothing else that- whoa...” I was hit full force with a wave of drowsiness. “Guess that’s why you don’t teach students that technique, Doc.” I side eyed Colette and nearly slid out of my chair.

She and Sergius helped me onto my feet. “Arch-Mage, while I understand the gravity and scope of any expedition into Labyrinthian, I must insist Hiram be allowed proper rest before any further questioning.”

“Of course,” he gestured to the door. “There will be enough time tomorrow to find out what transpired.”

I barely remember being handed off to Onmund and deposited fully clothed into my bed.

...

“Boss?” I looked down and to my left and saw Barbas staring up at me. I didn’t remember getting up, much less getting dressed in the full Shadow Armor and Blade of Woe. I certainly didn’t remember climbing onto the roof of the Frozen Hearth Inn, where I knew the Thalmor squad was bedded down for the night.

I Muffled, sheathed Astrid’s dagger, then jerked my head towards the College. We managed to make it back without being seen or heard. I stripped the Dark Brotherhood armor off and stuffed it in the bottom of my pack again.

“I think I have a problem.” I looked at Barbas, whose ears were flagged, and tail was limp. “If I try to put that on again, bite me. Hard.”

My dreams were filled with skittering shapes and a sibilant voice whispering in disappointment.

My wakeup call was no less upsetting.

“BOWOWOWOWOWOW!”

“Jesus H Christ!” I flailed out of bed, falling onto the floor as Barbas menaced one of the Thalmor soldiers.

“Gah! Accursed hound; begone!”

Barbas bared his teeth and growled. “Right back atcha, bitch!”

There was a building sound of discontent in the Hall of Attainment, as everyone was awakened by the ruckus.

I clawed my way back onto my feet and glared at the Altmer woman. “What are you doing in my room?”

“Dominion business,” she sneered as she tried to move around Barbas. “We are searching for Justiciar Ancano!”

I looked around my semi-circular cell. “Where, in my sock drawer?”

“What is all that racket,” Tolfdir called from the other side of the Hall.

“Apparently, the Thalmor believe Hiram is hiding Ancano amongst his unmentionables,” Nirya snarked from the second-floor skylight.

The Thalmor shivered in frustration and embarrassment, before going for her sword. “Enough of this!”

Her entire body flashed green, and she tipped sideways into the doorjamb like an off-balance statue.

“Enough indeed.” I could see Tolfdir lowering his hand, traceries of a Paralysis spell fading from his fingers. “The audacity! Onmund, please remove her from the hall.”

The Nord mage silhouetted the Thalmor for a moment, before picking her up like a hay bale. “Where do you want her?’

“Just prop her against the wall outside. It will take a few minutes for the spell to wear off.”

Everyone chuckled as Onmund wrangled the frozen Thalmor out the door. I took the opportunity to get dressed in College Robes, since I had some running around the campus to do. 

I looked down at Barbas as I pulled on my hood. “Stay here and watch the stuff. If the Thalmor get nosey, bite their noses off.”

My first stop was in the Arcaneum.

“AYEE!” -clangclatterclatter- I had to dodge as a different Thalmor soldier in dented armor tumbled down the stairs.

“And stay out!” Urag’s bellow echoed up and down the spiral staircase.

I gingerly made my way up and found the College librarian collecting books that had been dumped from one of the bookcases. He glanced at me and snarled.

I put my hands up placatingly. “If I help put those away, would you be willing to help me with a bit of research?”

His eyes darted to the mess of books, as his breathing evened out. “Fine. I have gloves in my desk; put them on and start organizing these by date.”

It took an hour; mostly because the spilled books were intermingled with various tomes and folios that normally littered the floor. Once the library was organized again, Urag settled into his chair.

“Alright, what was it you needed?”

“Anything you have on spiders in iconography or augury.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Any reason,” he asked as he moved to one of the bookshelves.

“Bad dreams,” I said bluntly. “I stopped believing in coincidences a long while ago.”

I spent the rest of the morning researching. By the time lunch rolled around, I had a sneaking suspicion what was going on: the Night Mother, bride of Sithis, was trying to recruit me as the new Listener for her Dark Brotherhood. As I had a deal with Barbas to destroy the Dark Brotherhood, and no desire to spend my days as an Instrument of Policy for a Daedric Prince, that was a no go.

I headed back to the Hall of Attainment to grab something to eat while I planned my next move. As I was crossing the courtyard, I saw the Hall of Countenance’s doors fly open. One Thalmor soldier in scorched armor was dragging another, whose torso and arms were completely encased in several inches of ice. They dodged as best they could, as Master Faralda stalked out behind them. She spared them one withering glare as she headed straight to the Hall of Elements. After a few seconds of silence, the main training hall windows started flashing. It looked and sounded like a thunderstorm. Every student in the courtyard quickly either turned back to one of the living halls or headed off campus.

After a somewhat crowded meal, and a talk with Barbas to see if the Thalmor had been back, I ventured out to see if I could talk to either Savos or Mirabelle.

“This is outrageous!” Estormo was attempting to loom over Magister Mirabelle. “I expected full cooperation with this investigation!”

Mirabelle’s deadpan stare said everything decorum wouldn’t allow. “Since starting your ‘investigation’, your Thalmor team has,” she began ticking off on her fingers, “attempted to sneak into the occupied sleeping quarters of one of our students, manhandled and potentially destroyed dozens of irreplaceable second era tomes and folios, and disrupted a delicate experiment by one of our senior Master Mages. What you have not done is actually investigate.”

“Did you check the Midden?” Onmund flinched as all eyes turned on him. “I... I just mean, when I went down there to speak to the Augur,” he winced at the look Mirabelle shot him, “h-he said Ancano had already come to speak to him, but that Ancano had ‘passed beyond his vision’; whatever that means.”

Estormo spun on Mirabelle. “And why have you not mentioned this ‘midden’? What is this ‘Augur’? What are you hiding down there?!”

I was about to wade in, when J’Zargo stepped between Onmund and Estormo. “No one has mentioned the Midden, because ‘Midden’ is a Nordic word for ‘sewer’. Nobody mentioned it, because nobody in their right mind goes down there unless they have no other choice.”

Estormo puffed up and pointed back at Onmund. “He did, and apparently so did Ancano!”

The Khajiit shrugged. “From what this one has heard, Onmund had no other choice. As for Ancano; J’Zargo can think of no need he’d have that would send him down there.” He pointed at the Midden hatch. “If you want to wade through the College's waste and trash, this one will not stop you.”

Estormo stood there staring at J’Zargo expectantly, while the Khajiit stared at him like he was a cashier at McDonalds. Finally, Estormo started turning that Spray-Tan orange color and stormed off. 

Looks like I don’t need to step in at all.

Once Estormo and his Thalmor were down the hatch, I headed over to Mirabelle. “Is the Archmage available? I wanted to ask him about our agreement regarding my expedition.”

She led me up to Savos’ quarters, then sat me down. “Wait here. I need to gather a few things.”

One thing I had not done anywhere else in Skyrim since arriving, was just open my senses to magic. There was something about the college that invited doing so. The magika wells in the Halls and courtyard had a particularly mesmerizing effect when I meditated near them. This was the first time I had the opportunity to open myself to the Arch-Mage’s abode. Where the magicka wells felt like waterfalls or streams, Savos’ space felt like a dam or rooftop cistern: a static source of power waiting to be unleashed.

That wellspring rippled as the Arch-Mage, Mirabelle Ervine, and one more mage came into the room. I looked over to see Savos, Mirabelle, and Master Neloren. The Dunmer Illusionist was carrying a cloak.

“As agreed,” Savos gestured to Drevis as he handed me the cloak, “this cloak should disrupt the magics used to track you.”

Drevis draped the cloak over my shoulders, then wrapped an excess of cloth over my head as a hood. “What it won’t do is prevent people from recognizing you, so maybe don’t go attracting attention or looking for trouble?”

I nodded in thanks. “I can’t make any promises on either account, but I won’t go picking any more unnecessary fights.”

From there, I went back down to the Arcaneum to work out a deal with Urag: I wanted every book and reference he could scrounge up on the Dragon Language and Dragon Priests. Securing all of it set me back a chunk of change, but I felt it was a worthwhile investment; I had no desire to sacrifice innocent lives to the whims of Daedric Princes, for a Word of Power that reasonably should be known by someone other than Mirrak and Hermaeus Mora.

I was heading back to the Hall of Attainment, when I saw the various Thalmor carrying a desiccated body out the front gate. Estormo was not with them, as he stood in the center of the courtyard railing against Arch-Mage Aren.

“This is an outrage!” Estormo’s robes were covered in cobwebs, dirt and unidentifiable detritus. “An esteemed member of the Aldmeri Dominion’s Thalmor Justiciars has been murdered in your college, and you dare refuse to hand over the perpetrator?!”

“Are you accusing Master Marence of lying?” Savos’ conversational tone was at odds with the energies pulsing from the courtyard Magicka well. “I seem to recall her saying all of Ancano’s injuries were indicative of falling from a great height, and from being attacked by Frostbite Spiders. You yourself said the spider nest where you found his remains was adjacent to a chasm spanned by an ice bridge. All evidence would seem to indicate that Ancano slipped while crossing the icy span and was overwhelmed by the more hostile denizens of the Midden Dark in his injured state.”

“Preposterous!” I winced at the spittle that sprayed out of the Altmer’s mouth. “The idea that a Justiciar would fall prey to such low creatures is ludicrous. Since you are refusing to hand over Ancano’s murderer, I will simply have to remain here and find them myself.” Estormo sneered down at the Arch-Mage.

“No.”

There was a one second delay, as if Estormo didn’t understand the word Savos had just said. “What do you mean, ‘No’?”

Savos walked over to the Magicka well and played a hand through the roiling energies. “I mean that, as Arch-Mage, I reserve the right to grant or deny access to this institution to whomever I choose; and I choose to deny you access. Is that clear enough?”

“This insolence ends now!” The Justiciar flared with power. “In the name of the Aldmeri Dominion, I order you--”

A cold light flashed in Savos’ eyes, and the courtyard was filled with an oppressive aura, freezing Estormo in place.

“I would have thought someone of your status would be aware of basic geography. If not, I will happily educate you.” Savos flicked his wrist, and Magicka poured out of the wells like water from a firehose. “We are currently not in the Aldmeri Dominion. As such, you have zero authority to issue commands, much less threats. I, however, am the Arch-Mage of this institution and I will gladly make this ultimatum to you, and any Thalmor that would follow in your footsteps.” Another flick of his wrist, and Estormo floated in the air. “You are unwelcome at the Mages College of Winterhold. Any trespassers will suffer a like fate as yours.” With a flourish, Estormo’s body twisted, distorted and shrank. The Thalmor robes fell away to reveal a chicken, desperately squawking and kicking the air.

Savos casually walked to the main gate, with Chicken-Estormo floating in front of him. “Please forward my message to First Minister Elenwen; once you are able to, of course.” Savos pointed out over the town of Winterhold, and launched Estormo.

“BAKWAAAAAaaaaaaaakkkk!” 

“What an odious person.” Savos took a deep breath, and the power ebbed back into the Magicka well. He turned back to the Hall of Elements, and looked at the gathered crowd. “I would recommend that everyone remain on campus until the Thalmor have departed the hold.”

With that, he returned to the Hall of Elements, and everyone else headed to the residence halls.

...

The next day, as I stepped out from breakfast, an unfamiliar Nord was looking around the courtyard.

“Can I help you?”

He came over to me. His eyes glazed over for a moment, and I could feel a Clairvoyance spell wash over me. So that’s how they always find you. He sighed in relief. “I’ve been looking for you. Got a letter from someone named Marissa--”

“M'Rissa,” I corrected as I held out my hand.

He pulled a folded section of parchment out of a satchel and handed the letter over. “Ah, my apologies. Well, that’s it; got to go.” He turned back down the causeway and jogged off.

I headed back inside, and read the message.

-Hiram, as of 17th of Sun’s Dusk, Serana has made contact with us at Fort Dawnguard. We will be departing to Dragon’s Bridge to find Dexion, after which this one intends to head to Solstheim. We will meet you in Windhelm on the Fifth of Even Star.-

I ran the numbers in my head, and figured I had a week and a half. Plenty of time to drop the Lexicon off with Septimus, and pay Cicero a visit in the Dawnstar Sanctuary. I didn’t know whether the Shadow Armor and Blade of Woe were responsible for my growing connection to the Night Mother, but I felt it was well past time I made my intentions clear to the near Daedra.

I was organizing my bag for my imminent departure, when someone knocked on the lintel of my door.

“Hiram,” Mirabelle called from the main room, “the Arch-Mage would like to speak with you.”

I glanced at Barbas, who climbed onto the bed and laid down. I followed Mirabelle up to Savos’ chambers. He looked up from where he was studying the Staff of Magnus. 

“Ah, good. I wanted to discuss your future with the College.”

This will either be good, or very bad. “I am at your disposal.”

“Are you?” He quirked an eyebrow. “On the one hand, you are phenomenally industrious. The various Masters have nothing but high praise regarding your studies and progress; to say nothing of your efforts to retrieve both the Staff of Magnus and an Elder Scroll. On the other hand, you lied by omission to myself and the faculty about your origins, and you murdered Ancano. Had you been forthright about the former from the start, we might have avoided the latter entirely.”

He set the staff aside and stood. “Now, this institution which has remained neutral for centuries is at direct odds with the Aldmeri Dominion. I won’t deny that, given the Thalmor’s penchant for subversion and domination, conflict would have been inevitable. However,” he focused fully on me, and I could feel the oppressive power of his chambers weighing down on me, “I would much rather have had control of when that conflict arose, rather than having it chosen for me by your refusal to extend trust.

“Still,” the oppressive aura subsided, “you had already made me aware of all this before being sent after the Staff.” He patted the artifact on the table. “I am a man of my word. You have done as asked; no matter how troublesome your actions in the past, you have done well by the College. As long as there are no further incidents such as Ancano’s regrettable ‘accident’, I see no reason to bar you from the college.” 

My mind flashed to all the various plans I was working on, trying to think if any would directly impact the Mage College. I was apparently an open book to the two master mages, as Savos sighed while Mirabelle leaned in.

“What else?”

Don’t be clever, just be honest.

“Could we perhaps get some tea and snacks? This will take a while.”

Chapter Text

I left the College the next morning, fully packed and bundled in my new cloak. I received a few nods and well wishes from the various students and faculty. If they, like Savos and Mirabelle, had been aware of my intended course of actions... well, I’m not certain how they would have reacted.

The small boat I had used the first time to get to Septimus was where I had left it, though it took some doing to get it de-iced and serviceable. Barbas and I didn’t head out until the next day at dawn. The weather was thankfully mild, so we made good time to Septimus’ iceberg. I left Barbas outside with the boat, so he didn’t set off Hermaeus’ paranoia.

The old man’s ramblings were exactly what I expected, though my time studying at the College made me more aware of the subtle presence prodding his will. His almost ecstatic moan as he accessed the Lexicon was a little much, but I suppose a part of that might have been sympathetic feedback from Mora.

His madness didn’t impede his skill or power as a mage, as he full-on Conjured the Mer-Blood extractor. The rig looked to be a reverse Autoinjector, which is an intricate tool on its own. It was an impressive feat, and I took what notes I could. 

I could feel Mora move more deliberately once Septimus gave me the device. The old mage tottered off to stare at the Dwemer box, and I headed up the ice ramp for my formal audience with Oblivion’s pathological bibliophile.

“ Come closer. Bask in my presence. ” A sibilant voice radiated out from a writhing mass of black tendrils, with eyes periodically floating to the surface before popping like bubbles. It was genuinely unsettling. “ I am Hermaeus Mora; but you knew that already, didn’t you? ”

Don’t be clever, but don’t give away your shirt either.

“Yes, I did.”

The cave echoed with a wet, sinister chuckle. “ No secret is hidden from me, and no Fate is beyond my influence. Many have come to me for knowledge and power. You are no different. Your efforts at unlocking the box are rendering Septimus increasingly obsolete. He has served me well, but his time is nearing its end. Once that infernal lockbox is opened, he will have exhausted his usefulness to me. When that time comes, you shall take his place as my emissary. ”

I planted myself in a solid Parade Rest, and frowned at the wriggling manifestation. “No, I will not.”  

“ Be warned. Many have thought as you do. I have broken them all. You shall not evade me forever. ”

I grimaced at Mora. “I was hoping to avoid this by being forthright. However, that's the second time you’ve lied to me in this conversation. First,” I pointed back at the Dwemer object in the cave, “the secret to opening the box was hidden from you, and the Fate of the Oghma Infinium within is beyond your reach. The second lie,” I gestured all around, “is the assumption of your absolute control of your minions.” I squared myself up and stared at the Daedric Prince in its many eyes. “We both know that even now, the ‘First Servant’ chafes against his restraints. He’s a year, at most, away from slipping out of Apocrypha, and out of your grasp.

“So pay close attention, and I will tell you the way of things.” Several tendrils curled into themselves. “You want to open the box; so do I. You want to prevent Miraak’s imminent escape; so do I. Our interests align, nothing more. I know what it is that I must do to accomplish my goals, so the only thing I need from you,” I pulled out one of the Thalmor orders, “is to get these mages to stop interfering.” All of the floating eyes locked on the parchment, save one that glared at me. “Do we have an accord?”

The eyes and tendrils relaxed in an approximation of a conciliatory shrug. “ The Bura Morae are of no consequence to me. ” I repeated the unfamiliar but clearly Altmer word over and over; first chance I got, I’d be researching that. “ Neither is your delusion of freedom. I am eternal, and you are not. Once your manual utility is done, I will have your secrets. ”

I casually swatted a tendril away from my face. “Well unless you have the pass or the token of the pass, you can just wriggle on and let me get down to doing what you can’t.”

“ Such insolence! I will enjoy breaking you. ” The manifestation faded, and I scrambled out into the fresh air as fast as I could.

Barbas came over and sat down beside me. “Are you incapable of not pissing off eldritch beings?”

I got my breathing under control and splashed my face with the arctic sea water. “Hey, everybody needs a hobby, right?” I headed over to our boat. “Let’s get back to the mainland to camp out. We’ve got a hell of a hike ahead of us.”

It took four days to cross the ice shelf between Winterhold and Dawnstar, with a short foray into Blackreach for some Falmer blood. The sun was setting when we finally came upon the Dawnstar Sanctuary of the Dark Brotherhood.

The same skeletal motif awaited, and the same sinister voice queried.

-What is life's greatest illusion?-

“Innocence, my brother.”

- Welcome home -

I sighed in relief as the door opened. I cast a quick Muffle, then Barbas and I slipped inside. The two of us paused and listened. At first we heard nothing. Then, slowly, we began to discern a voice echoing faintly through the carved hallways. I was about to call up my Clairvoyance, when Barbas let out a low chuff . I nodded in understanding, and we simply followed the voice. There were several chambers along the way. We moved cautiously as we went, not knowing what awaited us.

We finally arrived at the deepest part of the complex. A desiccated corpse in a coffin rested on a raised dais, while sitting in a chair facing it...

“In the early days of the Dark Brotherhood, the bodies of the Night Mother and her children were recovered from their original burial site, and interred in a crypt beneath the site of her house. And there they remain, even today.” Cicero giggled and looked up from the book he was reading aloud. “Well, I suppose this is an out of date edition, isn’t it mother ?”

Looking at Cicero, I was struck by how profoundly tragic he was. He was driven by the singular desire to serve the Night Mother: at first hoping to become her Listener , then content to simply find the Listener . I knew he was dangerous: an accomplished assassin in his own right. But in that moment, he was simply the utterly devoted son of an absentee parent. I didn’t know if what I intended was a mercy or the final betrayal of Cicero’s life, but I did know that it needed to happen now: the Dark Brotherhood had to end.

“Hello, Cicero.”

The Harlequin Jester spun out of his seat and stared at me, before his face split in a manic grin. “Happy day, oh happy day! Mother has been calling you home, and now you are here!”

“Cicero...”

“With the fall of the old Sanctuary, and dear sweet Babette running off after vengeance,” he all but spat the word, “leaving Mother and I all alone, I feared for the future of the Brotherhood.”

“Cicero...”

“But you heard; you listened , and now we can rebuild the order right! In the old ways, as in the old days. Oh, Mother will be so pleased!”

I set my pack down, and retrieved the Shadow armor and Blade of Woe. “I did not come to bring you peace, but the sword.” I put the bundle down between us. “A man cannot serve two masters, and I am already sworn to see an end to the Brotherhood. I am sorry.”

Cicero knelt and reverently picked up the dagger. “This was Astrid’s blade.”

“She fell to the Dovahkiin . You and Babette are all that remain.” 

“No,” his grin turned manic as he began twirling the blade in his hand, before pointing it at me, “ you and Babette are all that remain. The new-old ways have brought the Brotherhood to the brink. Babette remembers the old ways, but her vision is too clouded to hear Mother’s will. Once you are dead,” he began dancing in a circle, while I surreptitiously cast Ironflesh, “her eyes will no longer be clouded, and I can finally fulfill my purpose of rebuilding the Dark Brotherhood. Isn’t that wonderful ?” 

His question was punctuated by a lunging slash at my throat, only barely deflected by armor and magic. I threw up a Ward, and reinforced it with my Spark. When he slashed again, the Ward shattered but shocked him in the process. He cartwheeled away after dropping the Blade of Woe.

“Oh-ho-ho! No mere sell-sword, but a Spell-Sword; this will be so fun! ” His smile was completely joyous, in that Cesar Romero ‘Joker’ way. He then bolted down a corridor, and towards the barracks we had passed through: the barracks, with their attached armory. I was no longer conflicted about killing him. 

“Barbas,” I stalked up the dais, “head down the other corridor, and herd him back this way. I have no intention of letting him choose the battleground”

Barbas barked and ran, while I readied my Arc-Jet.

“Cicero,” I yelled as I raised my hands and pointed them at the Night Mother, “let me know what poor Mother has to say about this.”

-FWOOSH-

The desiccated cadaver quickly charred and fell to pieces, while the chamber filled with acrid smoke. I stepped off the dais and drew my sword and brought up my Clairvoyance. I was tracking the entrance of the chamber that the spell indicated, when an apparition materialized beside me. I barely got my sword up to block it when another ghost came at me from the opposite side. I switched to charging my blade with Sun Fire, and waded in. It took a minute to clear the angry ghosts from the room. 

I had just re-established my Clairvoyance, when Cicero rushed into the room screaming in a rage. His jester outfit was in tatters, and I could see bites and claw marks all over before he leapt at me. I got a Ward up and rolled backwards. Cicero rolled with me, and came up holding the Blade of Woe again.

“You desecrated Mother !” Spittle flew across the room. 

I raised an eyebrow. “And? Am I your mother’s Keeper ?”

While the historic and sport sword techniques I had studied in my life were anachronistic, they were ideally suited to one-on-one fights. Cicero may have been a master assassin, but he was also injured and not thinking tactically. He shrieked in rage and charged, intent on gutting me. I shifted my stance just a bit to take me out of line, while guiding his blade into empty air. This simple riposte caused him to impale himself upon the full length of my blade. I wrenched the sword sideways as I stepped again, and dumped him onto the steps of the dais.

I watched him for a second, as he feebly tried to drag himself up to the Night Mother’s ruined remains. I set my sword down, then picked him up and put him beside the pile of ruined flesh and bones. His fingers curled around one of the mummified hands, as I turned back to where I had set aside the Shadow Armor. When I turned back to Cicero, there was no life left in his eyes, but there was a smile on his lips.

I kept my Flame going on the pyre until there was nothing left but potash.

Once I was certain there was nothing left to salvage, I went looking for Barbas. I found him limping through one of the dormitories.

“You okay there, buddy?”

He gave a frustrated growl. “Sneaky bastard soaked his clothes in poison. I got a few licks in at least.” 

I found a couple of rabbit legs, and soaked them in healing potions before giving them to Barbas.

“Let’s get the hell out of here.”

As soon as we stepped outside, the Black Door closed behind us. There was a deep rumbling, then a crack . When I turned and looked, the earth around the entrance to the Sanctuary looked like it had collapsed.

Barbas sat for a moment, his tail wagging. “And that’s the Dark Brotherhood. Two down, three to go.”

I grimaced and looked around. “Well, the Sanctuary’s done, but Babette’s still out there.”

Barbas chuffed and started walking towards Dawnstar. “Maybe, but she can’t put the organization back together. Take it from the cosmic deal maker: this condition has been met.”

“If you say so, then alright.” I followed Barbas towards the mining and port town. “Just three apocalypse’s to go.”

Chapter Text

The sun was starting to set as the harbor came into view. I was a little hesitant as we entered Dawnstar. I knew another Daedric Prince was meddling in the town: Vermina, the Prince of Nightmares. I wasn’t too keen on having yet another mind altering extra-dimensional entity to contend with.

As we came into the town proper, I didn’t see any of the expected signs of a community suffering sleep deprivation and exhaustion. In fact, most of the people were downright chipper. The only negative things I heard, once settled into the Inn for the night, were complaints about Silus opening a museum to all things ‘Mythic Dawn’, and a pair of attempted murders. The Dawnstar residents were all talking amongst themselves, with one common theme: who had tried to murder Beitild and Brina? 

The Innkeeper’s daughter was convinced it had been the Jarl, since his contempt for Brina Merilis and Horik Halfhand had only grown after they had ventured into Nightcaller Temple. The town smith Rustleif and his wife thought it must have been Beitild’s husband Leigelf, as the two were currently bitterly separated. The only common theme was the certainty that the attempts were made by the Dark Brotherhood, due to notes found by both women’s beds.

While that was going on, I started asking around about possible berthing on a ship sailing to Windhelm. Katria the Bard pointed to a broad, bald man. “Harlaug is a Ferryman. You’re lucky he’s here for the night.”

I smiled, and headed over. The dour man glanced up, then nodded to the seat. “50 Septims a passenger will get you to Windhelm in a day.”

I set an uncut Garnet on the table between us. “Passage for two: myself and my dog.”

He gave a tight smile. “Meet me at the pier at dawn.”

I spent the rest of the evening trading gossip about the murders, and singing. My small collection of John Denver and James Taylor songs, though utterly incomprehensible to the Nords, seemed to resonate well. After that, Barbas and I bedded down.

I woke just as Barbas was stirring. We grabbed a quick meal, and headed to the pier. We ended up in the middle of a procession of men heading to the Northeast head. At the van was a scarred and angry man in Imperial armor. It was easy enough to hear the talk amongst them: they were going to the Black Door to try and confront the Brotherhood. 

I begged off as we came to Harlaug readying his ferry. It looked like a Whaleboat, including a stowed mast and sail. I don’t know why that surprised me, as I couldn’t realistically expect the man to row all the way to Windhelm. 

We were heading out to sea to avoid the worst of the ice flows, when we saw the investigative mob. They were picking at the rubble where the Sanctuary had once been. Once out to sea, Harlaug raised the mast, and we sailed east. As promised, the trip was about a day, and we pulled up to the Windhelm docks as the sky was darkening.

“Much obliged, Harlaug,” I called as I stepped onto the stone masonry pier, then headed up into the city proper. I stepped out of the Grey Quarter just as Sophie and Aventus were heading to the Aretino home. They were both laughing and running back and forth like children should; a vast improvement from the dour and dire circumstances I had found them in. Once they were inside, I headed to Candlehearth and secured a room for the next week.

...

I had a couple of days until M'Rissa and her entourage arrived, so I did a little exploring; and by exploring I mean visiting the ruins of Kynesgrove. The Braidwood Inn was nothing more than a dry stacked stone foundation covered in charred and sodden wood. Without the Dovakhiin to stop him, Sahloknir had been quite thorough in his destruction of the small mining settlement; even the mine entrance had collapsed. There was no indication that anyone had attempted to rebuild. Whether due to a continued dragon presence, or Ulfric’s malaise, I couldn’t say. I was in no mood for revelry when I returned to Windhelm.

The next morning, I was awakened by Barbas pulling my blanket off and whispering. “Get your lazy ass up; they’re here!”

I got dressed, and put on my new cloak in case Barbas’ ‘they’ turned out to be a Thalmor Justiciar team. I was relieved and delighted to see Lydia at the counter, even if she was less enthusiastic once she noticed me.

“I see you haven’t gotten yourself dragged into Oblivion yet.”

I waved her off. “No, that’s scheduled for next week. This week is all about the scenic route.”

She growled and grabbed a mead off the table. “I should be alarmed that you might be serious, but I’m too tired.”

I sat down at the bar and started on my breakfast. “So the Thane’s letter said you were coming with Serana. I take it everything has gone more or less to plan?”

Lydia winced and rolled her shoulder. “More or less. Dexion is with the Vigil, though that Isran fellow is...” she stalled as she tried to find the word.

“Intense? Driven? Antisocial and paranoid?”

Lydia huffed and saluted with her flagon. “Yes. Even before Serana came looking for us, he was wearing everyone thin. I can see how the Vigil had enough of him.”

We sat in companionable silence for a moment. “So if you are here, where are M'Rissa and Serana?”

That earned an eye roll. “I’m protecting all my Thane owns.” She gently kicked a pack next to her stool. “My Thane and the ‘Queen of Complaints’ are arranging our transportation.”

I chuckled around my breakfast. “I told you she was a teenager: only happy when she’s in a city and inside.”

Lydia tipped her head back and groaned. “Gods save me from that spoiled Princess!” She leaned forward and glared at me. “Precisely how long do we need to babysit her?”

I shrugged and passed an apple over. “Technically we don’t have to; you’ve seen her in a fight. It’s just prudent, given her family situation.”

We both noticed the greater than normal interest the Inn Matron was paying us. Lydia glanced at me, then took a fierce bite of the apple, spun around and leaned back against the bar. “‘Family situation’, he says.” 

The Inn Matron seemed to take the hint, and went into the sleeping area. 

Lydia polished off the apple and stared at nothing. “I just hope we can get through to that girl.” She side eyed me. “Once the dust settles, she stands to inherit a lot of power and problems.”

I gave a reassuring smile. “So get through to her. A bit of wisdom from my homeland says that if you treat someone as they are, you make them less than they are; but if you treat them as they could be, you can make them what they should be.” I turned back to the last bits of my breakfast. “She’s never had normal social relationships, so show her what she’s missed. If you treat her like a sister, I think she’ll warm up in no time.”

She looked thoughtful for a moment, then almost playfully skeptical. “If I’m her sister, then what does that make you?”

I smiled innocently as I liked my fingers clean. “I’m the eccentric uncle nobody trusts with anything more dangerous than a wooden spoon.”

She snorted and smirked. “More like the--”

We were both startled as the front door slammed open. Rolff Stone-Fist tumbled in backwards, spitting blood. He scrambled back away from a mildly perturbed M'Rissa wiping her knuckles clean, and an openly giggling Serana.

I hopped off my stool and waved. “M'Rissa, Serana! Taking in the local color I see.”

M'Rissa stepped around the bloodied Nord. “Yes, though this one expected the Court Jester to stay in the palace, rather than make a fool of himself in the Common Square.” Rolff said something unintelligible around a loose tooth and swelling lip. M'Rissa spared him a feral hiss, and he scurried off. 

She took my seat at the bar and ordered a pair of breakfasts, one with a raw beefsteak. “There is a ship that can take us to Raven Rock on tomorrow's tide. Will you be joining us?”

I sat on a nearby bench. “Not yet. I’ve got a few things I need to fetch and research. Probably take me a full Moon to get all that done, then I’ll join you.”

M'Rissa nodded as she passed the beefsteak to Searna. “Then we should plan while we can.”

It took some running around to track down a map of Solstheim to help with planning, and that led us all to the Grey Quarter and the Gnisis Corner Club. 

Lydia grimaced at the circular path marked around the island, several points marked and ordered. “I understand the wisdom of weakening this Miraak fellow before ultimately challenging him; still I can’t say I like beating around the bush.”

I shrugged. “That’s the price we pay for picking a fight with a First Era Dragon Priest. He’s been working on this since before Serana was born.”

The vampiress was about to speak when someone burst into the club and slammed the door behind them. “Vampires!”

We rushed outside, expecting one or more of Harkon’s Nightstalker teams. What we saw was a Thalmor team running pell-mell through the city, while a diminutive form perched on top of the city gates. “Find them for me,” a young girl's voice tinged with madness and rage called out over the carnage. “They took everything from me! It’s only fair that I do the same.”

A quick pulse of Clairvoyance confirmed my suspicions. “Babette,” I whispered to the rest of the group, while casting Ironflesh. “Barbas, find the kids and keep them safe.”

The Daedric hound rushed off to protect Aventus and Sophie, while M'Rissa and Lydia tensed for the upcoming fight.

“Who’s the brat?” I almost tripped at Serana’s conversational tone.

The pre-teen vampiress snapped her head around, her eyes flashing crimson in the moonlight. “There you are!” She skipped across the rooftops until she was perched over us. “You lot are so very popular; and by popular, I mean everyone wants you dead. You in particular,” she pointed a dagger-like finger at me. “She performed the Black Sacrament and everything. How could I refuse?”

I drew my sword and readied Sun Fire. “Maybe by telling Maven to get stuffed?” I smirked at the startled and annoyed look on Babette’s face. “Yeah, it was even odds that ‘she’ was Maven Blackbriar; and since the First Minister wants me in chains, not in a hole, that kinda narrows it down.”

Serana looked at me oddly. “Exactly how many people have you angered?”

“Everyone: he’s angered everyone.” Lydia drew Dawnbreaker and glared at the pint sized Lady Dracula. “That doesn’t mean you get to touch him.”

“Oh, I don’t need to.” Babette tipped her head back and screeched. Within seconds, a baker’s dozen Thalmor vampires were crawling over roofs and out of darkened alleys. “Kill the others, but bring him.” She leaned almost off of the roof. “I want to take my time with him!”

We braced as the vampires all surged forward. They were less than ten feet away when they flinched like dogs hitting an ‘invisible fence’. M'Rissa, Lydia and I glanced at Serana, who was issuing an unnaturally deep growl. Her lips twitched revealing her fangs, and she dismissively waved the pack back. 

Babette was as dumbfounded as we were as her minions slunk back into the darkness, away from Serana. “No,” she yelled as she stomped her foot on the roof. “No-no-no-no! You don’t get to take them away; they’re mine!”

Serana flickered, and then reappeared on the rooftop looking down at Babette. “And once I kill you, they’ll be mine.”

As the two vampiresses squared off against each other, silhouetted by the twin rising moons, Cary Tagawa’s voice rose unbidden in my mind.

-Let Immortal Kombat Begin: Exotic Princess versus Gothic Lolita, Fight!-

No! Bad brain! I will stab you with a Q-Tip!

I was brought back into the here-and-now, as a wave of Windhelm city guards, as well as several hastily armed Dunmer, rushed into the Gray Quarter market square. Whatever hesitancy the vampire pack had shown before vanished as the square filed with people. The next few minutes were a blur of flashing teeth, glinting steel, and screams.

I spent most of it chasing one particular turned Justiciar. Clairvoyance was okay for tracking where it was going, but was little help in finding the creature in the dark streets of the Gray Quarter. I knew it was in the area, but that was it.

A Dunmer shrieked, “For the Master,” as he charged out of one of the doors. I caught a glimpse of Thalmor robes behind the thrall as he collided with me. He clawed at my face and tried to pummel me as the vampire stalked forward.

The creature of the night was preparing to strike, when an agonized scream tore through the city, only to be suddenly silenced. The vampire’s head snapped around to where the sound came from. I heaved the frantic Dunmer Thrall into the distracted Thalmor, and ran them both through. The Dunmer sagged forward, while the vampire flailed and hissed. I grabbed its head in both hands, and Sun Fired it to dust.

Once the vampire was dealt with, I withdrew my sword from the unfortunate Dunmer and cast Healing Hands into him. My nerves were on fire as I tried to summon up more magicka to seal the wound, but it just wouldn’t close. I don’t know how long I knelt in the bloody snow pouring Healing magic into the Dunmer before M'Rissa, Lydia and Serana found me. 

“Hiram,” M'Rissa put her hand on my shoulder, “Stop. It is done. There is nothing more you can do.”

I stopped, and really looked. While telling a healthy complexion on a Dunmer can be tricky without experience, the vacant eyes and unmoving chest told me what I’d known from the moment he’d hit the ground. The Dunmer man was dead, by my blade. I stared at my bloody hands for a moment, before scrubbing them in the gritty, dirty snow of the streets.

M'Rissa bent down and grabbed my wrists. “Hiram.” 

I tried pulling away. “No! His blood’s still on my hands!” 

M'Rissa stood me up and took hold of my head so she was the only thing I could see. “Hiram, this blood is not on your hands.”

I pinched my eyes closed. “Isn’t it?” I looked down at my victim. “I knew Babette was out there, but I let her choose when to meet us, and everyone here paid the price.”

“Is M'Rissa-Dro responsible for Kyne’s Grove or Helgen?” I looked up at M'Rissa, and saw the same helpless pain I felt. “Is Serana responsible for travelers taken by her father’s minions? This one has warned you against stealing blame from the Gods. Why do you insist on doing this?”

I stared vacantly at the Dunmer for a moment, before my eyes settled on the pile of ashes that were once a Thalmor Justiciar. “Because I can’t make the ones really responsible pay; not yet. So I let that blame drive me.”

M'Rissa let her hands fall. “It is making you sick. I will ask one last time: let it go! See the good you have done and let the rage go before it drowns out the good.”

I pinched my eyes and worked to get my breathing under control. “I’ll try.” I looked up at the three women. “Head on back to the Inn. I’ll be along in a moment; there’s something I have to do.”

Once I was alone in the alley, I knelt down again, and took out Septimus’ contraption. I pressed it against the open wound on the chest, and watched as the appropriate vial filled with Dunmer blood. If I couldn’t make the Dunmer’s death make sense, at least I could give his death some meaning.

Chapter Text

The city was in chaos as I made my way back towards the inn. Most of the guards were in a daze, while citizens wandered around calling for family and friends. I came across one Thalmor corpse that wasn’t an ash pile, and got my third blood sample. 

I also swung by the Aretino home. Barbas was growling at anyone who came within ten feet of the door, and there were two dust-filled armor sets nearby.

“Hey Barbas,” he stopped growling at a passing Stormcloak and looked up. “Thanks for watching over these two. Helluva night, huh?” Barbas panted and whined. “You want to stay with the kids tonight? I can get you in the morning.”

Barbas nodded, then turned and scratched at the door. I could hear Aventus open up and call Barbas in as I continued on to Candlehearth Hall. I heard both the Priest and Priestess of Talos, as well as the Priestess of Arkay, all calling citizens to come to the various shrines to seek cleansing and purification, while the old alchemist Nurelion and his assistant bustled towards the Gray Quarter, full bags clinking as they went. Everywhere I looked, the people of Windhelm were coming together to support one another. It was a vast improvement over my first time in the city.

Once I rejoined the ladies, Lydia gave me a strained smile. “Well, at least this means you’re one step closer to the end of the Dark Brotherhood, right?”

I  nodded and settled into a chair. “Actually, Babette was the last. Aside from some unsubstantiated rumors in Dawnstar, the Brotherhood is dead.”

M'Rissa passed me a bowl of some kind of stew. “And the business with the Mages College?”

I forced myself to eat, despite how upsetting the night had been. “Contained: they have every tool needed to keep it that way, though there might be some pushback from the Thalmor. The Arch-Mage put their last representative on notice, but Elenwen is stretched pretty thin. I don’t see her diverting too many resources on that front.”

M'Rissa lightly growled. “Yes, not when she is apparently after you personally.”

I could see and hear the unasked question. “I promise, I’ll be okay. Head over to Solstheim and start putting a dent in Miraak’s plan. I’ll join you in one moon, two at the most.”

“And what will you be doing,” Lydia asked me over a tankard.

“Securing a piece of my ‘master plan’, and looking into something I heard. The Thalmor might be into something that we can use against them.”

Serana leaned in curiously. “How so? They’re already pretty reviled.”

I finished my stew and began sopping with some bread. “Not sure yet; that’s why I need to research whatever it is.” 

M'Rissa gave a contemplative purr as she put her bowl down and stood up. “We’ve all got some traveling to do, so let us get our rest,” she jabbed me in the chest, “and make sure we get to where we are going.”

...

I followed the ladies down to the docks the next morning, and gave M’Rissa the collection of books on Dragon Language.

She snorted and looked askance at me. “Some light reading for the trip?” She tucked the books into her pack, and stepped onto the Northern Maiden.

Once the ship had cast off, I gathered Barbas and made my way to the stables to catch a wagon to Whiterun. The mood in Windhelm as I made my way through was tense, with nearly every citizen asking in hushed voices whether they might have fared better without nearly every able body off fighting the Imperials. I was thankful that there wasn't any talk about the vampiric grudge match between Serana and Babette; that was one less hassle I’d have to deal with the next time I was in the Hold.

The trip to Whiterun itself was thankfully uneventful, and we arrived as the sun was setting. I made my way into the city, and up to Jorrvaskr. I was about to enter the hall, when Eorlund spotted me. “Hiram! What perfect timing; I was about to find a courier to let you know.” He headed back up to the skyforge.

I followed him up, and he proudly presented me with the single most incredible sword I had ever seen. The dragon bone I had left with him, as well as an Ebony ingot were masterfully woven through each other.

“I have been crafting weapons from Skyforged Steel for decades, but I must say this was both a challenge and a treat: quite possibly my finest work.” He beamed as I reverently picked up the weapon and tested its handiness and balance. “All this blade needs now is a name.”

I sheathed the dragon-sword and secured it to my hip, while removing Sir Orin’s sword. “I’ll name it, once it’s blooded. Can you-”

He took the Breton Knight’s sword and nodded. “I’ll give it a sharpening and an oiling, then return it to the Companion’s armory. The next time we get a wandering Breton, the sword will be there for them.”

I spent the evening sharing tales with the other Companions, before retiring to the common bunk room. In the morning, I headed to the Temple of Kynareth and lent Danica a hand, before heading out to my next destination: the sunken fortress of Ilnalta’s Deep.

Given that I had promised M’Rissa I would get to Solstheim as fast as possible, I opted for the shortest route to Ilinalta’s Deep: Brittleshin Pass. The cleft in the mountains was indeed the site of previous habitation, as Nordic masonry as well as Magic Caster pedestals were present. I took a short break in the first cavern to study one such trap. It was simultaneously very complex, and surprisingly elegant. I hoped I would be able to apply what I learned to help deal with Mora, when the time came.

As expected and feared, there was a Necromancer in the upper levels. Thankfully, I had a plan for dealing with them.

“You want me to do what?” Barbas cocked his head to the side.

“Just run through while barking,” I whispered as I readied my Dwarven Crossbow. “I’ll deal with the Necromancer, and his constructs should be easy to dispatch.”

Barbas tensed, then ran 

“ BOWOWOWOWOWOW! ”

Everything in the room started following Barbas, including the Necromancer himself. As soon as he paused to fire a spell at the baying hound, I shot. As he slumped onto the stairs, I dropped my bow and drew my new sword, then set off after Barbas. The skeletons were easy enough to deal with, and we headed back into the main chamber to retrieve my bow.

As soon as I walked in, I was hit with a pulse of Magicka; it felt as if someone had sunk hooks into my soul. I dove behind an altar out of the way of an Ice Spike, courtesy of the not entirely dead Necromancer. Barbas came rushing in behind me, drawing the dark Mage’s fire. I came up and let loose with a finger gun Lightning Bolt. The Necromancer went flying, smashing into another altar before sliding bonelessly down the stairs.  

Barbas stalked close to the Necromancer. “I thought you killed him?!”

“So did I.” I stood up, massaging my chest against the persistent feeling like my soul was being tugged on. I dragged the corpse back to the cleft leading to the lower cavern, and dumped him into the chasm. “Let’s -huff- let’s bunker down here for the night.”

The next morning, we made the final trek to Ilinalta's Deep. I had expected there to be more of a fight, but that was remembering a game, not the reality of a partially sunken fortress occupied by the few fanatical holdouts of one Necromancer. What there were a lot of, were skeletons. Barbas and I settled into a solid rhythm of him baying the holdout mages, while I made bone meal on an almost industrial scale. Once the skeletons were done, I’d waded in and helped dispatch whatever mage Barbas was still dealing with. 

It still took the better part of a morning to make our way to the pinnacle of the Deep’s tower, and the rotting remains of Malyn Varen. The corpse was still clinging to Azura’s Star, which definitely looked worse for wear. Malyn’s cadaver crumbled to dust when I pried the Star out of its grip. I could feel the pull from Azura’s artifact in my hand. I pocketed it as soon as I could.

“Alright Barbas, let’s get the hell out of here.”

The noonday sun shone down on us as we emerged, but I knew we only had a few short hours of winter daylight. I had no desire to camp out, so we made our way to Riverwood. I knew it was a gamble, given that Delphine ran the Inn, but I felt confident enough to risk it.

The sun had set, and the sky was darkening when we passed the Whiterun guards at the west gate of Riverwood. I kept the cowl of my cloak over my head as we passed through town, and arrived at the inn. There was a general bustle of the public space; the people of Riverwood seemed genuinely happy, and I was happy for them. Barbas settled onto the floor next to me as I enjoyed a local venison stew. 

Once most of the people had left, I approached Delphine. “Do you have any room available for the night?”

“For ten Septims.” I put the coin in her hand, and she walked me over to the room next to the main door. “It’s yours for the day.”

I smiled in thanks and relief; she hadn’t recognized me. “I’ll only need it until the morning, then I’ll be on my way.” I settled in for the night.

...

I walked down a dimly lit path. Menacing shadows writhed on either side, waiting for me to stumble. I came to a crossroads. Everytime I tried to follow the correct path, a shadowed figure stepped in front of me, and the path changed. A voice whispered in my ear, “She comes!”

...

I woke up suddenly, but without  moving. I could hear the door to my room being opened. I readied a Lightning Bolt under my covers, and waited. I could feel someone come in, though I couldn’t hear them.

“Should I have asked for the Attic room?” There was a scuff on the floor. I opened my eyes and sat up. Delphne was in her full leathers, a rag and an unidentified vial in her hands. I lifted my hands out of the bed linens, allowing her to see the spell dancing across my fingertips. “A little early for turndown service, isn’t it?”

“You.” It was amazing how much vitriol she managed to put into that one word. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve lost because of you?”

I sat cross legged on the bed, keeping my finger-gun pointed at her. “ You’ve lost absolutely nothing; except control over the Dovahkiin , but that was never yours to begin with. I am a little curious what you did with Barbas; he’s a Good Boy, but he’d usually be giving the whole town an earful by now.”

“Sorry,” she shrugged and sat in the room’s chair. “I’ll get you another dog, depending on how this conversation goes.” 

I kept as relaxed as I could and gave her a sympathetic smile. “I hate to break it to you, but the worst you can do to him is knock him out; maybe give him some bad gas. I’ll try to keep him from biting you when he wakes up, depending on how this conversation goes.” I nodded at the bottle and rag she’d set on the table. “Let’s start with what you intended to do with that.”

“I need to know where the Dragonborn is, and you’re going to tell me.”

I snorted. “You could have just asked. By now, she’s on Solstheim.”

“ Solstheim ,” she hissed incredulously. “What the hell is she doing there? I need her here! ”

I shrugged. “Yeah, well I need my beauty sleep. It looks like we’ll both have to learn to live with disappointment.”

She sneered at me and leaned in just a bit, then growled. “You don’t get to decide where and when the Dragonborn goes.”

“You’re absolutely right,” I said. She smirked and sat back at my statement. “But neither do you. The difference is she and I are trying to save lives. It’s not her job to help rebuild your order or tarnished reputation.”

“How dare you,” she hissed. “The Blades are the only ones trying to stop these dragons! What have you been doing?”

“Heading off all the other world ending calamities you are either too ignorant or self absorbed to notice.” I leaned against the wall. “One of those is on Solstheim; and unlike fighting dragons, this is something only the Dovahkiin can deal with.”

“There’s nothing on that island more pressing than the dragon threat right here! The Dragonborn is needed to kill dragons!”

I snorted. “Any idiot with enough firepower can kill a dragon. She’s just needed to keep them dead. If you were half as concerned about the dragon threat as you claim, you’d have forwarded your findings from the Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow to every Jarl in the province; then they’d be able to preempt and intercept the dragons as they were awakened.” I leaned forward. “But that wouldn’t give you what you really want: control over the Dovahkiin , and credit for her accomplishments. You could have been the silent savior of Skyrim, but you squandered that opportunity chasing after M’Rissa.”

I leaned back against the wall and smiled. “Now she’s M’Rissa-Dro: Thane of Whiterun, destroyer of the Dark Brotherhood, Dawnguard of the Vigil, and soon to be savior of Solstheim. She has too much of her own power for you to manipulate her, so you’re resorting to this,” I nodded to the poison on the table. “What was it going to be: a full Thalmor reconditioning, or were you just going to torture me for information, then blame my untimely demise on your enemy of choice?” I did my best to hide it, but I was unnerved at how she tensed up at that. 

- grrrrrr -

Delphine’s eyes shot down to where Barbas was stirring. I chuckled at her discomfort. “I told you that you can’t keep a Good-Boy down.” Her eyes came back up, a mixture of concern and unvarnished hate. I shuffled back under the covers and nodded towards the door. “This has been a fun chat, but unless you want to lose your hamstrings I’d make myself scarce if I were you.”

She made herself scarce, but I didn’t sleep at all the rest of the night. As soon as Barbas was able, we packed up and left for Whiterun.

Barbas looked back as we crossed the bridge just out of town. “What the hell was all that about?”

I passed him a piece of jerky. “That was about me underestimating Delphine’s need to be in control.” I sighed as we turned onto the switchback road towards Whiterun. “Chalk up another town I can’t go into until all this shit is resolved.”

We lucked out that the carriage had yet to depart. I opted to head directly to Winterhold, and we would make our way to Azura’s Shrine from there. When we arrived, I was fully bundled in my travel cloak against the frigid, damp coastal wind. I stepped off the cart, and nearly walked into an unfamiliar Justiciar. I could see one of the tracking talismans in her hand as she turned to face me.

“Remove yourself from my presence at once!” She turned to the carriage driver and immediately began harassing him for passage to Solitude.

I dipped my head and stepped back, as a whole team of Thalmor left the Frozen Hearth. I waited until the cart departed, then headed up to the college. I went to the Arcaneum first.

“Good afternoon, Urag.”

The Orc looked up from where he was organizing several research returns, and gave a soft throat growl. “Every single time.” He stood up and leaned against his desk. “Why do you always arrive just before supper?”

“Because I’m a bachelor.” Urag snorted at my comment, then sat down and motioned for me to get on with it. “I need another language primer: Altmer this time, as well as anything on Daedric cults associated with the Summerset Isle.”

Urag started to lever himself up, then sighed and sat down. “All of those books were purchased years ago.” It was my turn to motion for him to go on. “Someone from the Bard’s College wanted everything we had on Altmer history to ‘help with an accurate translation of First Era treatises’.”

I sighed and nodded. “Fair enough. I won’t take any more time away from your supper then.”

My next stop was the Hall of Countenance, to try and find Master Phinis Gestor. He was as irritable as ever, right up until the coin came out for instruction on conjuring and banishing Daedra and Dremora.

“Whatever you are getting into, make sure it’s off college grounds,” he said as he handed over the tomes.

I chuckled as I pocketed them. “Oh, I’ll be as far away as anyone has ever been when I use these.” I waved off his puzzled look, and headed to my (thankfully unoccupied) regular cell. Once I had eaten, meditated, and absorbed the spells, I settled in for the night. Barbas and I were up and gone at dawn.

With the Thalmor on the roads, I decided to head to the shrine by way of the ice shelf. There were a few trolls in the distance, and I paid them no mind at first. Then one one of the three-eyed primates charged at us from behind some boulders. 

I was readying my sword, when the heavens were blotted out and the earth shuddered. The ice fields were replaced with dragon scales. My heart was hammering in my chest as a pale dragon tore into the troll. It was like a hawk eating squirrel, if either the hawk or the squirrel were able to kill me. I was transfixed.

It was winding its meal down, when it finally noticed me and Barbas. It swung its bloody muzzle around, and reared back. In a panic, I poured as much Magicka into my voice as I could, and said the first draconic word that came to mind. 

“ Nid! ” (No!)

The dragon recoiled in surprise, then dipped its head down to stare at me with one eye. “Hi tinvaak wah Dovah?” (You speak to/challenge me?)

I racked my brain to translate as fast as my limited study allowed. “ Zu’u tinvaak ni pogaan rot. ” (I don’t know many words.) “ Zu’un Thu’um, nunon tinvaak. ” (I don’t want to fight you, only talk.)

The dragon shifted back on its haunches so it could look at me with both eyes. “ Mal-Mun , why do you come here?”

I let out a ragged breath. “I have business with Azura.” I pulled the broken Star from my pack.

The dragon leaned in and sniffed the Daedric artifact. “ Suleykaar Deyra zun, do you even know what it is you possess?”

I put the star away. “It’s a fragment of Oblivion. If wielded correctly, it can trap any soul.”

The dragon squinted at me. “And what soul would Mal-Mun trap?”

“Hermeaus Mora.”

The dragon’s eyes went wide as it sat back. “ Paar rinik! ” The words came out almost as a roaring laugh. “I sense the vahzen rot-iil , the truth of your words. Your ambition is almost worthy of the Dov . I shall be watching you with interest, Mal-Mun !” With that, the Dragon took off, bellowing across the ice fields.

As soon as the shadow of dragon wings had passed, I slumped onto the ground, and shakily pulled out my notes on the dragon language.

Barbas came over and sniffed. “You’re gonna do that now ?”

“I can’t walk after that, so I might as well do this until I can. Mal-Mun : ‘little human’. Really?”

It took me a half hour to get my legs to stop shaking enough to manage to walk. The rest of the hike was without interruption, as the dragon had scared everything off the ice.

The sun was setting when we finally arrived at the shrine. Aranea was there waiting, and took the Star from me.

“Now, let us prepare to purify the Star.” She began communing, while I laid out several supplies; specifically, various healing and elemental protection potions, and my well worn Lightning Bolt Staff. Everything else was set aside, when the Priestess turned back to me.

“You understand what must be done?”

I nodded as I took several calming breaths. “Azura’s going to load me into the Star to clear Malyn out, then pull me once the job’s done.”

She stepped back and gestured to the altar. “Place your hands and the Star upon the Altar, and may Azura’s wisdom guide your path.”

I put the mask of Morokei on, did as asked, and the world turned white.

...

“Ah, my disciples have sent me a fresh--”

I blindly fired a lightning bolt towards the sound of Malyn’s voice. I had no intention of letting him set the tempo of this fight. I heard him cry out in surprise, maybe even pain, but I also heard him running off. Once my vision cleared, I gave chase.

The first of the Dremora I expected was of the sword bearing kind. It bellowed as its flame blade knocked my staff out of my hand, but I was ready with a Banishment. The Daedra recoiled while screaming, giving me time to draw my own sword. This was the first time my new blade had been tested against a real foe. Where Sir Orin’s sword normally conducted some small portion of the opposing magic into me, the Dragon Bone absorbed both the Magic and the shock of the blows. 

Sadly I couldn’t claim the killing blow against that first opponent, as a second Dremora launched a mixed Elemental Blast to try and kill me. My various protection potions, and the Sword Daedra’s body both absorbed most of the destructive effects. Still, my armor was sizzling as I rushed into a crystalline alcove. I downed a Healing potion as I waited for the Dremora to come up and try to finish me off. 

I heard its guttural cursing, as I channeled another Expulsion into the sword. As soon as I could see a part of it, I struck. The Daedra howled as its hand fell to the ground. The creature slunk back as the third (and I hoped final ) Dremora swung an axe to try and split my head. By whatever luck or skill I had left, I dodged the worst of the jagged blade; though my faithful Whiterun hauberk was completely ruined. Before the monster could raise its axe, I took its head.

I could still hear the Caster Dremora, so I readied a Steadfast Ward, and stepped out. The Daedra lashed out with a weakened Blast. My ward barely held, but it was enough for me to stalk up and run the creature through.  

I looked down at the beheaded Dremora, and saw it was wearing a lighter version of the armor the first Dremora had worn. I shrugged out of my ruined hauberk, and scavenged the fallen Daedra’s armor. Whether blind luck or the magic of Oblivion, the armor, gauntlets and boots fit perfectly. 

I considered the fallen axe, then picked it up and drapped the remains of my old armor over its head. It was awkward to hold the axe with my armor on it, while using both to conceal my face and sword. Still, any edge I could use to fool the Necromancer was worth the effort. I then stalked down after Malyn.

I stepped around into the lowest level of the crystal structure, and saw Malyn. I yelled inarticulately as I brandished the axe, keeping it in front of my Dragon Priest Mask.

“Ah, good,” he cackled as he walked towards me. “His soul should already be a part of the star. I wonder what he tastes like?”

I dropped the axe and armor at his feet, then ran him through as he looked down. “Sorry about the sudden eviction,” I wrenched the blade from side to side once, “but I needed to make room for a new tenant.” 

Malyn slid bonelessly to the ground, and the entire chamber began glowing white. A woman's voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere.

" My Star has been restored and Malyn's soul has been consigned to Oblivion. You have done well, mortal. As was destined, you are free to use my Star as you see fit. "

I glanced around. “You do know what I intend to do with this, right?”

The voice took on a slightly hard edge. “ Hermaeus Mora thinks himself the Lord of Fate. Perhaps being humbled by a mere mortal will temper his hubris. We shall see. ” The tone lightened, as the chamber faded away. “ In any case, know that I will be watching over the threads of your fate from the Twilight. ”

...

I leaned against the altar as I was retrieved from the Star. I could feel Barbas nudging my leg, so I pulled the Mask off and knelt down. “It’s alright, everything’s taken care of.” I looked around, and saw the sky was still in twilight. “I take time is more of a suggestion in Oblivion?”

Barbas gave my face a lick before backing off and clearing his throat. “ Ahem Yeah time’s, uh, really more of a Mundus thing than an Oblivion thing. So,” he sat down and looked me over, “going for a new look?”

I looked down, and finally noticed my state of undress. “Sunnovabitch. A Dremora ruined my armor, so I valorized his. Where’d it go?”

Aranea presented the purified Star of Azura. “All within Oblivion is the concept of itself, not the material. That armor was fundamental to the concept of the being wearing it. Outside of Oblivion, it has no substance”

I took the star and tucked it deep in my pack, and pulled out my College Novice Robes and boots. “Great, now I have to track down new armor. If you don’t mind the company, I think we’ll stay here for the night, then head to Windhelm tomorrow.”

Barbas whined. “Again?”

I reclasped the cloak around my robes and stood up. “Oh no, another night of getting fawned over by Aventus and Sophie,” I scratched his ears and ignored the half-hearted nip at my fingers. “You’ll survive, then we’ll hire the Ferryman to take us to Solitude. Once that’s taken care of, hopefully we can be on our way to Solstheim.”

Chapter Text

The ferryman was tying his boat up as Barbas and I stepped onto the East Empire Company docks in Solitude at sundown. I could see at least one Thalmor team patrolling the pier, so I put Morokei on and tugged the cloak tighter around me. I was largely ignored as Barbas and I climbed the steps to Solitude itself. When we reached the top, I could see another Thalmor team lurking near the Coachman’s stop. I turned right, and walked over the arch above the Company warehouse.

Once we were out of earshot, Barbas looked up at me. “This Elenwen broad must really have it out for you.”

I glanced down to where the Thalmor were still patrolling the pier. “I don’t know; this feels different somehow. Let’s get to the smuggler’s entrance and see what’s what.”

There looked to be no wards or guards at the door along the coast, so we climbed up to the base of the windmill tower and waited at the gate into the city. Once the sun was fully set, and the various City, Imperial and Thalmor patrols wandered off, I stepped out and headed directly to the Bard’s College. I opted for the servant’s entrance when I saw at least one Justiciar lurking in the courtyard where the Burning of King Olaf should take place. Once inside, I could hear raised voices from upstairs.

“You have been in here every day for a week,” Viarmo said tersely. “At what point will you stop interrupting the college and admit that whoever you are looking for is not here?”

“When we are certain the perpetrator is not here,” came the strident reply from whom I assumed was yet another Thalmor.

“Humph,” Viarmo scoffed, “If you have yet to find any proof, that either means there is none and you are wasting the First Emissary's resources, or you are so blindingly incompetent that you yourself are that wasted resource. Shall I inquire of her on the subject in Court tomorrow?”

I could almost hear the Thalmor’s teeth grinding from the kitchen. “If I hear of even the faintest hint of treason, I will return.”

The main door slammed, and I heard Viarmo let out a heavy sigh. “Treason against whom?”

I took off Morokei, and waited at the base of the stairs with Barbas. As soon as I saw Viarmo on the Landing, I stepped forward. “What’s going on, Viarmo?”

His head snapped up. “How did you-” He paused and chuckled. “You just walked in the Cook’s entrance, didn’t you?”

I smiled and nodded. “Getting into and out of the city doesn’t seem to be much of a problem. Still doesn’t answer my question.”

He finished his descent and gestured to one of the kitchen tables. “There was a wild rumor about a month after you left, that you had been involved in something against the Thalmor. Then a week ago, Commander Maro’s son was murdered by the Dark Brotherhood in Riften.”

I furrowed my brow. “Was he attacked by a vampire?”

“No, he was stabbed with a poisoned blade. I just told you who--”

“No,” I interrupted him, “you said it was the Dark Brotherhood, but the only remaining active member was a vampire child named Babette. She died in Windhelm more than a week ago, so it couldn’t have been the Brotherhood that did this.”

Viarmo stared silently for a moment. “You are absolutely certain of this?”

I nodded. “The only Brotherhood member whose death I was not witness to, was Astrid; and I was there when Thane M’Rissa-Dro delivered Astrid’s head to Commander Maro. The Brotherhood is gone, so--”

“So someone else is impersonating them,” he finished as he stroked his beard. “But who?”

“I’m more concerned with ‘why’? Murdering the son of the Penitus Oculatus’ regional commander is only going to put them on high alert.” A memory tickled in the back of my mind “Have there been any other recent incidents, attacks or notable deaths?”

Viarmo sat back. “Well, there was that ruckus at Viscountess Vici’s wedding reception.” He glanced up when I sucked in a sharp breath. “A performer’s trained wolf broke loose and tried to attack her. What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that Emperor Titus Mede II is either here in Solitude, or on his way.”

Viarmo leaned in. “You think this is an elaborate plot?”

I nodded. “I helped destroy both Dark Brotherhood Sanctuaries. I know there was an active plot to murder the Emperor then, I just don’t know who performed the Black Sacrament. The plan was in three parts.” I started ticking off my fingers, “First: kill Vittoria Vicci at her wedding to draw her cousin out. Second: kill Maro’s son Gaius so as to implicate him to throw security into disarray. Finally: impersonate the Gourmet, so the assassin could poison the Emperor.”

Viarmo sat back heavily in his chair. “There is a special banquet planned for next week at Castle Dour. All the Court will be attending, and I have been invited as well. We were told to expect ‘a sumptuous feast and a venerable guest’.”

My eyes darted around as I tried to remember details of a questline I only ever followed once. “I know the Gourmet is an Orc.” I locked eyes with him. “If anyone other than an Orc presents themselves as the Gourmet, then that’s the assassin.”

...

The two of us planned how to try and foil the plot I expected.  

We opted to divide our efforts. Viarmo would get a surreptitious letter to Commander Maro, letting him know about the potential plot, while I would travel to the last location Viarmo had heard about regarding the Gourmet: Nightgate Inn. 

I was a little leary about traveling the countryside carrying around Azura’s star, so I left that, Morokei, Barbas, and my very recognizable Dragon Sword at the College. The one thing I did take, was an interesting bit of enchantment from the Bard’s College. It was a kind of reverse summoning scroll that I could write a message on. One special word later, and it would ‘return to sender’ as it were. 

Viarmo made late-night arrangements, and I was on a ferry to Windhelm with the next tide. I rushed through town, greeting familiar faces and waving off any questions. I had to make it to the stables before everyone closed up. 

I saw the stablemaster walking up the steps as I was rushing towards him. “Hey! Hold up, I need a horse!”

I was rummaging in my coin pouch on the move as he paused. “Well, we do have one for sale. It’s--”

I dumped a handful of gemstones in his hand. “Saddled and ready to go, right? Thanks!”

He sputtered some, though didn’t really fight about the gems for payment as I skidded into the stables. A bay mare stood in the stables, with a saddle on a tree next to it. I decided to just bareback it and hope for the best, as I put the bridle on the horse and led it out to the steps. I climbed on from there, pinched with my knees, and cantered out towards the Inn.

The aurora was on full display in the bitter night sky when I trotted up to the inn. I stabled the horse in the simple paddock, and rushed inside as best my much abused legs would allow.

“Innkeep,” I shouted as I walked in.

“No need to bellow lad,” the tavern keeper stepped out of one of the rooms. “I’m right here. A room is ten Septims.”

I slammed a garnet on the bar top. “I need to know about the Orc that was staying here.” I could see him hesitating, so I slammed my Nordic dagger onto the bar next.

“No trouble here!” He palmed the stone and gestured downstairs. “He keeps a room in the basement. Steps out from time to time.” The Innkeeper followed me down. “Might be you missed him. You’re the second feller to come calling on him, and I haven’t seen Bala in a couple of days.”

I stopped in the center of the room, closed my eyes, and cast Clairvoyance. The pull led me back up the stairs, out the door, and to a small pond.

“Oh, aye,” the innkeeper nodded as we walked out onto a fishing dock. “He likes to sit here some evenings. Says it, ‘helps his process’, whatever that means.”

The spell stopped at the pond, so I launched a Magelight into the water. The orb went straight to the bottom, and backlit a humanoid body.

“Gods above, is that...” the innkeeper stumbled against a post at the end of the fishing pier.

I completely depleted my Magicka using Telekinesis to retrieve the orc from the bottom of the pond. The frigid water had perfectly preserved the final moments of terror on his face, as well as the steel dagger buried in his chest.

I looked at the innkeeper, who was shaking like a leaf. “I need to know everything you remember about the other man.”

“Huh?” His eyes weren’t focusing.

I took him back to the inn, sat him down, and hit him with a Calm spell as soon as I had enough Magicka. “Now, I need you to tell me everything you remember about the other man who came asking about the orc.” I pulled out my arcane Fax scroll and got ready to write. “Don’t leave out any details.”

I transcribed everything he said, filling the page with descriptions and mannerisms, then sent the scroll home. As the Calm began wearing off, I led the innkeeper back to his bed, then headed back outside. I eyed the corpse for a moment, then knelt and took my Orc Blood sample. The device was sluggish, but drew the sample nonetheless.

I knelt for a few more moments, and said a prayer for the victim’s soul before heading back inside for the night.

I rose with the dawn, and rode back towards Windhelm.

“Fus, Roh-Dah!”

I barely managed to throw up a ward to absorb the Thu’um, though I could do nothing about the startled horse. I was bucked off into the weeds, in the shadow of the Shrine of Talos. I managed to get my feet under me and face off against my opponent: a man I had only ever seen in passing, the Bear of Markarth, Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak. I could also hear the distinctive rattle of Elven armor.

“Really?” I yelled and pointed up at the statue as I tried to figure out a plan. “You intend to betray a man to the Thalmor under the shadow of Talos himself? Has she really hollowed you out so much--”

I felt the grip of Magicka twisting and locking my limbs, as a pair of Justiciars Paralyzed me.

“I do what I must for my people,” Ulfric called back as I toppled over. “You have your prize, as demanded. Now leave my lands!”

“We do not answer to you, Nord Filth,” one of the Thalmor soldiers spat as they surrounded me.

-Fus-

Everything was jostled, and one of the Justiciars fell over.

“There are a hundred Justiciars at Elenwen’s beck and call, but only one ‘Bear of Markarth’. Which of us do you truly think she values?”

I could feel the Paralysis spell weakening as Ulfric scorned the Thalmor. I could muster just enough Magicka for one spell.

-Fzark-

The Lightning Bolt struck Ulfric in the shoulder and spun him around, just before several Stormcloak soldiers came rushing out of Windhelm. I could only get a glimpse of him limping behind his loyal followers, as the Thalmor closed ranks around me. One grabbed me by the head, and the world faded away.

Chapter Text

I faded in and out of awareness. I was hungry, physically tired and sore when aware, but the Justiciars usually noticed very quickly and slammed me with whatever spell they were using to make me compliant. If I was aware at night, they gave me poisoned water that knocked me out.

I crossed into one of the hazy awareness moments in a rocky canyon near a river. The air was cool, but not cold. The Thalmor turned to ensorcel me again, when his temple sprouted feathers on a stick. 

I cocked my head to the side, and watched as he sagged like a puppet whose strings were cut. Then came the yelling, and the jostling. Something hit my head, and the world fell away again.

I awoke fully in a cage, inside a cave. My head was throbbing so I spent nearly all my strength healing myself. Once I could focus past my apparent concussion, I saw a piece of coarse bread and an apple on a table just beyond my reach. My Magicka was coming back, but it was hard to concentrate with how much everything ached including my stomach. Still, I managed to jostle the food onto the ground into arm’s reach. I devoured it as fast and quietly as I could. With a little strength back, I managed to levitate the apple core back onto the table before anyone came looking.

My new jailors showed themselves minutes later. I had settled onto the rough pile of hay, and was pretending to sleep when a man in rough animal skins and a deer skull headdress came in: a Forsworn. I was in the Reach.

He sat down at the table and reached for the food, only to come up with the apple core. I didn’t stir when he started complaining in an unfamiliar dialect.

My next few days passed like this: I would feign lethargy as I shuffled around my cage, until my guard wandered off. I would then levitate some of their food into the cage with me. I managed to get water by blasting my cage roof with Frostbite until ice crystals formed, then breaking them off and chewing on them before anyone saw the frost.

It wasn’t much, but I was alive and not in Thalmor custody, so that was something. Still, I couldn’t stay there. I had already confirmed with Clairvoyance my cloak, blood key, and dossier were somewhere in the cave. I just needed to make a break for them, then escape.

I suppose I let my cleverness get the better of me. I was contemplating when best to cut my way free of the cage while levitating a hot bowl of soup off the table, when an arrow glanced off the bars of the cage. The shot missed me, but my concentration was broken and the soup spilled.

I refocused and had my Wards at the ready. “Really? That’s the first hot dish you’ve left here and you make me drop it?” A second arrow flew at me, but was intercepted by my Ward.

A new man in an elaborate antlered headdress stepped into the chamber, flanked by several armed Forsworn. “We bring you into our home, and you thank us by stealing our food? How are we supposed to act?” His tone was measured, and I could feel a subtle tracery of Magicka as he spoke.

“ Ni lo zu’u, ” (Don’t lie to my face) I spat back, pouring my magicka and contempt into the words. The Reachmen flinched back, and every weapon came up. “I am your prisoner, not your guest. The first and only obligation of a prisoner is to escape. You want me to act like a guest and respect your house? Then treat me like a guest and open this cage. ” This time, I was more intentional in my application of Magicka.

The speaker tensed up and growled. The growl became a snarl as one of his escorts numbly walked towards my cage. The speaker stepped forward and placed a glowing hand on his kinsman’s back. I saw a similar faint glow from a stitched seam in the speaker’s chest. The second man stopped, shook his head, then retreated behind the man, whom I now suspected was a Briarheart.

“Now you twist the minds of my people?!”

I snorted, and deflected another arrow. “Just like you tried with me the moment you walked in here. Seriously, you should start a Utilities Co-op with all this gas-lighting. Now either unlock the cage, or step back because I’m coming out one way or another.”

The Briarheart sneered. “You may know some weak magics, but you will--”

“Okey-dokey. Might want to cover your eyes.” I Arc-Jetted through the lock in a second. The spray of molten metal sent the Reachmen scrambling back, giving me the room to casually push the cage door open. 

As soon as I was out, the Briarheart bellowed out an order. The rest of the Forsworn spread out. I threw up a ward and my Iron Flesh, as several archers popped up from behind hide barricades. While I was weathering that hail of arrows, the Briarheart conjured up a Frost Atronach. I put the Daedric Construct between me and the archers, then switched to offense. A quick Expulsion and Firebolt combo brought the Atronach down. I could only jump out of the way of the Ice Storm the Briarheart launched at me.

I was coming up and readying a Dual Lightningbolt, when a shrill screech echoed throughout the cavern. All the Forsworn began backing up, while keeping an eye on me. I’d burned a lot of Magicka, so I welcomed the breather and stepped back as well. 

The Forsworn parted, and a Hagraven stepped in, flanked by two additional Briarhearts. 

“Little Morsel is quite noisy in Hecka’s home,” the crone rasped out as she paced. 

Vilkas and Vignar both had drilled into me that a tense fighter is a slow fighter, so I tried my best to relax. “Well, Little Morsel was getting littler by the day. It was also getting stir crazy in the cage.”

Hecka paused and gently poked a dollop of once molten metal that had been flash hardened in the short fight. “And yet, Little Morsel managed quite well. Very cunning, fox cunning even. Many invaders travel our lands, who could not survive a Skeever nest without biting iron, but cunning little fox morsel feeds itself; it grows strong and lean and waits until the time is right. Hecka respects cunning, even more than power.”

The crone tipped her head back, and cried out in a surprisingly melodic bird call. Several Forsworn came in, bringing a chair, something that looked like a padded sawhorse, and a small chest.

“Speak your words, that Hecka may know the truth of them. What brings the Cunning Fox to the Lands of the Old Ones, bound in Meric chains of magic and poison?”

I nodded and sat down, as the Hagraven climbed onto the sawhorse and perched. “I have greatly angered the Thalmor. I stole something from one in particular, Elenwen. It is a small book that holds a secret she does not want shared, as it could break her people’s power in these lands. I was captured when the ‘Bear of Markarth’,” the entire cavern filled with hisses at the mention of Ulfric, “betrayed me to the Thalmor. I am surprised they brought me to the Reach, rather than to Solitude.”

Hecka chirped in thought, then reached into the chest. She pulled out the dossier, and wiggled it. “If these words are as powerful as you say, why should we not keep them?”

I resisted the urge to telekinetically snatch the booklet back. “As with any rite or ritual, the words have no power outside of the right place and time. That place will be High Hrothgar, and the time will be when the Dovahkiin calls for a council of war against Alduin.”

“Will these words grant release to the Lands of the Old Ones?”  

“No.” There was a tense murmur in the cavern. “These words are only useful to drive out the Thalmor, and break the power that Ulfric holds over his own people.” 

The murmur built into a discontent rumbling, until Hecka let out an eagle screech. The cavern fell silent. “Truth does not know good or ill, hope or despair. Your words carry much truth. Now, what of these other shiny things you have brought? Only one does not smell of Magicka,” she paused and lifted the Blood Key, “and madness.”

“That is the key to a lock. It is incomplete, but once ready, I intend to bind a Daedra with it.”

“Why? For power; for glory?”

I huffed. “For peace of mind. I have attracted the attention of Hermaeus Mora. It is attention I do not relish, as I am all too familiar with his machinations. The cloak was meant to hide me from the Thalmor.” Hecka scoffed. “It doesn’t make me invisible or stop people from recognizing me, it just muddles the magicks they were using to track me. The robes are simply robes: they are useful to my magic, and to keeping the snow off my back.”

Hecka gave a squawk that could have been a laugh. “You are an interesting little fox. Your words are true, and you have not harmed the People, so we can let you live. But if you wish to leave , a price must be paid.” She took out the Key, the Dossier, and the Cloak, and set them on the top of the chest.

I looked down at the collection of items. I needed all of them. There had to be a way to secure freedom. I glanced up as Hecka gave another curious chirp. For all the transformation that made Hagravens physically ugly, they were surprisingly musical; when they weren’t trying to kill you, of course. I had an idea.

“What if I offer you something more?”

She squinted at me, and rotated her head owl-like. “Many offers of aid have been given to my people. Many words betrayed.”

“Not that. My concerns lie to the North, save whatever drew the Thalmor here. I would like to offer you something different: a song.”

Hecka perked up. “Interesting. And what makes Little Fox think this song is worth the price?” 

“Because it is a song no voice on Nirn has sung, no ear on Nirn has heard. I will sing it to you, and then never sing it again.”

Hecka’s feathers ruffled, and she shifted on her perch. “Sing then. Sing this song, that I may know the truth of it.”

I nodded, stood up, closed my eyes, breathed deep, and sang.

“ To dream the impossible dream,

“To fight the unbeatable foe,

“To bear with unbearable sorrow,

“To run where the brave dare not go.

“ To right the unrightable wrong,

“To love, pure and chaste from afar,

“To try though your arms are to weary,

“To reach the unreachable star!”

I sang from memory, I sang from the heart. I put my magicka and soul into the song, one that almost typified why I felt I had been sent to Skyrim, by whatever force had sent me there. 

When the last note finally stopped echoing, and I opened my eyes again, Hecka was rocking on her perch, her jaw slack and eyes unfocused.

“The Little Fox may go. Take all that is yours, and travel these lands with Hecka’s blessing. All the Crones shall know this, and all shall abide.” Her focus snapped back, and she stepped off her perch. “Be free, do great things, speak truth, and know that the whisper of your voice will shake the halls of power. Old Hecka has seen it.”

I dressed, and was presented with a collection of traveling supplies. The sun was rising as I stepped out of the cavern, and into a valley. I shuffled my feet in my boots a little bit, then set off north.

“ The road goes ever on my friend,

“Down from the door where it began.

“Now far ahead the road has gone,

“And I must follow if I can.”

Chapter Text

It took me a week to reach Dragon Bridge, where I paid a visit to the Penitus Oculatus.

“Commander Maro,” I asked as I ducked my head in the door.

There was only one soldier inside. “Are you lost cit... I know you.” He squinted at me. I was readying my defensive spells as he stared. Then his eyes lit up. “You were with the Dragonborn, Thane Marsha, when she brought in the head of the leader of the Dark Brotherhood!”

I bit back the urge to correct him on the name, and just smiled and stepped in. “Guilty as charged. I’m with the Bards College. I just got back from a fact-finding mission to support a Penitus investigation. Is Commander Maro around? I’d like to debrief on my findings.”

The soldier squinted again. “Where was this, may I ask?”

I gave a placid smile. “The Pale, by way of Eastmarch.”

His face relaxed as he nodded. “Well met, Citizen. Commander Maro is in Solitude, interrogating a suspect in regards to the recent unpleasantness.”

It felt a little ridiculous talking in Hollywood circles about the assassination attempt, but it also made sense; in a world where magic was real, operational security was as critical as it was in my own world. “I’ll just head on up to Solitude then.”

“Here,” he pulled something from one of the chests and passed it to me. It was a diamond shaped amulet, with a base relief dragon in red and black. “The city is still on high alert. Show this to the gate guard, and they’ll let you in no problem.” He held onto the chain for a moment. “Once you’re there, return it to Commander Maro; you aren’t a member of the Penitus yet.”

I nodded in thanks, then started the hike up to Solitude. I passed a Justiciar team on the road, but they paid me no more mind than to snobbishly demand I get out of the way. When I arrived at the gate at sundown, there was an Imperial and Thalmor soldier standing there.

“You there,” the Altmer soldier started towards me.

I marched straight to the Imperial, ignoring the Thalmor entirely. I could hear him sputtering as I flashed the Penitus medallion to the Imperial. His eyes widened fractionally, then he thumped the gate. The heavy oak and steel barrier creaked on its hinges, drowning out the Thalmor’s protests; though I did hear the slightest hint of smugness from the Imperial as he said, “Imperial business, elf.”

I desperately wanted to get my things and check on Barbas, but I couldn’t justify holding on to the medallion. I headed up to Castle Dour. When I arrived at the courtyard, there were several Imperial soldiers, as well as an alarming number of Thalmor milling around.

Better get done and get gone.

I flashed the medallion again at the entrance to the main Imperial keep, and was waved in. I went straight to the planning room, where I could hear voices. 

“Sir, you can’t just barge into the Rift and unseat the Jarl,” a woman’s voice echoed down the hall. “That will only invite the rebels to march south and ‘liberate’ Riften.”

“Gods dammit, Rikke,” Tullius growled out, “an assassination attempt was made on the Emperor! With Jarl Law-Giver implicated, we have to act, or it shows us to be too weak to lead.”

“We already have an encampment in the region, and a second in Eastmarch,” I heard Commander Maro from the far side of the room. “We could execute a surgical operation, replace the Jarl, and blockade any rebel support. Once the new Jarl’s in place, we will have complete, uncontested control of the south and west of Skyrim.”

I cleared my throat and held up a finger. “Um, what’s that about Jarl Law-Giver?”

Everyone snapped their heads around. Rikke went for her sword, while Tullius hung his head and groaned. “You again?!” The Legate paused at her commander’s odd mein. “How’d you even get in here?”

I pulled the medallion out one more time and handed it to Commander Maro. “Your man in Dragon Bridge loaned that to me.”

Maro blinked for a second, then nodded as he took the medallion. “Right, you were the one who sent the intelligence on the fake Gourmet. Well done.” He pocketed the necklace and strode over to the map table. “That’s where we got our lead on Laila. Took some doing, but he gave her up as the new head of the Dark Brotherhood.”

Everyone looked at me like I pissed on the Imperial Throne, as I barked a laugh at Commander Maro. “And you believed him?! You know full well who in the Rift has close ties to the Dark Brotherhood; at a minimum, you know who has performed the Black Sacrament.”

“That’s one hell of an accusation to make to one of my most trusted advisors,” Tullius came around the map table.

My eyes never left Maro’s. “What was the most notable event in Windhelm on the Fifth of Evenstar?”

Rikke was coming around the other side of the table, hand on sword hilt, when Maro spoke. “The vampire assault.”

“Carried out by?” Both Tullius and Rikke paused at mine and Maro’s odd exchange.

The Commander of the Penitus Oculatus sighed. “By Babette, the last known member of the Dark Brotherhood.” I raised an expectant eyebrow, and he continued. “Who apparently carried the attack out on behalf of Maven Blackbriar; who, I might add, was specifically targeting you.”

I shrugged. “I have that effect on people.”

Tullius leaned heavily on the table and looked at Commander Maro. “You knew?”

“I knew Maven was gunning for Hiram, but we only have anecdotal evidence that Madame Blackbriar performed the Black Sacrament. What we do have,” he turned to face Tullius and thumped a finger on the map, “is corroborated evidence that Jarl Law-Giver is sympathetic to the Stormcloak rebellion, and an admission by an actual assassin that Laila was the mastermind behind the series of attack, including my son’s murder,” he slammed his fist onto the map table, “in Riften!”

We remained silent for a moment. I sighed, deciding to deal with the evil in front of me. “What if I could get proof that Maven was responsible?”

Legate Rikke scoffed and crossed her arms. “What, ‘just like that’?”

“No,” I pulled out Ulfric’s Dossier and dropped it on the table. “just like that.” Rikke picked the booklet up and began reading, then began choking a cough as she passed it to General Tullius. “There’s a reason I have ‘that effect’ on people.”

Tullius numbly passed the dossier to Commander Maro. “Where did... when...” His eyes snapped up. “That damned Embassy fiasco!”

I nodded as I snatched the booklet from Maro’s loosening grip. “Not just me, but this was what I was after. There’s still one person who has to see this, or I’d leave it with you.

“The long and short of it is, I can get into Maven’s place and secure the evidence you need, that Jarl Law-Giver needs, to give the Black-Briars et al the boot. Laila only supports the Stormcloak so far as they keep the Thalmor at bay. If she has evidence that Maven is about to get the Imperial army dropped on her head, especially if Maven fabricated the evidence against her, that could help shore up support from Riften. At a minimum, Laila could become neutral on the matter of the succession war. Between that and the strong Vigilant presence in the region, you could refocus your efforts on countering the real threat.” I meaningfully waved the dossier.

Commander Maro looked at Tullius and Rikke, who all looked down at the map. They nodded after whatever unspoken conversation those comrades in arms had, and Maro retrieved the Penitus Oculatus medallion. “We still need to make a response to this crime, but it would be better to strike at the actual villain. Report to Legate Fasendil in our camp in the Rift. Yours is the voice of the Emperor on this matter. Make certain you do not misspeak.”

I hung the medallion around my neck and tucked it under my cloak, then pulled up the hood and headed out. I paused before leaving the room. “Is there any chance I can get a transcript of the interrogation?”

Sheaf of parchments safely tucked away, I went from there to the Bards college. There were no Thalmor waiting in the courtyard, but I still chose to go in the servant’s door.

“BARKBARKBARK-pantpantpant- Where the hell have you been?!” Barbas stood on my chest after knocking me down, as several members of the College staff came out at the commotion. “Yeah, they know about me. Speak!”

“Fine, fine.” I moved Barbas off of me and absently scratched one of his ears. He made no protest. “A Thalmor Justiciar team jumped me just outside of Windhelm, courtesy of Jarl Ulfric. They were taking me somewhere in the Reach, probably to Markarth, when the Forsworn took exception to everyone. I got back here as fast as I could.” I looked up at Headmaster Viarmo. “As I have been away on College business, I would like to rest here for the night before heading out.”

Viarmo nodded, then glanced back at everyone. “I’m certain we could make room, provided we can be regaled with your harrowing tale.”

I grinned as I stood up. “Funny you should say that. The price of my passage through the Reach was also a song.”

...

Barbas and I headed out just before dawn, and left the city through the Windmill.

“Alright boss,” Barbas glanced up as we headed north around the point, “I know you well enough to know when somethings up. Where are we going now?”

I kept my eye out for any fishing dories that tended to wash up on the coast. “We’re heading back to the Rift. Maven Blackbriar is up to shenanigans, pretending she’s the Dark Brotherhood.” I paused and frowned. “That, or she actually has reformed them. The Night Mother was a paradimensional entity, so it’s possible that she could inhabit other things besides her corpse.” I shook my head and continued. “Anyway, she made a play for me in Windhelm, and now this rash of Wish.com assassins keep popping up claiming to be the Brotherhood.”

Barbas whined. “I did promise to help put an end to them.” 

His head came up, as he sniffed and trotted over to a small bush just above the high-tide line. “Found one!”

I walked over and started looking over the small boat, while Barbas watched. “So how do you plan to do this?”

I grunted as I flipped the boat over to check its keel. “Break into Maven’s place, get proof that she’s performed the Black Sacrament, maybe sick the Vigilants on her.” I flipped the boat rightside up and looked around for an oar. “It’s a work in progress. We’re going to stage at the Imperial camp in the Rift, between the ruins of Bthalft and Ivarstead.” 

I glanced back as I heard Barbas whine again. “I know it’s a day’s travel to Haemar’s Shame from there, but you know why I’m delaying this.”

Barbas laid down and grumbled. “Yeah, yeah, absence makes the Daedric Prince more impatient and willing to accept the first deal on the table.”

I smiled and nodded, then pulled the oars out of a tangle of seaweed. “Alright then. Let’s get on our way to Ivarstead.”

...

It took us a week to hoof it from Morthal to Ivarstead. I was resenting Ulfric more by the second as we walked into the imperial camp. I could have been on horseback instead of this nonsense, but noo: he had to turn Elenwen’s bitch right after I shelled out hard cash for a horse.

I was surprised at the sight of an Altmer Legate, then remembered his story. I figured he could be trusted with the knowledge of the Dossier, but I wasn't sure if I should risk it at this point in time. I decided to just flash my new Imperial Secret Police badge.

“By order of General Tullius and Commander Maro of the Penitus Oculatus, I am seeking assistance in uncovering evidence of a plot against the Emperor.”

The golden skinned officer raised an eyebrow at me. “You must be very new to the Penitus. Most would have opened with a threat for somehow not already having completed their mission for them.”

I tucked the medallion back into my robes, and removed Morokei. “I’m a third party contractor; I know how thankless all this can be. Shall we?” I walked towards the map table.

I cast a quick glance at the entrance of the tent, and Legate Fasendil gave a curt nod to his Adjutant. The Imperial soldier saluted, then closed the tent flap. Once I was sure we were as alone as reasonable, I took a seat. 

“You may or may not have heard, but there was a recent attempted assassination of the Emperor. The plot appears to have originated in Riften, with both Maven Blackbriar and Jarl Laila Law-Giver independently implicated.” I took my boots off and began massaging my feet. “I have my own opinions on the matter, but both General Tullius and the Penitus Oculatus need a response to this.”

Fasendil frowned as he sat across from me. “The simple military solution would be to take the city, and conduct an investigation at our own pace; but I’ve seen how that kind of blind zeal can turn out. The people of Riften would resist, and they and my soldiers would pay the price.”

I nodded. “That’s why I would like to focus on something a bit more precise. Part of the assassination attempt involved claims of the Dark Brotherhood. That requires very specific rites that can’t be easily cleaned up afterwards. What I would like to do is infiltrate the city and look for that evidence, whether it is Laila or Maven. Once we identify the real culprit, we lure them out of the city and arrest them on the road.”

He nodded in thought. “I take it you have your suspicions as to who the culprit is?”

I put my boots back on and stretched. “Maven has well known connections to the Thieves Guild, though she maintains a good facade and greases the right palms. That gives her the resources to try and pull something like this off. She’s also known to never be satisfied with what she has, so arranging for evidence to implicate Laila is well within her character. Finally, she’s convinced of her superiority, so-”

“So you think she will have been injudicious in covering her tracks,” the Legate finished my thoughts. “That’s a bit of a gamble. What if it turns out that Laila is the perpetrator?”

I stood up and frowned down at the map. “Then you and Legate Hrollod will execute a pincer attack, and besiege Riften.” I gave the Legate a sad glance. “Those were Commander Maro’s instructions.”

He sighed and leaned on the table. “I pray you are right then. What do you need?”

I looked over the map, and thought about what I knew about Maven. “Her family has a lodge tucked up against the Velothi Mountains. It’s one of the likely places where she would keep her dirtiest of dirty little secrets. I’d like a team of Exploratores. Once I have secured evidence, one way or the other, I will send a runner to let you know.”

Legate Fasendil gave a sharp nod, then opened the tent flaps. “Decanus Hadvar, front and Center!” 

I couldn’t help the little grin that crept up my face at knowing Hadvar was still alive. Hadvar rushed over from a team of soldiers and saluted the Legate. “At your command, Legate!”

Fasendil nodded, and Hadvar relaxed slightly. “You and your Contubernium will now be under the authority of the Penitus Oculatus.”

Hadvar saluted again, then turned to salute. He stalled midway and stared. “Hiram?”

I let the grin shine as I clasped Hadvar’s hovering hand. “Good to see you again. You and your men can ditch the military formalities while under my direct command. You’re all Oculatus for this, so no military insignia or protocols except when back here.” I turned to Fasendil and extended my hand. “By your leave, Legate?”

He took my hand and shook. “Gods speed.”

...

Hadvar’s team was a rowdy bunch, once we were down in the valley. They were also damn effective at what they did. Given what I wanted to do, we ended up using the Lost Prospect Mine as our base of operations. I had Barbas remain there with my more specialized gear when we went out on the first night of reconnaissance.

We watched the mercenary detail patrol for a day, from the nearby cliffs.

Hadvar debriefed everyone that night. “Alright, we counted ten guards on rotation: decent mix of blades and bow, no notable spell slingers. It looks like each one has a key, and they always lock the doors behind them. Thoughts?”

I rubbed my chin as I studied the crude map on the table. “My first thought had been to ransack the place, then burn it to the ground: draw Maven out of the city so I could hit her estate in Riften. But then she might not leave the city later at the time we need her to.”

One of Hadvar’s Auxiliaries, Cammus, tapped a finger over the stables. “Maybe something less destructive. The horse they have in the paddock is as fine a beast as any I’ve seen; not something your rank and file mercenary scum would keep around.”

I vaguely remembered that the horse was significant to one of Maven’s sons. “Alright, we rustle a horse. Make it sloppy to draw as many of them out as possible, then kite them south towards the falls where they can be ‘waylaid by bandits’. I’ll go into the lodge with Romlun,” I nodded towards the other Auxiliary, “and we’ll search the house.”

We set up for the operation the next night. As predicted, Cammus’ stealing the horse nearly emptied the house of yelling mercenaries. There were, by my count, two left; one of them headed back to Riften, while the other posted in the watchtower.

Romlun and I tracked the lone mercenary for a short distance, until we were out of sight of the watchtower. The Auxiliary dipped an arrow in a vial of foul green liquid, and shot the merc in the back. Once we were at the body, Romlun drew an odd horn from her kit, applied more of the poison, and stabbed the corpse twice: once where the arrow had been, and once beside it.

She glanced up with a wicked grin. “Frostbite spider poison. I’ve never heard of anyone questioning this trick.”

We liberated the key, and left the corpse where they lay; scavengers would deal with the body so that nobody questioned a missing key. We then snuck back to the lodge, and entered from the front. 

Since I didn’t know what evidence might be in the house, I couldn’t rely on Clairvoyance. We’d have to do this the old fashioned way. We started on the third floor and worked our way down: opening every drawer and cabinet, unlocking and relocking every chest and door.

In the end, we found nothing of note. We left the lodge just as we had found it, and rejoined the rest of the team at the mines. 

“Well, that was a bust.” I slumped down onto the banks of the cave pool and began soaking my feet again. “Still, hitting the lodge should flush Maven out. We should move our operation into Riften proper, so we can react when she finally leaves.”

We snuck in before dawn. I had planned on Arc-Jet cutting my way into the sewers beneath Mistveil Keep, but Hadvar’s team had a much simpler solution: a rope ladder. Barbas was less than pleased with the harness I rigged up to help carry him. We climbed over one of the city canal locks, and everyone slipped into the Ratway. 

I took the lead, and indicated for them to hold back. I Muffled up, and slunk forward until I could hear the two men in the first area arguing. I called up a Magelight, and tossed it down the tunnel.

“Oi, You see that,” the fur-wearing tough in Mutton Chops ran after the light, with his bearded accomplice trudging after. I snapped a second magelight further down once I caught up. “There it is again! Get it!”

I managed to lead the two thugs through half the Ratway, and right into Gian the Fist. The three were arguing, when Romlun snuck up beside me, and shot Gian in the ass.

I thought she was insane, until Gian roared in unreasoning rage and beat Beard into a pulp. 

She gave me another wicked grin. “Rage Poison,” she whispered.

This lady needs to find Jesus...

Mutton Chops did his best to defend himself, and landed at least one telling arrow shot. Then Gian got ahold of him and... mechanically disassembled him. 

The unholy noise drew one more low-life. Gian roared again and gave chase. We followed at a relatively safe distance, until the noises stopped. We found Gian slumped in a chair, unmoving except for the blood oozing from a massive gash across his gut. The other Ratway denizen was crumpled in a heap in the middle of the room.  

Hadvar’s head came up suddenly, and the whole team moved down a staircase to a locked gate. We had just made it through, when we heard a bit of a comotion.

“Gods dammit! I knew letting that brute lurk around here was a bad idea! You, Grelak didn’t have a bow, so find out who shot Gian!”

A few minutes later, a new voice piped up. “Found Drahf and Hewnon in Gian’s rat-trap room.”

The first voice scoffed. “Serves those two right. Let’s get them out into the canals; don’t need any more disease down here.”

The wooden bridge overhead crashed into place, and we could hear heavy steps thudding overhead. We made our way back up to the room where Gian finally died, and I led us into the Ragged Flagon. 

There was only one person in there, and a quick Illusion put him back into a drunken slumber. We continued deeper into the heart of the Ratway; through the Vaults, and into the Warren. I led our group to Esbern’s not so little cell. It looked as if nobody had done more than ransack the place, so it made for an ideal base of operations. 

Hadvar set up a rotating watch schedule for the base, as well as up in the city proper. I had a hard time understanding it at first, but the fact that the people around me were able to plan and act without me needing to micro manage was a huge burden off my emotional shoulders. 

It was well into the evening when our scout reported that Maven had taken a group out of the city in a rush. A local hunter had found the merc Romlun had shot. Romlun was on rest, so I took Hadvar with me up to raid Maven’s house.

The late evening and general malaise of the Riften guards made the break in almost suspiciously easy. We could hear someone upstairs, but I was unconcerned. I knew that what I wanted was in the basement. We slunk down the stairs, and wove our way through barrels of mead. By that point, no magic was needed to follow the stench of death. 

One locked door later, and there it was: the Black Sacrament in all its horrid glory. There was also a note to Astrid, which I collected. We did a quick sweep of the basement, then snuck out while locking up behind us.

Once back in the safety of our Ratway base, Hadvar leaned heavily against the wall. 

“I’ve seen war, and dragon fire, but that?! That was an abomination! It was a sin against the Divines! It was--”

I passed a cup of hot tea to him. “It was proof of prior association with the Dark Brotherhood.” I sipped my own tea and frowned. “Still, it only proves past association; it’s not the bloody dagger I need to put Maven away.” I glanced up at Hadvar and his team. “See if you can learn anything down here. Maven’s getting her manpower from somewhere, and the Thieves Guild is supposed to be, well, thick as thieves. I’ll see if I can get into the various chambers of Mistveil tomorrow. I’ll either secure evidence of guilt, collusion, or innocence.”

...

I managed to enter the keep the next morning without any interruption; mostly because nobody wanted to deal with what I implied by my entrance.

“Magistrix Wylandriah! How delightful to see you again! I came as quickly as I could, once I’d heard. Tell me all about this new project of yours.”

True to form, the absent minded mage looked dully for a moment before her face lit up. “My experimentations involve a magical construct and a reagent that will allow the construct to maintain a field of permanent harmonic energy!"  

I put a hand on her shoulder and guided her back to her laboratory. “Have you been cribbing my notes again? We’re running an experiment up in Winterhold that’s nearly identical!”

It took less than a minute to start discussing the finer points of her jumbled idea. Less than a minute after that, she had forgotten I was in there with her at all. I quickly Muffled out of sight, and one drunk/ two pocketed invisibility potions later had me sneaking into the chambers of Anuriel.

There wasn’t anything I could find of note beyond the expected incriminating letter from Maven; though the phrasing was slightly more open-ended then I remember.

-Bear it in mind that Jarl Laila Law-Giver need not, nor likely will not remain upon her throne. When this happens, be mindful of whom you actually serve, and what I actually know.-

Once again, not the ‘smoking gun’ I wanted, but useful in building a case of conspiracy. I pocketed the letter, and continued on to Laila’s quarters. As I had suspected, there was nothing of any note, so I made my way back into the throne room.

Just as Maven Black-Briar threw open the doors and stormed in.

“Jarl Law-Giver, I must speak to you at once!”

I slipped back into Wylandriah’s shop just before the Mage turned around. “What is going on out there?”

“Oh nothing to worry about,” I closed the door as Maven started regaling the court about the ‘outrageous assault upon the Black-Briar’s property’, and how it had to reflect on Laila’s rule. “Just politicians raging at one another about their so-called ‘power’. Now, you were telling me that you needed; what was it, calipers?”

It took half an hour for Maven to wind down and leave. I did manage to convince the absent minded mage to donate a blood sample to my ‘ongoing experiment in studying similarities and differences in Meric biology’.

I left the keep and made it back to ‘Warren Base’ with as little interruption as I had coming in. I added the Anuriel letters to the growing collection of almost evidence. I slumped into a seat beside Hadvar. “I hope your people are getting more than I am, cause this is all circumstantial. If our evidence isn’t ironclad, Maven will weasel out of this like it never happened.”

“Maybe,” he passed me a hunk of bread and some cheese. “Liliath did some... reconnaissance,” I could hear the air-quotes in his voice, “of that Ragged Flagon place overhead. Seems there might be some discontent and discord among the more organized denizens. She also said there might be a secret door somewhere in there.”

I raised an eyebrow. “‘Might be’?”

“I’ve already raked her over the coals for not paying attention to her surroundings. Still, if there’s an area we haven’t been, we probably should look.”

I decided to go with Romlun. She had just the disreputable edge I needed to sell our being a couple of ne'er-do-wells. I was more than a little alarmed when she grabbed my robes and stripped me on the spot, before throwing a mix of fur and hide armor at me.

“No one’s gonna talk to you if you look like some milk-drinking mage.”

I looked at most of it, and tossed the gauntlets and helmet back. I put the Fur Armor and shoes on, leaving off the shirt. I looked around the room, and found a small pot of lard we used to cook. I scooped just enough to act as good-ol’ ‘Product’ in my hair to get it to stand straight up. All that was left was to cover my hands in charcoal and mark my face. 

I turned around to face Romlun, who had a bemused look. She was about to say something, when I started to grin wider and wider. A little manic giggle had her backing up to the door, looking at Hadvar.

He snorted and put his hands up. “Oh no, you did this to yourself.”

“Come on, pretty lady!” I hobbled over to Romlun and grabbed her arm. “Let’s go make friends!”

My manic persona actually worked out. While nobody talked directly to me, as I’d start rambling about scenes from ‘Lord of the Rings’ if anyone tried, nobody was afraid to talk near me. Romlun claimed she’d found me on the border between Falkreath Hold and the Reach, and I’d followed her ever since. 

Romlun was talking to one of the patrons. “He’s maybe halfway to the Shivering Isles at any given moment--”

“Can you hear the music of the universe?!” I played the Twilight Zone theme using Sparks between my hands.

Everyone stared for a moment, then slid a little farther away. The cutpurse shook his head and focused on his mead. “Oh no, I think he’s half way back. Still, if he’s half as good as you say then we can always use a powerful mage.”

I was deciding what Mad Hatter shenanigans to try next, when I spotted Etienne Rarnis, the thief from the Thalmor Embassy dungeon. I got up and frantically rushed over. “You! You have seen the edge of eternity! Come closer and I shall decipher its whispers.” He tried to pull away when I got my mouth right next to his ear. “A debt of life is owed. Do not make me collect in full,” I whispered.

Etienne froze in place. “What do you want?”

“Not here, not here!” I returned to my manic persona. “In the deep dark, where the mad ones dwell. Meet me there, and I shall reveal all! Ahahahahahahahah!” I loped back to the passage leading back to the Vault and the Warrens.

I heard Romlun sigh and stand up. “Better follow him. Trust me, you don’t want him to come looking for you to share whatever ‘truth’ his reflection in a puddle has revealed.”

Chapter Text

I Muffled as soon as I was through the door, and followed Romlun and Etienne down to the Warren to make sure they weren’t followed. We all stopped at the lowest level, below Warren Base.

“All clear,” I said as I stepped out of the shadows. “Etienne, I’m here to collect my debt.” I could see both the resignation and fear in his eyes. “I’m taking your old life, and giving you a chance at a new one.”

Etienne looked between Romlun and myself. “What is it you need?”

“We need into the locked chamber,” Romlun said as she stepped around in front of him. 

The thief looked frantically between us. “What, right now?”

I shook my head. “When would you normally go in?”

“Um,” he thought while looking at the floor, “honestly, I try not to go in there any more.”

Romlun was tensing to grab him, when I put a hand on her shoulder. “Because it’s become something ugly, hasn’t it?”

Etienne’s eyes darted around for a moment. “Ever since I got back from that Thalmor dungeon... no.” His face hardened, and he looked up. “Ever since Mercer took over, the guild has been failing. After I got back from Haafingar though, it turned darker. Mercer doesn’t just want us to steal, he wants us to kill! We’ve lost several members to botched assassinations, and more left wanting no part of his madness. Those of us left are either blinded by the power,” he hung his head in shame, “or too scared to leave. I didn’t join the Thieves Guild to become a murderer!”

I put a hand on his shoulder. “Then help us put a stop to it. How do we get into the inner chamber?”

He hesitated for a moment, then pulled out a key. “The shelf to the right of the Vault door leads into another cistern. The Guild has been based there for decades. There’s another way in, through the cemetery behind the Temple of Mara. Look forchk-” An arrowhead sprouted from his throat. The way he dropped like a string-cut puppet told me that no magic would save him.

I snapped up a Ward, just before a second arrow struck. Romlun blew three shrill whistles, and Warren Base emptied out into the Warren, weapons at the ready. “I thought you checked to make sure we weren’t followed?!”

“I did!” I lashed out with a fire bolt at where I thought the shooter had been. “Clearly they’re better than me. Get the key! Hadvar,” the Nord looked down at us, “we were tailed. We’re going now, and we’re going loud!”

“Nords, arise!” At Hadvar’s shout, the soldiers rushed forward, though in very good order. I could hear a short clash of arms as Romlun and I made our way up to the team. One Legionnaire was leaning against a wall with a dagger in his gut, while a woman in black leather armor gave her last rattling gasp on a set of steps. 

Romlun moved to her comrade, and very thoroughly spot treated the wound. It made my field medicine attempts look like a Cub Scout’s First Aid Merit Badge work. The soldier was back on his feet, and we silently made our way up to the Cistern access. At a hiss from Hadvar, four of his men peeled off and secured everyone in the Ragged Flagon. The rest of us posted on Romlun, as she opened the Cistern access. 

As soon as everyone was in the room, I felt a ripple of Magicka. A red bolt struck Hadvar in the chest, and he spun and started attacking the nearest Legionnaire. I blasted Hadvar with a Calm, and began scanning the room.

“Well well,” a voice echoed around the cistern, “so you aren’t just a magical madman. But what makes you think you can face the might of the Dark Brotherhood?!”

I scoffed as I kept looking around. “Maybe the fact that I’m responsible for ending the Dark Brotherhood; or didn’t Maven give you the memo about Astrid?”

“Lies!” 

The shout came from right in front of me. Barbas snarled and snapped into the air. Something hit the ground in front of Barbas, causing him to sneeze. I blasted out in all directions with Flames, though I hit nothing.

“The Dark Brotherhood is the Night Mother’s will,” the invisible foe shouted from somewhere in the middle of the room, “and the Night Mother is--”  

“Is dust and slag in a rubble pile just outside of Dawnstar.” The Legionnaires began spreading throughout the room, with Barbas and I backstopping the door to the Ragged Flagon. “Astrid’s head was given to Commander Maro like a house-warming gift, and Babette got merced on her way to kill me. You lot are just amateurs cosplaying as the Dark Brotherhood, so Maven doesn’t have to read the writing on the wall.”

“Amateurs?!” The shout came from the opposite side of the room now. “Could amateurs have pulled off the assassination of Titus Mede II?!”

“No they couldn’t have,” Hadvar called from the opposite side of the room, “which is why he’s very much alive.”

“You mock me at your own peril.” The voice had moved again. “I suppose the only way you will understand is through blood!” One of the Legionnaires was lifted off the ground, as two blades erupted from his chest. I caught a glimpse of a Breton in black leather, before he went invisible again. The Legionnaire slumped to the floor. “You can tell your precious Divines that it was Mercer Frey, Master of the Dark Brotherhood who sent you to them!”

Once I had a name, I called upon my Clairvoyance. The trail whipped across the room as Mercer ran over the walkway towards Romlun. I snapped off a firebolt and clipped him as he was about to arrive. He was still invisible, but his form was temporarily wreathed in flames, allowing Romlun to dodge the worst of it. She was still hit with something that Paralyzed her. 

Several Legionnaires shot at Mercer’s silhouette before he could finish Romlun off, and he jumped into the cistern. There was another ripple of Magicka, this time of Restoration; but there were also ripples in the water. Every Legionnaire began shooting into the spot. 

With Clairvoyance still up, I saw the trail leading under the water towards one of the alcoves. I gave Barbas a quick tap and pointed, and he slunk over to the spot. There was another faint ripple beside the ledge.

“GrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOWWWWLLLL!” Barbas bit onto Mercer, and dragged him screaming onto the shore. Several Legionnaires tackled the would-be assassin and pinned him to the ground, while Barbas kept his grip on Mercer’s shoulder. Romlun stumbled over and stabbed him in the back; Mercer froze.

Hadvar walked over and patted my shoulder. “My team has him well in hand. Let’s find that evidence.” 

We swept through most of the area without any difficulty. There was a riot of treasure and keepsakes, but no ‘smoking gun’. All that was left was a large iron double door. Mercer cackled from the back of the cistern. “You need two keys to open our vault door, and I’ll never tell you where they are! You’ll never get that door open!”

I smirked back towards him. “Oh ye of little faith.” It was a very solid door, and it took five minutes of Arc-Jet cutting to finally get through. Once we did, we stepped into a nearly empty vault. 

I huffed in frustration. “Behold, the room where I keep all my Fucks-to-give.” Hadvar looked at me oddly. “Ignore me, I’m rambling.” I nudged one of the chests open, finding nothing but dust and cobwebs. “Even if he didn’t keep all his pseudo Brotherhood paraphernalia here, there should be something; you don’t put up that kind of door to lock out an empty room.”

There was a commotion from the main chamber. Hadvar and I rushed out to find another Legionnaire bleeding on the ground. The rest of the team was piled on top of Mercer. while Barbas was savaging his arm. He dropped something as he screamed, and it skittered down the ramp to my feet.

“NO,” Mercer bit out. “That’s mine! You can’t have that!”

Hadvar gave a sharp whistle, and I winced as one of the Legionnaires dislocated both Mercer’s shoulders before re-manacleing him.

I picked the object up. It was a complex bronze key, with a dagger-like handle and ornate jeweled pommel. It seemed to glow in the torchlight.

Hadvar leaned in to look “What is that?”

We both looked up as Barbas began growling at us, his hackles up. Hadvar and the Legionnaires all tensed, as I looked down at the key, then up to Barbas. “Is it Daedric?” Barbas stopped growling, laid down and whined.  

Hadvar sucked in a breath. “Then that’s it: Mercer’s connection to the Daedra.”

I shook my head. “To a Daedra. I’ve been in both Dark Brotherhood Sanctuaries.” I rolled the key in my hand. “This doesn’t resemble any of the motifs or iconography in either one.”

Hadvar growled and scratched his head. “We’re getting nowhere. Ulbert,” Hadvar called one of the Legionnaire’s, “Tell Cassus to bring the rest of the thieves in here, then get Romlun and Ulfbern up to the Temple of Mara.” Hadvar looked at me with a wry grin, as his man ran off to his duty. “If we want answers about the Thieves Guild, we should probably ask a thief.”

I smiled and nodded, then sat down behind a desk at the empty vault entrance. A few minutes later, a line of sullen men and women were marched in. Two in particular, a platinum blonde and a bald man, saw the state of the vault doors and tried to rush over. A wall of swords and shields brought them short.

“Wot issit then,” the bald man bellowed in a Cockney accent. “Wot have you lot done?!”

I stood up and tapped one of the Legionnaires on the shoulder. “Exactly what it looks like.” The wall parted as I escorted the two in. “We cut our way into an empty room. Don’t touch the doors; they’re still hot.” The couple, who I assumed were Thieves Guild members, stared dumbly at the empty space.

“On the up side,” Hadvar stepped in behind us, “there’s no incriminating evidence of any crimes, much less the assassinations Mercer insists he orchestrated, or directed, or even committed himself. On the down side,” he walked in front of the two thieves, “there’s nothing to exonerate you either.”

The blonde flinched as if slapped. “We’re the Thieves Guild, not the Dark Brotherhood! We don’t assassinate!”

“Not according to Mercer,” I nodded my head towards where Mercer was bound and gagged. “With the recent attempt on the Emperor’s life during a visit to Solitude, plus Gaius Maro’s murder right here in Riften, the Empire is mighty keen on finding the culprits and making examples of them.”

Blonde scoffed and glared at Hadvar. “How are we supposed to prove we aren’t the Dark Brotherhood?”

“By helping us find evidence of Mercer’s guilt, and that of any accomplices he may have had.”

The thieves looked at one another in a silent conversation, then Cockney turned to me. “On one condition. We want amnesty from Mercer’s crimes.”

I put my hand on my heart. “You have my word.” I frowned as the couple snorted. “What do you want me to do, ‘swear on the Precious’?” 

I hadn’t realized I was waving the Daedric key around until Cockney started coughing. “Wass that?!”

“This?” I wiggled the key. “Mercer had it on him; used it to pick his manacles.”

“It can’t be,” Blonde husked out. “That’s just a fairy tale to keep young pad-foots in line!”

“Look at it, Vex,” Cockney hissed. “It’s real! That means--”

“What is it?”

The couple stopped arguing at Hadvar’s question.

I raised an eyebrow at their sudden silence. “It’s Daedric, whatever it is. Once we’re done here, I’ll just drop it off at Stendarr’s Beacon and have the Vigil dispose of it.”

“NO!” Both thieves dropped to their knees in panic. “You can’t do that!” Cockney hung his head. “That’s the Skeleton Key. It’s a talisman of Nocturnal. If you destroy that, you destroy us!”

Hadvar chuffed. “I’m failing to see the downside.”

I looked thoughtfully at the two thieves. “The downside is we lose a potential asset, while creating a power vacuum that we have no control over.” Hadvar frowned at me. “Think about it. If the Stormcloaks are buying black market goods, the Thieves Guild will know about it. If an Imperial officer is on the dole, the Thieves Guild will know about it. As they are, they can be an incredible source of information throughout Skyrim. If we destroy them, then we have an indeterminate number of resentful break-in artists loose in the wild.”

Hadvar’s frown deepened. “This is so far above my pay grade, I could trip and fall onto High Hrothgar.”

I clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll handle selling this to Commander Maro.” I looked down at the two thieves. “So here’s our revised deal: you help us secure evidence that implicates Mercer Frey for the sudden resurgence in ‘Dark Brotherhood’ activities, and provide timely intelligence to the Empire about any emerging threats, and I will guarantee amnesty for the surviving Guild members not involved in his crimes, and I will not destroy the Skeleton Key.”

The woman, Vex, sighed and nodded. “Mercer has a house here in Riften: a gift from Maven Black-Briar.”

I quirked an eyebrow. “No love for the Black-Briar matron?”

Cockney snorted. “We’ve been years running errands for her: ruining her competition, strong arming anyone she thought needed bullying. That was all under Mercer, and we’ve been struggling the entire time.” He glanced at the Skeleton Key. “I think I know why, now.” 

He Looked back up at me. “Vex has been to Mercer’s house, and she’s the best break-in artist I know. Plus, she knows Mercer’s guard dog Vald; maybe she can talk him down.”

Vex grudgingly led me and Hadvar through a secret door in the city graveyard, and over to the back yard of Mercer’s home. As soon as we approached a wrought iron gate, a mountain of a Nord came rushing up like a junkyard dog. 

“This is Mercer Frey’s place, and he don’t like visitors. Now go away!”

“Quiet down you goon,” Vex hissed. “Do you want the city guard to come?!”

Vald’s face screwed up in visible distress. “Why do you always gotta talk down to me?! So I ain’t smart, or fast, or sneaky!” Vex’s eyes got wide with alarm as Vard got louder. “Everyone keeps makin’ me do things I ain’t good at, then spittin’ on me when I don’t do it right! Well I’m good at this, and I’m gonna do it right!”

Vex was pulling a dagger, when Hadvar came up to the gate. “Then why do you work for them?” Both Vex and Vald paused at the question. “Why do you work for people who belittle you and demean you for being something you are not?”

“Who else would take me?” Vald’s posture softened, but he kept his guard up. “Grelod said it, and Maven said it: I ain’t good for nothin’ else, so nobody’ll take me. Besides, I messed up a job for Maven, so now I owe her. I can’t mess this up.”

I stepped up beside Hadvar. “Vald, was it? I’ve heard of Grelod. She’s a cruel, bitter old woman who hurts children. You aren’t a child any more; you don’t have to be who she says you should be.” Vald’s arm relaxed a little more, though he looked uncertain. “I’ve also heard of Maven Black-Briar. She’s a cruel, manipulative woman who rules through fear: fear of her connections to the Thieves Guild and the Dark Brotherhood. Maven’s connections to those two groups have been severed. You have nothing to fear from her anymore.”

Vald looked lost, but also a little hopeful. “What about Mercer?”

Vex put her dagger away. “Last I saw, he was in chains and stripped naked in the middle of the guild hall. He’s going away and he’s not coming back.”

Vald’s eye lit up with an almost child-like glee. “I’m free? I’m really free?!”

“Free as the wind,” I stepped back from the gate. “You can be whatever you want.”

Vald threw his weapons to the ground and unlocked the gate. “Then I’m gonna head to my cousin’s place in Ivarstead and become a lumberjack! Here,” he tossed a keyring to Vex, “I hated working this job anyway.” With that, he jogged off towards the city gates.

Vex blinked after him. “A lumberjack?”

I shrugged, and started to softly sing.

“Oh he is a lumberjack, and he’s okay!

“He sleeps all night, and he works all day!”

It took a bit to puzzle out how to get into Mercer’s house. It took even longer to navigate, with Vex pocketing everything that wasn’t nailed down or too big to carry. Hadvar and I ignored her, as we descended deeper into the house. She was conscientious enough to show us the various traps throughout the sub basement. 

Finally, we arrived at a large office-like space. There was a glass case with several folios. Vex was about to pick the lock, when Hadvar smashed the pommel of his sword into the glass. 

Vex glared at him. “What are you doing?!”  

He rolled his eyes and started pulling out folios. “Mercer already knows we’re here, and it’s not like he can do anything to us. We’re here to secure evidence, so let’s see what we have.” 

He picked one folio up, and a medallion fell out onto the floor. He picked it up, and froze in place. “This... this is an Amulet of the Elder Council!” He set it down, and read over the documents in the folio. They included vague instructions that lined up with the sequence of events leading up to the assassination attempt on the Emperor. On one additional page, was a letter in florid language and graceful penmanship, stating that a contract existed between ‘those who sign in blood’. There were no names, but there were two bloody fingerprints at the bottom.

Next to the desk was a small basket with crumpled parchments. Several of them looked like the ‘contract’, but there was one set on top that stood out. One had several scratched out lines, while another had a large blot where ink had been spilled. All of them had the same opening line:

Vunwulf,

I agree to your conditions. When the Emperor arrives--

It was the same phrasing as the incriminating letter left on Gaius Maro.

Meanwhile, Vex was looking back and forth through several of the contracts. “This is the same finger on all of them,” she pointed to the right fingerprint on every document. All had the same patterns on the print, but I could see there was another common element in several: a noticeable scar mark.

I squinted and frowned. “Good eye.” I looked around the space, feeling a twinge of disappointment. I was so certain it was her... “Let’s get back to the Cistern. I want to check Mercer’s hands.”

The trip proved surprisingly short, as the sub-basement connected to the Rat-Way Vaults. Vex stormed past Mercer, and noisily emptied her bags of all the finery from Mercer’s house into the Guild Treasure Vault. Hadvar and I walked over to Mercer. He immediately flinched away from us.

“It was her,” he began babbling, “you have to believe me! She made me do it! Something happened a couple of months ago, and she just became a terror!”

“Oh, she did, did she?” I glanced at one of the Legionnaires. “Bring him over to one of the beds, then fetch me a clear piece of glass and some charcoal powder: the finer, the better. Also some distilled alcohol: the kind an alchemist would use to clean their alembic.”

Mercer never once stopped blaming ‘her’, though he never once said who ‘she’ was. The Legionnaires and Thieves Guild members all watched curiously, as I performed Tamriel’s first fingerprinting. Mercer’s left thumb was an exact match for the common print on every contract. 

I looked over at Hadvar, and sighed in a mixture of relief and defeat. “Looks like we have our man.” I shook my head and looked down at the finally silent Mercer Frey. “I was so certain Maven was in on it.”

Hadvar clapped me on the shoulder. “If she was, Commander Maro will get it out of him. If she wasn’t, we’ve still crippled her power in the Rift.” 

Hadvar turned and faced his team. “Track everyone down, and pack it up. We’re done here.”

...

The trip back to Legate Fasendil’s camp was slow going, as we were transporting a prisoner and a dead Legionnaire. We regularly had to stop and keep Mercer from either escaping or killing himself. We finally made it back, only to find Commander Maro and a second detail of Penitus Oculatus waiting for us.

“Auxilia Hiram,” Commander Maro walked up to me. “I was expecting you to have someone else with you.” He extended his hand expectantly.

I removed my Penitus Oculatus medallion and gave it to him. “As was I, though the evidence told a different story.”

Hadvar and I walked the Legate and Commander through all the evidence we had collected, stopping to occasionally answer questions. In the end, Maro sighed and stood up.

“It’s not all I hoped for, but at least I can have justice for my son. Thank you both for your service to the Empire, and to Skyrim.”

I was dozing off that night, listening to birds and the occasional dragon roar, when Barbas borfed. I Muffled and Iron-Fleshed up, and followed him to the armored carriage where Mercer was being held. I was examining the lock, when a blade was pressed against my back.

“No sudden moves,” a woman’s voice whispered. “I just want what’s owed me.”

“You ain’t gonna live long enough to collect, lady,” Barbas growled from beside the carriage. “I could smell Nocturnal’s sweet perfume from across the camp.”

My captor spun us both around, and used me as a human shield against Barbas. “What are you then?”

“Meet Clavicus Vile’s better half,” I whispered out. “Let’s try talking, before anyone does anything you’ll regret.”

“Talk,” she hissed in my ear. “You think talk is going to give me twenty five years of my life back?! Will it give me closure for the cold blooded murder of the man I loved?! No, Mercer Frey owes me a life; and I intend to collect!”

“Mercer’s on his way to Solitude to pay for crimes--”

The blade pressed a little harder into my back, making the Iron Flesh ripple. “You think I care about Imperial Justice?! I am owed!”

“Will you care when the Rift is burning?” She jerked me a little, but I continued. “Will you care when Riften is more a ruin than Angarvunde; when Legionnaires and Stormcloaks battle up and down the valleys, and the river is choked with the battle dead? Will you care then? Because that will happen if Mercer Frey doesn’t make it back to Solitude.”

The pressure increased the tiniest bit, then disappeared. I spun to face a Dunmer woman in Thieves Guild chic. She was pacing back and forth, and I could see tears glistening in the moonlight.

“He stole everything from me! My honor, my love, my oath, all of it stolen by him!” She pointed a sword at the carriage. “How am I supposed to get it back if anyone but me kills him?”

“Oh Karliah, Karliah, Karliah,” Mercer’s snide voice came from inside the cart. “Still pining for Gallus? When will you learn that all you need to do is take what’s right in front of you.”

“Boss,” Barbas padded over, “the Key also stinks of Nocturnal.”

Mercer started laughing wickedly. “That’s right: the Skeleton Key is right there in front of you! All you have to do is--”

“Here you go.” I handed the Daedric key to Karliah, who stared dumbly at it.

“What? NO!” The carriage shook as Mercer yanked on the bars. “You can’t just give something like that away!” 

“Yes I can.” My matter-of-fact answer just sent him even further into a fit, which I tuned out as I turned back to Karliah. “As far as I’m concerned, render unto Nocturnal that which is Nocturnal’s. I know it doesn’t make up for your loss, but--”

“But it does,” Karliah whispered. “I can return what Mercer stole from the Twilight Sepulcher, and regain my lady’s favor. But, why?” She looked up at me. “Do you know how much power you held in your hands?”

“Nope,” I popped the ‘P’ as I rocked on my heels, “and I don’t want to know. I have more than enough Daedric Princes I’m dealing with right now; I have zero interest in adding to the list.”

Karliah clutched the key to her chest, then looked up at me and Barbas. “I can never repay you for what you’ve done for me. Whenever you need it, my blade is yours.” She blinked out of sight. “Walk with shadows, friend.”

Hadvar came up, followed by half the camp. “What’s going on? We heard Mercer yelling.”

I thumped the cart as Mercer continued to rage. “Ah, he’s just being a drama queen. I was making sure nothing actually happened to him.” I patted Barbas on the head. “Let’s head back to bed. We’ve a long road ahead of us.”

Chapter Text

The Imperial Caravan arrived at Solitude at noon. I had my cloak and Morokei on, while riding on the troop cart. Mercer was blessedly quiet, though I chalked that up to him screaming himself hoarse. I followed Hadvar and Maro up to Castle Dour to give my debrief.

Tullius flipped through the pile of documents, shaking his head and sighing. “To think this was festering right under my nose.” He looked up at me. “You’re certain Maven had nothing to do with this plot?”

“No, General,” I said from my chair. “I’m only certain that there’s no evidence to support such an accusation. However much I may dislike the woman, I won’t recommend punitive actions against her or Jarl Law-Giver.”

He huffed and sat back while fidgeting the Elder Council Medallion. “Then that just leaves us with this; and the Rift is still an unknown in the war.”

Hadvar leaned forward in his seat. “General, Hiram made a good point while we were there. We have a connection to the Thieves Guild now. We could lean on that for influence in the region without having to deploy more troops.”

Maro nodded. “Yes, and with Maven’s power base shattered, she’ll be significantly less influential. We could see about sending someone to Laila’s court.” He picked up the letter from Maven to Anuriel. “Maybe a bard: someone who can walk the line between criminals and politicians without seeming out of place.”

Maro set the document and amulet down. “Either way, it won’t be either of you; you’re both too well known now.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “And technically, I don’t work for you.”

Tullius snorted. “Yes, that. There is the matter of our debt. You’re racking up a lot of favors with the Empire. I don’t like owing mercenaries, no matter how effective.”    

I pursed my lips in thought. “The three things I need right now are: a safe place to store several sensitive items, safe passage to Solstheim now that I’m unwelcome in Windhelm, and new armor or the equivalent. I have concerns with Elenwen moving her security apparatus into the city, but the other two should be less problematic.”

Maro stood up and motioned me to follow him. “I have a secure vault here in the Castle. As the Thalmor have no legal right to enter the Imperial Wing, it should be more than secure enough.” We descended deeper into the keep. “The only armor I have is Imperial. I assume you would like to remain incognito, so I will refrain from offering that. However I do have a number of tomes for training our Battle Mages.” He sighed as he let me into a library. “The General lost so many Battle Mages in Helgen, and the Synod has been slow to train any new ones.”

I nodded, and walked in. The library was very well organized, with multiple copies of each tome. I found my prize near the back of the room: a single copy of Ebony Flesh.

I set the tome on the table in the center of the room. “This should do. Is there anything I need to sign? The librarian back at Winterhold is an absolute stickler for records of sale.” 

I marked the tome in the library records, meditated and read it, and then stood ready.

“About the travel arrangements...”

Maro held up a hand. “You needn’t bother. The East Empire company has recently begun importing Ebony from their mine on Solstheim again. There’s an East Empire Trader heading out with the evening tide. I can issue you a Grant of Safe Passage; It will cover any expenses that the Captain may levy.”

I shook Maro’s hand, then headed to the Bards College. This time, I came in the front door.

Viarmo was in the library solar. He stood up when he noticed me. “Aha! According to the news from the Rift, you have been an incredibly busy man. Here to settle down and start writing all these adventures for posterity?”

I snatched a venison pasty from a nearby platter. “Sadly, no. I only have a little time before I need to get to the docks. I’m here for what I originally intended to do when last we spoke. Urag at the Mages College said you had purchased all the translation texts and historical documents regarding First Era Aldmeri literature. I was hoping to have access to those.”

He sipped his wine and shrugged. “I suppose. I finished that project, though there’s not a lot of interest in Aldmeri literature in Skyrim. May I ask why you need it?”

I pulled out a notebook. “I heard mention of a group: the Bura Morae .” Viarmo choked on his wine. “You’ve heard of them, then.”

He began dabbing at his shirt. “I know the Mages College invites exploration of alternate sources of knowledge, but this is one I would strongly advise you not to pursue.”

I sat down across from him. “I don’t really have much choice in the matter, since they are the ones pursuing me .” I dug out one of the old tracking orders. “I’m assuming they are peculiar to the Summerset Isles, given the clearly Aldmer name; these were issued to Justiciars and used to track me. I need to know what I’m dealing with, and how to combat them.”

Viarmo looked over the orders, then stood up and picked out two books. “This one is a language primer, and should be of use in translating this one. It’s a history of Daedric Cults during the Merethic Era.” He handed them to me. “You must be very careful. The Bura Morae serve the Daedric Prince Hermaeus Mora; he is not to be trifled with.”

I took the books, and headed down to the docks to board the ‘Dowdy Wench’ bound for Solstheim.

...

I’d never been near a volcano or its aftermath in my old life, but the brown haze was reminiscent of Kuwait or Afghanistan during a dust storm. I put on Morokei and pulled the hood of my cloak farther down my head to cut out the worst of the dust.

It was night time when we arrived in Raven Rock. I did my best to read the area on my way in. The Earth Stone was just visible through the haze, though I couldn’t tell if Miraak’s additions were still in place. There were a number of people milling about the docks, so I had high hopes that M’Rissa and the gang had cleaned up the various Standing Stones.

The deck hands and dock hands all busied themselves securing the ship, while I stepped off onto the pier. There was nobody official-looking to process me; only a couple of guards standing idly near the entrance to the city, so Barbas and I walked to them.

“Excuse me, is there anyone I have to check in with? I’m a new arrival, and I’m likely to be here a while.”

They glanced at one another, then one jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Everyone’s at the Retching Netch right now. You can head there and talk to Corellius about work.”

I nodded and headed to the tavern. If they weren’t asking, I wouldn’t say I wasn’t here to mine.

The tavern was a haven from the dust, and the hall buzzed with conversation, unfamiliar musical instruments, and Dunmer throat-singing. I peeled off Morokei and headed to the Bar.

“Welcome to the Retching Netch,” a grinning barkeep slid in behind the bar. “Can I interest you in some fine local Sujama ?”

“Well, it has been a trip. I’ll have that, a meal for myself and my dog, a room for the night if one’s available, and a bit of local gossip.” I put an uncut garnet on the table.

The jewel disappeared in a flash. “Coming right up!” A small clay jar was placed in front of me. I nursed the unfamiliar drink; it tasted a bit like it was pretending to be Thanksgiving flavored Vodka. A few minutes later, a trencher of thick stew, as well as a slab of raw meat were brought out for me and Barbas.

The Barkeep settled back behind the bar. “Just let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll take you to your room. Now, what gossip were you looking into?”

I diluted some of the stew with a healthy pull from the jug. “Local happenings, who to meet, who to avoid, the whereabouts of a Khajiit and her traveling companions. That sort of thing.”

The bartender froze in place. “I’m not certain I know who--”

“Please don’t pretend not to know who I’m talking about.” I scraped some of the stew up with a piece of bread. “The ore is flowing, so she opened the mines up; and you’re all here rather than out on the point, so she’s started cleaning up the Spirit Stones, if she hasn’t finished already. I just need to know what else she’s been doing, so I can catch up.”

He was shuffling uncomfortably, when the doors to the tavern opened. A trio of figures descended into the public area, brushing off dust.

“Captain Veleth,” I couldn’t help but grin at M’Rissa’s voice. “Captain, are you down here? Your Dust-Draugr problem should be under control now.”  

Barbas’ head also came up, and he started to happily bark.

The three newcomers looked towards me and Barbas, with one of them hanging their head and sighing. “So much for my reprieve.”

I spun around and stood up. “Love you too, Lydia. M’Rissa, Serana, how have you been?”

M’Rissa, Lydia and Serana all took off their cloaks. Lydia, despite her grousing, had a smirk pulling at the corner of her lips. M’Rissa strode over and pulled me into a tight hug; then stepped back and grabbed my ear with her claws.

“You told this one two months at the most.” She let go, then took a seat at a table. “What happened?”

I massaged my ear, then stepped around to let Lydia and Serana sit first. “Riften and the Thalmor happened. The head of the Thieves Guild got it in his head to ‘reform’ the Dark Brotherhood, and tried to pull off the assassination of the Emperor.”

Lydia tensed, then relaxed. “If you were involved, I’m wondering if the Rift is still there.”

I shrugged, then flagged the barkeep over. “The Rift is still there, but Riften may never be the same. Shook the political foundations pretty hard. The P-O are working on putting someone in Law-Givers court.”

Serana looked lost. “P-O?”

Lydia snatched one of the offered clay jugs. “Penitus Oculatus: Imperial Spies, and the Emperor’s protectors. What does that have to do with the Thalmor?”

“They snatched me just outside of Windhelm, courtesy of ‘Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak’.” My voice was thick with scorn. “They were taking me through the Reach for some reason, when the Forsworn hit them.” I paused as I considered my drink. “I may or may not have free passage through the Reach. I guess we won’t know until we head back.

“So what about you? I can guess at some of what you’ve done.”

M’Rissa, Serana and Lydia took turns relating their adventures on Solstheim; starting with the red-eye trek to the Dragon Word Wall northwest of Skaal Village. From there, it was a whirlwind tour as they cleaned up the Spirit Stones. There were one or two points that I winced at.

“Gah, shoulda let you know about Kolbjorn Barrow.” I nibbled on a sweet roll. “That’s on me.”

“What’s down there that’s so bad?” Serana asked, sounding a bit like a child listening to a spooky story around a campfire. “So far it’s just been some Draugr, a few artifact pieces, and M’Rissa says she hears a Dragon Word somewhere in there.”

“A Dragon Priest named Ahzidal, and eventually the pile of corpses Ralis is going to make to try and summon Ahzidal.” I planted a hand on Lydia’s shoulder as she tensed up. “He’s not any more aware of what he’s doing than the town’s people were of what they were building.”

M’Rissa sighed. “Right; Dragon Word or not, next letter from Ralis this one will tell him he is cut off.”

“So we’re ready then?” Lydia looked between me and M’Rissa. “We’re all set to take on this Miraak character?”

“I’d like to lay a little more groundwork with the locals, and we have the manpower to diversify now.” I gestured to M’Rissa. “ Dovahkiin’s call on this one.”

M’Rissa nodded. “This one and Lydia will head out in the morning to the main Temple complex. You,” she nodded to me, “Serana and Barbas can continue helping the people of Raven Rock.” 

I glanced down at Barbas. “Actually, why doesn’t Barbas go with you? It is the actual work he agreed to do, rather than running around with me playing Good-Samaritan.”

“You sure boss,” Barbas asked from the floor.

“Hey,” I smiled and shrugged, “this is technically the last thing you need to do. You’ve assisted in every other aspect. Once we finish up here, I’ll only have a couple of stops to make before we head to Haemar’s Shame.”

We spent the rest of the evening catching up, with only one pause when Captain Veleth finally came in from the ash storm.

The next morning, M’Rissa, Lydia and Barbas began their climb up to the Tree Stone and the  central Temple complex. Meanwhile, Serana and I were left in town. 

“Sooo,” Serana rocked on her heels beside me, “what’s the plan?” 

I glanced around for a moment. “I don’t have one.”

Serana looked down at me in surprise. “Really? To hear Lydia tell it, you’ve got five different plans for every problem on Tamriel.”

I laughed as I aimlessly walked. “I know what needs to be done; but until the people of Raven Rock ask, we can’t start in on that or it comes off like we’re the ones starting problems.”

Serana snorted, then sneezed. “So what then: we just mill around and wait for someone to run up and beg us to do all their work for them?”

I sighed as we walked along the harbor. “I know it can feel like that at times, but people often can’t see the solution to their own problems because of how close they are to them.” I paused and looked out over the water. “We can see the problem from the outside, and we don’t have the same emotional reaction to it. That means we can see solutions that someone else might not.”

The vampiress nodded as she leaned on one of the bollards. “So maybe we try some of that ourselves?” I glanced over at her. “I mean, maybe you’re-we’re too close to this, so we find someone with a different perspective.” she hung her head, sounding embarrassed. “I know, it sounds dumb--”

“It isn’t,” I patted her shoulder. “Different perspectives will offer different opportunities. So maybe we get a change of scenery. There’s more than just Raven Rock on the island, after all.” Her smile at the affirmation was like the sun coming out; it was a wonder she didn’t burn herself. “There’s a Telvani Wizard on the island. I need to see him anyway, so we might as well lay some groundwork out right now.”

We managed to rent a pair of horses, and made our way around to the massive mushrooms that housed Neloth Telvani. 

“ AAHHYYEE!!”

-RUMBLERUMBLECRASH-

We arrived to find a young Dunmer running from a strange hybrid of a Storm Atroncach and an Ash Spawn. Serana Ice-Speared it several times, as I rode towards it with my sword at the ready. I blasted it once with an Expulsion, then slashed it as I rode by. One last Ice-Spear from Serana shattered the strange construct.

I wheeled around and dismounted, as Serana rode up. “You alright there,” I asked the clearly shaken youth.

“I uh, I think so.” He stared at the spot where the construct had been. “I thought for sure I had the binding right.”

The student of magic in me wanted to sit down and help him figure his spell out, but the timekeeper tracking the multiple impending apocalypses in me said we needed to keep moving.

“Let me see that,” Serana dismounted and looked over both our shoulders. “Different summoned constructs require different binding elements. If you based this on a summoned Atranoch, but it’s actually a conjured construct, you’ll get mixed results.”

We sat with the young Mer for several minutes pouring over the spell he had created.

“I need something from the local environment to act as an anchor.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe a Heart Stone? Master Neloth uses them in lieu of Soul Gems in the construction of Staves.”

Serana nodded and stood up. “And where would we get a Heart Stone?”

I smiled in confidence as the young mage led us down the hill: I knew exactly what was needed. As we arrived at the glowing mass of earth, my smile slipped. This wasn’t the game so I hadn’t been skill-grinding blacksmithing, and I didn’t have a pickaxe.  

Talvas gestured to a glowing mass of stone protruding from the hill. “These are ejecta from Red Mountain. They’re where you get Heart Stones from. I just don’t have the skill to mine them.”

Serana and the apprentice Talvas were discussing ways to extract a Heart Stone, when a memory hit me: excavation mining.

“I think I might know a way. Hold on. Serana, could you--”

-Growl-

We saw three Ash Spawn rise up from the ground. One had a crude warhammer.

A grin split my face. “Lucky!” I drew my sword, cast Frost Cloak, and waded in sword first. The ‘Dust Draugr’ as I’d heard M’Rissa call them, only lasted a few seconds.

I salvaged the hammer, and walked up to the glowing rock. “Okay, Serana, Talvas, stand on the rock there. Ready?” I struck the rock with the hammer. “Did you feel that? Alright, step off and let me know when you don’t feel the vibrations.”

I gave the rock several more whacks, until I had a good idea where the edge of it was. I tossed the hammer aside, and began Arc-Jetting a hole under the Heart Stone deposit.

“Back in my homeland, there is an alternate form of mining that uses controlled explosions to break up ore deposits.” Once I was satisfied with my pilot hole, I readied a Dual Fireball. “Might want to stand back. Fire in the Hole! ”

- whump-

The earth and glowing stone both heaved, then sank as the Heart Stone deposit fell into the explosion-formed cavity. I grinned in satisfaction, until the mass of glowing rock began rolling towards me. I dove to the side, as the stone tumbled out of the excavation and rolled down the hill. Several Ash Hoppers and Ash Spawn were disturbed by the commotion, only to be crushed by my volcanic Katamari. 

It finally reached the stream, where the cold shock of glacial waters and kinetic abuse caught up with it. The stone crumbled, exposing several curious nodes of glowing rock.

Serana stared at me for a moment. “ This must be what Lydia was trying to warn me about.”

I huffed in feigned disdain. “Lydia and M’Rissa aren’t here to tell me that stupid ideas are still stupid even if they work.”

We headed down the hill and retrieved our prizes. Talvas was apparently in awe. “This is great! I can finish my work on the Ash Guardian, and have a spare Heart Stone for future work!”

Serana and I each fished out an additional Heart Stone, then headed back up the hill. We were met at the top by a collection of Dunmer, including an elderly Mer gentleman in billowing robes.

“What in Oblivion is going on? Talvas, what are you doing out here? I specifically instructed you to assist Elynea in healing my house!” Talvas mumbled and ducked his head, as the Telvani Wizard focused on Serana and I. “What about you two?”

Serana looked at me expectantly. I put on my smarmiest smile and stepped forward. “Magister Neloth Telvani, I presume?” Neloth nodded. “I’m Magister Hiram Abiff, of the Mages College in Winterhold. This is Lady Dame Serana Volkihar. We are associates of the Dovahkiin, Thane M’Rissa-Dro. I wonder if we could speak about the goings on here in Solstheim?”

...

Canis Root Tea, I found, was a bit like the Roasted Barley Tea I’d had once a lifetime ago.

Neloth sipped his own tea at the end of our story. “So you’re saying that these constructs scattered around the island were the work of Miraak, and not Hermaeus Mora?”

I set my cup aside. “Not directly, no. Apparently, Miraak’s trying to make a perfect replica of a structure inside Apocrypha to use as a synecdoche bridge. Once finished, he’ll just walk back into Mundus, where he intends to rule as an immortal god-king.” 

Neloth leaned back in his chair. “I was certain it was Hermaeus Mora who was responsible; what with his Bura Morae running about the island.”

I jerked in my seat. “‘Running about the island’...you’re saying the a-holes in the bone masks are Bura Morae ?”

Neloth sat up and looked us over appreciatively. “You know about the Bura Morae ? They’re a rather obscure cult; especially compared to the likes of the Mythic Dawn.”

I caught Serana looking at me expectantly. “Other than Miraak’s co-opted cultists, I have it on good authority that the Thalmor have been using the Bura Morae to track me for several months.”

Neloth -ahed- and sipped his tea. “I had wondered why you had a Dustman’s Cloak. You must have powerful friends as well as powerful enemies, to be gifted such an arcane article. Still,” he set his tea cup down and steepled his fingers, “That doesn’t explain the precise why for your arrival at my doorstep.”

“I intend to bind Hermaus Mora.”

Serana squeaked and looked wide eyed at me. Neloth on the other hand, remained motionless. “Come again?”

I tugged at the cloak. “This is just a stop gap. Mora knows me, and that can only end badly for me. Additionally, I know what he’ll ask of the Dovahkiin in order to help her defeat Miraak. It’s too high a price for something that can be learned in a more controlled manner. So I intend to bind Mora. I’ve secured and purified Azura’s Star, as well as her consent to use it. I’ve also found a Dwemer Oculory that contains the Oghma Infinium. Mora can’t access it, which means he’s unlikely to be able to squirm out of the Oculory.”

Neloth’s posture shifted slightly, transforming him from a curious mage into an evaluating professor. “And how precisely do you intend to affect this binding?” 

I looked around the room, until I found parchment and charcoal. I began sketching out the basics of my plan. “The College in Winterhold encountered a Pre-First Era artifact the Psijic Order referred to as the Eye of Magnus. We set up a spell array that leached the Eye’s radiant power, and used it to fuel a reinforced Ward to keep idiots from poking it with a stick.” Neloth snorted at that. “I felt a similar arrangement, using a combination of Soul Trap and Expulsion could, at the right location, force Mora into Azura’s Star.” I stood back from my rough sketch. “It is a fragment of Oblivion after all.”

Serana stared dumbly at Neloth and I as we chattered back and forth. The Tea was cold by the time we stepped back.

“Your plan, as absurd as it is audacious, has some merit. I will gladly assist you in the project, if only to see how Mora reacts should it fail.” Neloth headed over to his sealed work area. “I should be able to fashion enough Daedric Staves of the appropriate type,” he glared meaningfully at Talvas, “with the proper assistance.”

“If you don’t mind,” I followed Neloth over, “I’d like to help. Winterhold College doesn’t have a dedicated Staff Channeling setup, so I’ve never seen how this is done.”

We had finished fashioning the first Daedric Staff of Expulsion by evening meal. It was a fascinating process, though I got the impression Serana was following on autopilot. 

Once we were done eating, I stood and stretched. “I’m going to step out and stretch my legs.” I looked over to Serana, who was listlessly poking a cooked Ash Yam. “Serana, want to step out and enjoy the evening?”

She nodded, and followed me. The moment we were outside, she grabbed me by the collar and pinned me to a wall. “Are you insane!? ”

I considered flippancy for a moment, but only a moment. “No; I just refuse to sacrifice an innocent man to Mora. I refuse to make M’Rissa complicit in that act. Mora can’t be negotiated with, so binding him is the only other solution.”

Serana’s eyes darted back and forth for a moment, before she dropped me and began pacing. “So, wait... you really, wait...” She sputtered as she tried to organize her thoughts, before stopping and turning to face me. “Lydia said you aren’t from Tamriel; not even from Mundus. I thought she was just being her grouchy sister self.”

I smiled wryly. “Well, she was probably being sassy too, but she wasn’t lying to you.”

“And you really think you can pull this off?”

I walked down the ramp, and sat on an ash hummock. “Whether I can or not is irrelevant. I have to try. I won’t let Mora devour an innocent man, simply because it’s the quickest way to get what we need.”

Serana sat beside me and looked up at the Aurora. “And helping the people of Raven Rock?”

“That’s two fold. First, without Mora to keep him in check, Miraak is likely to accelerate his escape plan. We need to knock down his main temple project to buy us the time we need. That’s going to take manpower, which means the Redoran Guard. They won’t do it just for the asking, so we help them and in return they help us.”

Seraan nodded. “And the second?”

“Because they do need help, and we are capable of giving it. I can’t in good conscience walk away.”

“What about me?”

I glanced at Serana. The look on her face was somewhere between hopeful and resigned. “Do you mean getting involved in all of the Dovahkiin shenanigans, or the situation with your father?”

She ducked her chin down. “I know it’s selfish; the world’s coming apart but the little girl wants to know if she’s special.”   

“You aren’t selfish, and you are special.” She jerked a little at that. “The entirety of your world has been turned on its head, and you’re being asked to do the unthinkable: confront your own father, possibly kill him. But on top of that, the people doing the asking are dragging it out because of all the other problems going on.”

I turned to fully face her. “I won’t pretend to understand what it’s like for you. You knew your parents for centuries, while I’ll be lucky to live another fifty years. It’s not selfish to wonder where you fit in all this craziness, or if you are being used by the people around you. I can only tell you that I’m not, and I’m certain M’Rissa and Lydia aren’t either. We, like you, are dealing with a lot. Have patience with us.”

There were no, almost no, words to describe the look of relief on Serana’s face.

There’s that SPF-100 required smile again. I’m gonna need to be real careful, or I’ll do a serious don’t.

I stood up and offered a hand. “Come on; let’s see if we can squeeze in another Staff before dawn.”

...

We did manage to make an additional staff following Neloth’s pattern before everyone rose with the dawn. I opted to crash, and the Telvani wizard was gracious enough to lend Serana and I some floor space. We were roused by the smell of dinner being served.

Neloth and Talvas had finished another three of the staves, leaving only one staff left in the set.

“Ah, good. You’re awake.” Neloth walked to one of the tables and picked up a gnarled staff better suited for walking than casting. “While I do enjoy this endeavor of yours, there are duties I must attend to. Feel free to use the Staff Enchanter, though you may need to source more Heart Stones. Any additional stones you bring back would be appreciated.” 

Once he was gone, and we had eaten, we set out to find another Heart Stone deposit. This time I decided to use thermal stress to break the deposit up, rather than explosive excavation. We came away with another three Heart Stones, and proceeded to prepare the last Staff.

With all the physical pieces of my Mora trap assembled, it was time to head back to Raven Rock. We lucked out that Captain Veleth was out and about when we arrived.

“You there, Miss Serena wasn’t it?”

“Serana,” the vampiress frowned at the Dunmer soldier.

“Yes, apologies. I seem to remember you were traveling with the Khajiit woman, Marissa.”

“M’Rissa,” I corrected. “She’s currently involved in something. Perhaps we could help?”

I could see the indecision as he glanced around. “I suppose Ashlanders can’t complain about sudden rain. Follow me please.”

Serana and I endured Captain Veleth’s misnaming and seeming dismissal of our collective abilities, and followed him into one of the homes. Adril Arano and his wife were sitting by a hearth when we arrived.

Here we go.

It was exactly what I expected: the assassination plot against First Councilor Morvayn. We listened politely as Adril laid out his suspicions, fears, and plans. We accepted and headed out.

Serana leaned in close and whispered. “Is this one of those cases where you know who’s doing what before they do.”

“Very nearly,” I whispered back as we headed down into the Retching Netch. “It’s also one of those times where it’s more prudent to initially follow the trail, rather than head it off.”

We got our ‘lead’ from Geldis, then snuck into the Ancestral Tomb. We both decided to cloak as deeply as we could, and waited until the Severin Matron came to pay her respects.

Serana tapped my shoulder and whispered. “Now?”

“Now we deviate.” I focused Clairvoyance on the Severin Manor and safe keys. The Dunmer woman had both on her. “If you can mesmerize her, I can get the keys we need.”

The woman was about to place an offering, when she was surrounded by a faint red halo. I ducked in and snatched both keys, then we both dashed away before she regained her senses.

Once outside, I walked us straight to the Severin Manor. “There’s likely to be one person, possibly two inside.”

Serana’s eyes flashed crimson in the moonlight as she looked at the door. “I only sense one person inside.” 

I nodded, and we both stealthed up again before opening the door. The house servant stood to see what was going on, but we managed to slip past them and downstairs before they got to the door.

I went straight to the safe,and pulled out the letter from Vendil Ulen. I locked the safe, and left both keys on the table. 

We both heard the door open, and a slight ruckus as the house servant was berated by a woman. We ducked into a workshop and waited as the two Dunmer passed, then slipped out of the house.

Once back in the market square, Serana shivered. “That’s... whew . M’Rissa and Lydia talked about you getting ahead of problems, but that’s the first time I’ve seen it.” she looked back over her shoulder. “If that had been me and Lydia, or me and M’Rissa, it would have been a blood bath.”

I heaved a sigh. “It may yet be. This is a Dunmer blood feud involving a Mephala Murder-Cult.” I glanced up at the sky. “We should have just enough night left to get to Ashfallow on horseback.” 

I folded the letter and stuffed it under Adril’s door, then we mounted up and headed out. As expected, we arrived at the ruins just before dawn.

We were tying our horses up, when Serana whispered, “Two behind the retaining wall, left of the arch.”

I nodded, readied an offhand Lightning Bolt, and drew my sword. I walked through the crumbling portcullis, and blasted the nearest assassin in the face without looking. I did spin to face the second, who stood and lunged at me... right into Searna’s grip. I spun back around and kept walking; it was as much to afford Serana some privacy to feed, as to avoid seeing it.

We stalked through Ashfallow Citadel in much the same way, though I switched to my kitbashed Dwemer Crossbow to cut down on the noise. The only slowdown for us, other than scavenging the alarmingly copious poisons, was the Punji-Stick gate corridor. 

I was about to try tiptoeing through the various pressure plates, when Serana tapped my shoulder and motioned for me to wait. She then vanished in a cloud of red mist and bats. After a few moments, the barrier bars retracted, and Serana reformed near me. Before I could say anything, she picked me up and made a standing long-jump to the other side of the trapped corridor.

I was a little flustered when she put me down, but I still bowed theatrically in thanks. She smirked and gave a pixie curtsy, and we continued on.

Once we arrived at the cistern chamber where Vendil Ulen and the rest of the Morag Tong were planning, I low crawled up until I could just see Vendil, then dipped a crossbow bolt in the most noxious poison I had found in our trek. I took my shot, and Vendil slumped in his makeshift throne.

Several of the assassins rushed over towards where the shot had obviously come from, when Serana summoned a Gargoyle in front of them. As they were readying to deal with the new threat, she also raised Vendil. Between the two front assaults by a summoned monstrosity and their own now undead employer, the last of the Morag Tong fell in very short order.

With the threat to House Redoran dealt with, Serana and I made a more leisurely retreat, stopping to valorize anything of reasonable monetary value. When we stepped outside, we were met by a number of Redoran Guard, including Captain Veleth.

“What are you two doing here?”

Serana pulled her hood up and looked innocently at the Captain. “Finishing up. Mind the traps in there; some are still active.” She turned to me and held out a hand. “I think I’d like to retire for the morning. Shall we?”

It was still well before noon when we arrived back in Raven Rock. We got a quick meal, and bedded down for the rest of the day.

...

“Hiram...” I drifted towards wakefulness, following the smell of hot food. “Hiram, get up. The Councilors want to talk to us.

I groggily stood up and took the meal Serana handed me. “Gimme a few minutes to find something other than dusty robes to wear.”

Serana smiled and nodded, then headed out into the main hall. Once I was presentable, I headed out and found Serana and Captain Veleth waiting for me. We all headed up to the main council house, and were presented to First Councilor Morvayn-Redoran.

“There are no words to express my gratitude for your efforts on behalf of House Redoran.” Councilor Morvayn leaned forward in his seat. “Even fewer for how ruthlessly efficient you were; I went to sleep last night worried about an assassination plot I had only learned of a few hours earlier, and by breakfast this morning I found out the matter had been handled.”

I shrugged. “This isn’t my first foiled assassination attempt, nor the first Daedric Death Cult I’ve crossed.”

Councilor Morvayn raised an eyebrow and sat back in his seat. “An interesting resume, to be sure. I’m left with a quandary on how to reward your efforts. Is there anything you desire? Wealth, perhaps? Or maybe a manor here in Raven Rock?”

I didn’t hesitate to answer. “What I want is irrelevant compared to what I need , and what I need is the assistance of the Redoran Guard in dismantling the structure being built around the Tree Stone.”

Chapter Text

Both Councilors and Captain Veleth blinked owlishly at me. Adril was the first to regain his tongue.

“I’m not certain I understand. Why do you need to destroy that structure?”

I grabbed a chair and sat down. “You remember how before M’Rissa-Dro came here, everyone was in a bit of a daze, and the Spirit Stone outside town was the focus of your almost-attention?” All the Dunmeri in the room nodded hesitantly. “Well, that’s because of Miraak: First Era Dragon Priest, first ever Dovahkiin, now unwilling permanent resident of Apocrypha, the Oblivion realm of Hermaeus Mora. He wants out, so he can go back to being an immortal God-King. He’s the one who’s been making you build these things.”

“And what are these things,” Captain Veleth asked.

I leaned back in my chair. “An Oblivion Gate.” Everyone in the room except Serana flinched and hissed. “Miraak’s having you build a bridge between his current location in Apocrypha, and his ancient temple fortress here on Solstheim. Once it’s finished, he can cross over at any time he chooses, along with anything else that decides to slip through.”

Councilor Lleril Morvayn lurched in his seat. “But then, what’s the Dragonborn been doing all this time?!”

“Preparing to confront Miraak directly,” Serana said tersely from her corner of the room. “When we were running around the island - cleansing the various Spirit Stones, dealing with the Cultist overseers and tentacle monsters - we were weakening Miraak’s power base here on the island.”

I smiled and nodded in thanks. “Now we’re entering the endgame, and I want to stack the odds in our favor. That means setting his project as far back as we can. If we can destroy the main structure surrounding the Tree Stone, then that will set his plans back months, if not years.”

Serana stepped forward and smiled benignly at the Councilors. “And with everyone aware of what’s going on now, your priests can take steps to safeguard your people against Miraak’s influence.”

Councilors Arano and Morvayne huddled up in conversation for a few minutes. They then turned to face me and Serana. 

“I can see the wisdom in your council,” Lleril laced his fingers in his lap, “and you and your associate M’Rissa have done great service for this community.”

Captain Veleth leaned forward. “There is, however, some concern for the safety of Raven Rock as a whole. The project would require great manpower, both to accomplish and to safeguard. Reavers are still a threat across the island, to say nothing of Ash Spawn and Rieklings,” he all but spat the word. “If we were to send enough hands to dismantle the temple and guard the workers doing so, it would leave Raven Rock vulnerable to attack.”

I fought to keep my composure, though my eye started to tick in annoyance. “And how much more would we,” I gestured to myself and Serana, “have to do before you would feel safe enough to safeguard your own future?” 

“Watch your tone, outlander,” Captain Veleth’s hand went to the pommel of his sword. 

Nearly everyone in the room recoiled at the low throaty growl from Serana. “Or what?” Her conversational tone was at odds with her toothy grin. “When we first came to your island, the Ebony mines were closed and your city was dying; until we stepped in and fixed it.” 

She took a step into the center of the room, and the light dimmed. “When your people's minds were not their own, and you were slaves building Miraak’s works, we stepped in and fixed it.” 

Another step, and several candles flickered out. “When Ash Spawn pressed in from all sides, you huddled in your city, and begged us to deal with it for you; so we fixed it.” 

Serana stopped in front of the two Councilors, and the room went dark except for an eerie red glow surrounding the Daughter of Cold Harbor. “And when a plot to assassinate one of you came to light, you ran to find the outsiders to fix it for you. There’s no one left to do for you, so what will you do?”

I could see Velelth straining against Serana’s oppressive aura. I stood up between her and the Dunmer soldier, and pulled her back slightly. “They won’t be able to do anything if you give them all heart attacks.” 

Serana’s aura faded, and the light started coming back up. 

I turned to face the Councilors. “She does bring up an important point: you have become dependent on outsiders to do for you, and people will begin to notice. You will need to act decisively, and do so soon or people will begin to think you are more interested in ruling than governing. Sacking Miraak’s temple would be a very visible and decisive action.” I stepped back beside Serana. “If you don’t, then I will find those who will; and your people will remember that as well.”

Adril nodded as he frantically gestured towards the door. “W-we will deliberate on your council. Good evening.”

It was plain as day that the councilors had already made their decision, and were simply too scared of the vampiress to say so. We may have overdone the hard sell.

I gave a theatrical bow, while Serana gave another toothy smile and pixie curtsy. We then turned and left. Serana turned left and began marching through town. She didn’t stop until we were on the point just past the Earth stone, where she tipped her head back and let out a bestial roar of frustration.

I rubbed her back until she got her breathing under control. “Feeling better now?”

“Fantastic,” she growled out. “It’s just...” She waved vaguely back into town.

I led her over to some overturned masonry, and sat down. “Feels like you're getting used? You helped them out, so now you’re expected to help them out?”

Serana plopped down beside me. “Exactly! This whole island was a mess before we arrived, and now they expect more of us? We even dredged up that raunchy book Avril’s wife had lost.” She huffed and let her shoulders sag. “But we’re still going to help them out, aren’t we; ‘because it’s the right thing to do’ and all that?”

“Indirectly,” I patted her shoulder and looked out towards Red Mountain. “Raven Rock isn’t the only community on Solstheim. The Skaal are almost guaranteed to lend aid, since it’s mostly their people building Miraak’s place. And maybe one other...” I gnawed on my lip in thought.

Serana looked at me expectantly. “Well don’t leave me in suspense.”

“You remember clearing out one of the stones mid island: the one being built by the Rieklings?”

“Yeah, I...no,” her eyes widened. “Noooo, we aren’t going into some stinky Riekling camp and trying to recruit their help!”

I nodded and stood up. “You are absolutely right.” I held out a hand and helped her up. “We’re going to a Mead hall that the Rieklings took over from some drunk do-nothing Nords, and recruiting their help.”

We started walking back into town, with Serana giving me a hooded look. “Why are we helping the Rieklings instead of the Nords?”

We came to our rental ponies, and mounted up. “Of the two groups, the Rieklings are more motivated to act. Also because the Nords lost the hall to the Rieklings fair-&-square, and are too busy throwing themselves a pity-party on the beach to do anything about it.” 

The ride to Thirsk Mead Hall was only interrupted once by a disturbed nest of Ash Hoppers. Both moons were full overhead when we came to the repurposed overturned longship.

Serana was tense as several of the small green humanoids came up to us. I simply smiled and nodded as they guided us inside the hall. Many of the sconces and the chandelier were unlit, with most of the light coming from outside as well as the central fire pit. On the fire side of the hall, sitting in a cobbled together throne surrounded by a cargo-cult riot of bric-a-brac, was the Riekling Chief.

Serana looked at the disarray, then looked at me with a flat stare. “This is who you want to recruit?” 

I shrugged. “You can always head down to the beach and solicit the drunks. Bear in mind,” I gestured grandly to the Rieklings, “the Nords lost their hall to these guys.”

She rolled her eyes, but followed me over to the Chief. Once we were in front of him, he sized us both up. “You, you strong!”

Serana squared her shoulders. “Yes we are.”

The Chief nodded and thumped his fist on his throne’s armrest. “You strong; help tribe kin.”

Serana nodded. “Apparently yes.”

The Chief smiled and nodded. “We family. We strong, you stronger.”

Serana gave a tight smile while motioning for him to continue. “Is there a point to this?”

"Bilgemuck run. Prize beast, run. Fool tribe-kin, chase away. Bilgemuck fear. You bring, he follow you. Yes?"

Serana’s smile collapsed. “Bilgemuck?”

"Bilgemuck prize beast. You find, he follow. Bilgemuck love meat. Give meat, he follow. You go." The Chief pointed to a pile of random meat near the door.

Serana smiled again, then grabbed my arm and dragged me towards the meat. “This is your grand plan?! Ignore the town in favor of these... these...”

I picked up a goat haunch and nodded. “These extremely industrious little people who will be very grateful for our assistance, and won’t give us any lip when we ask for reciprocity. It’s not as if this is some Herculean Labor; we’re just fetching an animal for them.”

Serana trudged after me as I went looking for the boar in question. It wasn’t all that difficult to find the beast. It actively trotted over when I brandished the goat leg. Once it had eaten its fill, it happily followed us back to the mead hall. The three of us: Serana, Bilgemuck, and myself, were greeted with great fanfare.

I smiled innocently up at Serana. “Simple people, simple needs, simple rules. Trust me, this is the simplest route to success.”

We made our way back inside, and over to the Chief. He gave us both a toothy smile. "Bilgemuck follow you. Bilgemuck know strength. Tribe-kin stronger. You stay, help more."

Serana’s eye twitched. “More?”

"Tribe-kin missing redgrass. Need for godspeak dance. You bring redgrass, we dance."

Serana growled a little. “And what, pray tell, is ‘redgrass’?”

The Chief got up and went to a platter that had a withered Scathecraw leaf on it. "Here, like this. Go, bring two hands of redgrass. Be friend of tribe-kin."

I was about to turn to head out, when Serana scoffed and took off her pack. It had slipped my mind that she was an alchemist and would likely have collected samples, as she began pulling out handfuls of Scathecraw and dumping them on the platter. “There! Enjoy your Redgrass.”

Enjoy they did. A positively ancient looking Riekling in a deer-skull headdress collected the platter, and led the tribe in a ritual who’s purpose I could only guess at. By the end, half the tribe was fawning over Serana, much to her discomfort.

Once the smoke from the burnt Scathecraw was clear, the Chief stood on his throne and gave an impassioned, if completely unintelligible speech that riled up the rest of the tribe. He then turned to us. “Bad Nords. Say Thirsk theirs. Live by water, bother tribe-kin. We fight. You strong. You help. No more bad Nords. We fight back now."

Serana shivered, then gave a placid smile. “You know what? Fine! I’m very ready to kill something.” She spun on her heels and stormed out of the Hall, with me and the rest of the tribe close on her heels.

We were halfway down the hill when the Nords started to climb up towards us. She took one look at their ramshackle appearance, then changed. It had been a while since Skyrim had shocked me, but seeing Serana cast off her human form and hover over the land as a monstrous, gray-skinned Vampire Lord was definitely a shock. Still, her ire was mostly directed down the hill, so I rallied quicker than I thought I would.

I could see the Nord woman leading the charge up the hill was more shocked than I had been, and her compatriots were simply indulging in Human-Herding behavior. I launched a quick and quiet Fear Spell. I almost regretted that decision when the woman let out the most terrified wail I had ever heard. The entire contingent of Nords ran down the hill, tripping and falling over one another to escape the gothic horror descending upon them.

They made better time than the Vampire Lord, and were halfway to Neloth’s tower when we caught up with Serana. She was standing in her human form in the middle of their abandoned camp when I walked up beside her. She turned to me with an unreadable look. “You chased them off, didn’t you?”

I nodded and patted her shoulder. “You may have said you were in the mood to kill, but I knew you weren’t in the mood to murder.”

She looked me in the eyes, then faced out to sea. “Thank you.”

The Chief slowly approached Serana. "You strong! All tribe-kin stronger with you. But... maybe you too strong. Too strong, want be chief." He brandished his spear threateningly.

Serana’s unreadable look turned to supreme annoyance. She reached down and grabbed the Riekling Chief by the head, and cracked him like a whip. She looked out over the collected Rieklings, as she tossed the Chief’s corpse out to sea. “Anyone else?”

The tribe was deathly silent for a moment, then erupted in cheering and dancing.

Serana looked down at the commotion in alarm, then at me in frustration. “I just know you have an explanation.”

I shrugged and smiled. “Simple people, simple needs, simple rules. You defeated the old Chief, so that makes you the new Chief of the Rieklings.”

She sighed in resignation. “Great. I’m the leader of a tribe of stone-age anklebiters on this island.”

I held up a finger. “Actually,” she glared at me for a moment, “that was the only Chief that I know about on the Island. I think you are the Chief of all Rieklings on Solstheim now.”

...

I bunkered down with Serana and her new ‘tribe’ until after sundown. Then we all headed to Skaal village. While some of the Skaal were apprehensive of the normally aggressive Rieklings, Storn was not.

“You have returned! Welcome.” He led us all into the Great House. “You have missed your compatriots by a few hours. If you set out now, you may yet meet them at the Telvani Wizard’s abode.”

Serana and I smiled, and the vampiress accepted a proffered Horker Loaf. “Thanks for letting us know, but we’re actually here for a different purpose.” She gestured to me. “This is Hiram, and he has a plan I’d like you to hear.”

Frea nodded sagely. “Ah, you are the one Lydia... mentioned.”

I chuckled and sipped my stew. “No need to sugar coat it. She warned you about me, and with good reason; my plans can be more than a little volatile.”

“Is that why you are here?” Storn prodded the fire. “You have a volatile plan that you need our help with?”

“Yes.” I set my stew aside and leaned forward. “It is my intent to damage or demolish the construction surrounding the Tree Stone.” I held up a hand to stave off Frea’s inevitable outburst. “I have no intention of harming the people in Miraak’s thrall. To that end, I have moved to recruit the Rieklings. They are just as susceptible to Miraak’s power as the rest of us, so they have as much reason to fight back. I would like them to provide security while your people remove the workers. Serana and myself will assist where and when needed.

“Once the complex is empty, we can begin knocking Miraak’s temple down.”

Storn looked at the fidgeting Rieklings. “Have the Rieklings agreed with this plan?”

Serana shrugged. “Maybe? We’ve only encountered one Riekling that spoke a familiar tongue, and he’s dead now.”

Storn nodded, then tapped his daughter. “Frea, would you bring Tharstan here please?”

It turned out that the visiting Nord, among other scholarly pursuits, could speak the language of the Rieklings.

“It shares many common roots to the language of Goblins in Cyrodiil.” He chirped, growled and gargled with the Rieklings for a few minutes, before turning back to us. “They understand the broad strokes of what you intend, and will send for warriors from all the Tribe-Kin on the island. They should arrive at the Tree Stone by tomorrow evening.”

I spent the intervening time surveying the site. The Keystone Arch construction, while quite stable once finished, was still vulnerable. There were several monolithic spires as well; I felt they could be used to help topple each other like dominoes if they could be tipped the correct way. My only concern was the amphitheater itself. The local geography could be used to my advant--

“You there!”

I absently finger-gun Lightning Bolted a cultist as I walked around the eastern base of the complex.

Maybe I can excavate like with the Heart Stone deposit? I spent the rest of the morning Arc-Jet excavating pilot holes under the eastern wall.

After an early afternoon meal and power nap, I was up with the rest of Skaal village to greet a very peculiar sight: hundreds of Rieklings watched the village from the overlooking hill.

Serana sighed, then stepped forward and, through Tharstan, gave her army their marching orders. There was a general din as the Rieklings began loping up the hill towards the Tree Stone.

Once Serana, myself and the Skaal caught up, there were at least two dead cultists, and a very aggressive sounding confrontation taking place within the amphitheater. The Skaal set to work collecting the various men and mer laboring around the temple. There was almost nothing for Serana and I to do except snipe the occasional cultist, or calm the occasional laborer. It took less than an hour to clear the surface complex.

With the innocents out of harm's way, I climbed onto the central lattice work. I dredged out as many parchments, Soul Gems and Soul Gem Holders as I had, and began rigging up my single most complex spell array to date.

Serana climbed up after me, and looked at the work I was doing. “Mass Telekinesis,” she nodded in approval. “I had wondered how you intended to pull all those key-stones down. Here,” she took one of the parchments and made a slight change to my spell, “try this. It should cut back on wasting Soul Gems.”

It was so nice to work with an experienced spell caster.

I set the last gem in the last holder, and the Spell Scroll Array I had rigged went off. Every Key-Stone was ripped from its arch, and began drifting towards the center of the temple. Without the critical piece, the arches all crumbled and collapsed into the amphitheater. Once the spell had run its course, the Key-Stones simply dropped onto the flagstones surrounding the Tree Stone.

Serana looked around the temple and nodded in appreciation. “Very nicely done.”

“Yup,” I chirped as I slid down the Lattice and headed towards the perimeter of monolithic spires. “Just one more bit to go, and we’re--”

“How dare you defile Lord Miraak’s temple!” Yet another group of cultists came rushing out of the under-temple complex.

“Ayeeeaaahhhhh!”

They were almost instantly set upon by Serana’s horde. We watched for a moment, then continued on. “So what’s this ‘last bit’?”

I led her to where I had tunneled under the walls. “I intend to collapse this entire section of the amphitheater.”

Serana looked at the row of pilot holes, then up at the wall. “Just like with that Heart Stone deposit the other day?”

I primed up a dual Fireball. “Hopefully with less running for my life.”

Serana stood in front of the hole next to mine, and we began blasting. Unlike with rock deposit, the effect wasn’t instantaneous. At first it was just gouts of flame; then we both felt a rumble under our feet. I knew the job was done, when the wall in front of us cracked and started to sag. We rushed out of the way, and watched as the eastern face of the amphitheater retaining wall crumbled and sloughed off. The spires began toppling, contributing to the destruction. 

After a minute of chaos, the demolition had run its course. A quarter of the temple had collapsed and slid down the mountain, and none of the free-standing spires were still up.

I nodded and spun on my heels. “That should set him back a good bit.”

Serana glanced around and followed me back to Skaal Village. “Looks like the Councilors decided to sit this one out.”

“Yeah,” I huffed as we hiked down the trail, “and like I said; their people will notice. I counted, what, seven Dunmer among the Laborers?” 

We made it back to the village before both moons had fully risen. I was tackled by Barbas as soon as I was in the town center. He licked my face once before composing himself again.

“-ahem- It’s, uh, good to see you boss.”

I scratched him behind his ears, which he tolerated. “Good to see you too, buddy.” I sat up as he stepped back. “I take it everyone’s done at Nchardak?”

Barbas sat beside me, and watched as Storn and Frea worked at freeing the minds of the temple laborers. “Yeah, though M’Rissa seemed pretty upset. She, Lydia and the Telvani wacko all headed back to the mushroom village to pick something up. They should be here by midday tomorrow. 

“So,” Barbas looked around the village, “I take it your plan to wreck the temple worked?”

“It did,” I nodded, “and Serana got an army of minions out of the deal.”

Barbas laid down and whimpered. “I want an army of minions.”

The Skaal worked through the night, while Serana rode herd on the Rieklings. She managed to convince the tribe to escort the citizens of Raven Rock as far as the ridge overlooking the ebony mine. No mention was made of the actions (or lack thereof) of the Raven Rock Council.

Just as Barbas predicted, M’Rissa, Lydia, Neloth and Talvas came to Skaal village the next day. Talvas was carrying a large wrapped bundle that I assumed were the Daedric Staves we had been making.

Also as predicted, M’Rissa looked troubled any time she looked at me. I managed to get her off to the side after the obligatory round of greetings.

Before I could ask anything, she started talking and pacing. “We have to change the plan.”

I sat on a log bench, and motioned for her to join me. “Alright, why?”

“Because Mora changed it,” she hissed out. “When this one entered the Dwemer book, Mora offered the final word as you said.”

“So what did he change?”

She gave me a pained look. “He doesn’t want the Skaal secrets: he wants yours.” 

I clicked my jaw shut. That’s what I get for getting lippy with a Daedra. I wracked my brain to see what would need to change, and thought of an option that wasn’t available when Storn was the sacrifice.

“Alright, I think I can work with this.”

M’Rissa spun me to face her. “Do you not hear what this one is saying?! Hermaeus Mora wants M’Rissa-Dro to sacrifice you! This is not happening, so we need a new plan!”

I sighed, and held M’Rissa’s hands in mine. “There is no other plan. Mora demands a sacrifice; that’s the way he works. You’re not cool with it, I’m not cool with it, so he doesn’t get what he wants. You can learn the word without him; that was always the plan, but if you go into Apocrypha with the full Bend Will shout and he didn’t give it to you, he may not release you afterwards. So we have to bind him beforehand. That’s right here, right now. He’ll expect me to resist, but I doubt he’ll expect what I have set up.”

M’Rissa’s face wavered between hope and despair. “And if your plan doesn’t work?”

I sighed and let go of her hands. “Then Mora gives you the final word, and I pay for the hubris of picking a fight with a Daedric Prince. This is and always was bigger than me.”

I could see M’Rissa’s claws flexing in agitation as her eyes darted around, looking for anything to help. I leaned over and pulled her into a hug. “You aren’t abandoning me.” She stiffened in my arms, then sagged forward. “I know this is a shit situation, but it’s the only way I can see to pull this off with Mora in play.”

She growled into my shoulder. “If your plan fails, this one will find you, bring you home, and kick your butt!”

I chuckled and let her go, then stood up. “If the plan fails. Let’s get back to making sure it doesn’t fail.”

We walked back into the square, and I stepped forward. “Ladies and gentlemen: I want to thank everyone for their parts in this, but we’re not done yet.” Everyone started to gather around. “To put a final stop to Miraak’s plan, we need a particular Thu’um: one he was given by Herma Mora. In exchange, Mora is demanding a human sacrifice.” 

I looked around at everyone. “This is not acceptable to me, especially since I already know the Word in question. To that end, I intend to trick Herma Mora.” I nodded to Neloth, who started passing around the Daedric staves to various people, and moving them into particular spots. “When he comes to claim his prize, I intend to bind him with this.” I pulled out Azura’s Star. Neloth hummed appreciatively, while Talvas gurgled in shock. 

I turned to face Storn and Frea. “In order to do this, I would ask the Skaal Shamans to perform the ritual they used to protect the village from Miraak’s influence, but only once he has manifested. Between your rituals, these binding staves, and the Star of Azura, I have every confidence that we can bind Hermaeus Mora away.

“I know this is a big ask, but Herma Mora has been a terror haunting Mundus for millennia. I think it’s well past time he was reminded that he is not a Divine.  

“Is everyone ready?” There were stunned faces all around, but everyone nodded. I turned to face M’Rissa. 

Lydia gasped and came over, when M’Rissa handed me the Black Book. “Hold on there, what happened to the plan?”

I thumped the book’s cover. “This is the plan.” I glanced over her shoulder. “Make sure you cover the staves until I give the signal.”

Lydia spun me around. “Since when is this the plan?!”

I sighed and tucked the book under my arm. “Since I got lippy with Mora, and he decided I’m much more interesting than the Skaal. M’Rissa,” I tuned towards the Dovahkiin, “the word is--”

“M’Rissa-Dro knows: it’s Dov,” she finished for me, as she pulled out her primer on the Dragon language. “It would have to be, in order to affect dragons.”

I smiled, then turned back to Lydia. I clapped her on the shoulder. “The plan will work; but you might want to step out of tentacle range.”

I could see Barbas by Serana. Both were tense and ready to strike. All around me, the Skaal were waiting to begin casting their magics and using their staves. I looked at M’Rissa and smiled. “Morituri te salutant!”

I opened the book, and felt my soul being strangled.

“Oh-ho-ho-ho! I told you, nobody is beyond my grasp!” I could feel Mora slithering across my mind, burning my consciousness like acid as he went. “Now, give me your secrets!”

“You want to know a secret?” I growled out through the pain, as I reached into my robes and pulled out Azura’s Star. I could feel him flinch at the sight of it. “This was always the plan: NOW!”

I could feel the shockwaves pulsing through Mora, as he was hammered from all sides by binding and banishing magic. I could feel the sting as Lydia, Serana, and Barbas all lashed out at Mora’s form. I almost chuckled, as I could hear parts of some diatribe Meridia was giving every time Dawnbreaker struck.

The pain lessened as Mora tried to retreat, and I settled back on the ground. I planted the Star on the open pages of the Black Book, and could see the first tendrils of Mora’s power being drawn into it. The Daedra tried to lash out at the Skaal who were battering him with the magic of the staves, but his tentacles recoiled from whatever All-Father granted ritual Storn and Frea were performing.

With my hands free and my feet under me, I grabbed onto the lone tentacle that still connected me to Hermaeus Mora. “Unclean Spirit, I cast you out! In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti eiicio vos!” I cast one last Expulsion while tearing the tentacle from my mind. The entire village shook with the force of Mora’s scream as he was finally drawn into the star.

I blinked, and I was laying on the floor of the Shaman’s hut. M’Rissa, Lydia, Serana and Barbas were all hovering over me. 

“Hiram,” M’Rissa was petting my forehead, “are you back? Are you okay?”

I never liked seeing her upset, but to be honest I was in an incredible amount of pain. “I’m pretty fucked up in general, so it’s hard to gauge.”

Lydia sighed in relief as she slumped into a chair. “He’s fine.”

M’Rissa growled at me as she sat me up. “Be serious!”

“What do you want me to say?” I groaned, and it felt like my brain was floating in a vat of boiling Tabasco sauce. “I’ve had an eldritch godling in my head. I don’t recommend it.”

I heard someone shuffling behind me. Storn came into view, and handed me a steaming cup of something. “I would have recommended against this course of action as well. Drink this, then rest.”

I did as the Witch-Doctor prescribed, and woke from a dreamless sleep the next day. I stepped out into the daylight, and was immediately set upon by thankful villagers. Neloth and Tharstan both came over. “I would never have imagined such a feat!” Tharstan shook my hand hard enough to shake all of me.

“Indeed,” Neloth refrained from touching me, “I had my doubts, but you seem to have managed the impossible task of binding a Daedric Prince! I will be writing up a study on this event and sending copies to every major institution of magical learning.”

I felt a moment of nervousness. “How long will that take?”

“Oh, not more than a decade I should think.” My nervousness evaporated: the Thalmor weren’t going to learn about this for years. “Anyway, I must be going now. I would love to stay and study Azura’s Star, but your compatriots have been quite intransigent when it comes to who may even approach it. Good day.”

I looked over to the center of the village, and saw Barbas sitting just behind the still open Black Book. The Star, which I could see writhing slightly, was right where I’d left it. I walked over to Barbas, and was soon joined by M’Rissa, Lydia and Serana.

I smiled tiredly at them all. “I think it’s time we headed back to the mainland.” I picked up the Star and Book. I handed the Black Book to M’Rissa. “We've put off a whole bunch of things. It’s time we got back on track.”

Chapter Text

We set out for Raven Rock as soon as I was given a clean bill of mental health; everyone, including me, was more concerned if I had a chunk of Mora lodged in my psyche than if I had a sprained ankle from my rough treatment.    

We arrived just as false-dawn was glowing on the horizon. Storn had indicated that high tide would be just before true dawn, and we wanted to make whatever ship was departing for Solitude, rather than Windhelm.

We passed the mine, and followed a stream of porters moving ebony ore and billets to the docks. There were a great many people who stopped what they were doing to thank us for our various deeds. 

“May the Reclamations bless you for opening the mines again!”

“My brother is still alive, thanks to you stopping the Ash Spawn attacks!”

“Azura bless you! I thought I’d lost my sister to the temple madness!”

By the time we reached the pier, we had collected a sizable throng of well wishers. We had also collected an escort of Redoran Guard. They shuffled nervously, shooting glances back towards the homes of the First and Second Councilors.

I guess they noticed that people are praising us instead of them.

I was thankful that the captain of the ore ship was the same one who had brought me to Solsthiem. Passage was bought, and Serana tucked below decks as the last of the cargo was loaded onboard. I looked over Raven Rock as we cast off, and saw at least one Dunmer in fine clothes watching us from the Windhelm-bound pier. I waved, but he spun around and marched off.

Lydia came up behind me. “That was Adril, wasn’t it?” I nodded. “What’s he angry about?”

I found an open section of deck to keep out from under foot, and sat down. “We, not he, saved his town, and the people of the town know it.” 

I was just biting into an apple, when Lydia gestured for me to continue. “Serana may or may not have read both Councilors and Captain Veleth the Riot Act over them dithering about helping us in turn. Now, half a dozen of their citizens are returned from thralldom to spread their harrowing tale, and the Councilors look like a pair of do-nothing ponces.”

Lydia snorted, then sat down with her own apple. “They are a bunch of do-nothing ponces.”

I finished and threw my apple core into the harbor. “Yeah, but they’re politicians; they don’t like people being reminded of it. People will talk, and there’s already a lot of discontent and apostasy. Who knows; maybe the next time we’re out here, Raven Rock will be under new management.”

Despite the late season, we had fair winds and following seas all the way back to Solitude. While I hoped putting Mora on ice would knobble the Thalmor’s efforts to track me, I knew they were still looking. That meant it was time to put on my Victor von Doom costume again.

I looked at the ladies as they debarked. “I need to pick something up. I’ll meet you all at the Winking Skeever. Barbas, you go with them. The Thalmor may begin associating you with me.”

“Yeah yeah,” he grumbled as he sidled up to Serana. “We’re on the home stretch; no need to jinx it.”

M’Rissa et al headed up to the city gates, while I followed the coast to the smugglers entrance at the base of the cliff. Like always, there were no indications that anyone had warded or watched the door. I made the climb up to the windmill, then snuck out into a crowd heading to the temple of the Divines. There were Thalmor scattered throughout the city, but I also caught glimpses of people ‘watching the watchers’, as it were.

Looks like Maro’s done with Elenwen’s shit . If the Thalmor knew they had minders, they didn’t indicate it. I slipped away from the crowd, and made my way into Castle Dour without incident.

I kept Morokei and Muffle on until I found Legate Rikke. Her head snapped around and her hand went to her sword as I entered, telling me she wasn’t so easily deceived.

“Apologies, Legate.” I stepped out of the shadows and took Morokei off. “It’s just me.”

She gave a mild growl, and sat down, gesturing to a nearby chair. “I don’t know why, but the Thalmor have become even more adamant about you being a ‘threat to the Aldmeri Dominion’ over the last few days. They’re accusing you of an insane list of crimes, many committed while you were under our employ on the far side of Skyrim.”

I paused in my reach for a nearby pastry. “How many days, specifically?”

She squinted at me suspiciously. “Five days. What did you do?”

I smiled and nodded. Right when I stuffed Mora in the Star. “The Thalmor have been using a Daedric Cult called the Bura Morae to try and track me. I found a way to put a stop to that... five days ago.”

She looked askance at me. “Maybe, but you should still leave the city as soon as you can. Elenwen’s goons and spies are everywhere. There have been a few incidents where the Imperial Army and the Penitus Oculatus have had to step in to reign the Thalmor in.” 

She growled and sat back in her chair. “Maro thinks Elenwen’s spoiling to claim we’re violating the White-Gold Concordat. She’s had couriers running between here and Markarth almost constantly. He sent a copy of your booklet directly to the Emperor.”

I winced in apprehension. Time table is getting tight; we need to wrap some of this shit up. “I’ll probably be leaving tomorrow morning. I just need the stuff I left in Maro’s keeping.”

We collected my belongings, and I masked up and headed back to the Winking Skeever. Barbas guided me to the room where everyone was staying. Serana looked drained.

“There are spies everywhere ,” she huffed as she gnawed on a raw beefsteak. “I’m clouding minds constantly! What’s going on?”

I sat down and started sorting my gear. “Best I can tell, when we bottled up Mora it disrupted the Thalmor directly. Elenwen’s in a paranoid death spiral. We need to get out of the city,” I looked around at everyone, “tonight.”

There was no argument, and once the city was asleep we headed down the Windmill path and over to the Ferry dock. We were in Dawnstar by dawn. Once in the tavern and tucked around the fire, we started planning.

“This one will head to the Greybeards. M’Rissa will go with the Khajiit caravan as far as Whiterun.” She gave Lydia a pained smile. “Most Nords cannot tell one Khajiit from another.”

Lydia shrugged. “Most Nords are drunken idiots. I can ‘sign on’ as a mercenary to protect the caravan. They pay well, so it’s not as unusual as you think.”

I smiled in relief that there was a plan I didn’t have to concoct. “We’ll head towards Winterhold and drop off Handsome Squidward along the way.” I chuckled at the odd looks I got. “After that, we’ll head to Haemar’s Shame by way of Riften and the Dawnguard, then on to the Reach.”

Lydia glanced at M’Rissa. “By your leave, my Thane,” she smirked at M’Rissa’s snort at the formality, “once you’re settled in at High Hrothgar, I’ll head to Fort Dawnguard, and await Hiram and Serana’s return.” She tapped Dawnbreaker at her hip. “I’ll be much more useful sacking a Vampire fortress, than watching the Greybeards’ beards grow.”

We all settled in for the day, and headed out at dusk. Serana, Barbas and I followed the coast past the former Dark Brotherhood sanctuary. There looked to have been some token efforts to excavate the former sanctuary, but the collapse was complete. The hike to the fishing pier took two days, and aside from some curious horkers watching us, it was uneventful. The fishing dory was where I’d left it, and on the third day we paddled out to Septimus’ iceberg.     

I was more than a little alarmed by the smell when we entered the ice cave. It revived faint memories of visiting my grandfather in palliative care.

“Septimus? Are you here? If you hear me, make a sound!”

I heard a faint groan, and searched around the cave to find the elderly wizard huddled against the side of the Oculory. He was filthy and clearly suffering exposure. “Come on old man,” I pumped healing magic into him as fast as I could, “You’re almost there! See,” I held up the blood sampler once he opened his eyes, “I have everything you asked for!” I was very worried about the vacant look in his eyes.

“Serana,” I looked over my shoulder, “could you head up top and get a cooking fire going?”

She seemed about to argue, then nodded and ripped several drawers from the standing cabinet in the chamber. “Give me a few minutes.” She snatched a dish of Fire Salts, then headed back up top.

I nodded in thanks, then looked at Barbas. “I’m gonna strip him out of this filth and try to clean him. Can you keep him warm until I’m done?”

Barbas barked once, then curled around the old man’s head. Once I had the soiled robes off of him, Barbas curled around Septimus - as best he could. I steam-blasted the robes, then flame blasted the surface of the Oculory until I could feel it radiating back. I tossed the robes onto it to try and dry it out. When Serana came down with a bowl of Apple Cabbage Stew, I put Septimus in his warm robes and started feeding him.

He became more lucid after a few minutes of ministrations. “You,” he rasped, “I think I knew you from before.”

“Yes,” I sighed in relief, “You sent me out to finish this.” I put the sampler in his hands.

He frowned as he looked at the device. “The tiny fractals... what was I doing?”

I grimaced. Getting cut off from Hermaeus Mora must have been like having a stroke for this guy. “You were trying to open the Oculory.” I gently turned him to face the Dwemer device.

“A mixture...”

I nodded. “Yes, a panoply of Merric blood to trick the lock. Do you remember how to do that?”

He looked vacantly at the device in his hands, then started twisting it like a Rubik's Cube. “The hands remember, even if the mind forgets.” The device clicked, and a single probe stuck out of the middle of it.

I gingerly took the sampler, then stood up and examined the face of the Oculory. I remembered him always on one side of the device, and I found a faintly hand shaped depression. I pressed the sampler probe into the spot, and the probe sank into the material. After a moment, the device ground around. Sheets of ice fell away as hundreds of years of disuse were shaken off. With a shudder, the Oculory opened up. There in the center was the Oghma Infinium.

I counted myself lucky that I was only passingly familiar with the lore of the Tome, since I could shrug off the siren song to use the book; there was too much risk it would be a vector for Hermaeus to escape the Star.

I set the Star of Azura on top of the Oghma Infinium , then rushed out of the Oculory and yanked out the sampler. For a moment, nothing happened. I had a minor panic attack, until the device clattered and clanged back into its locked configuration. The entire iceberg shuddered.

Once it was sealed, I sat heavily on the ice ramp. “And that , is that.” I held up the sampler between my hands, and Arc-Jetted it.

-CLANG-

“Fuck!” Everyone ducked as the Blood Sampler, the only device that could unlock the Oculory and potentially unleash Hermaeus Mora back onto the world, bounced around the ice cave. It clattered to my feet, completely unharmed. “Goddamnit!”

“Not what you were expecting,” Serana asked as she brushed ice chips off her head.

I huffed and pocketed the device. “No, but I should have. Septimus conjured the damned thing out of nothing; why shouldn’t it be as durable as an Elder Scroll.”

“Is the knowing complete?”

I looked over at Septimus. He was staring at me with that same uncomprehending smile I remember from my grandmother’s last days.

I gave a strained smile, and walked over. “The knowing is complete. You succeeded.” I lifted him to his feet, then just picked him up bridal style when his legs wouldn’t hold him. “Let’s get you some place warm. Does that sound nice?”

Septimus mumbled an affirmative, and we all walked up out of the  ice cave.

“Purzah grind, Mal-Mul!” (Well met, little human!) I nearly dropped Septimus in my shock at the dragon standing on the ice in front of us. “I hardly believed my senses at first, but here you stand: Kroniid ko Deyra! ” The last was bellowed into the heavens.

I chuckled weakly, then noticed our dory; or rather the wreckage of it. “Oh come on!”

The dragon glanced at the broken fishing boat, as it sank into the icy waters. It then looked back at me. It was, dare I say, apologetic . “Krosis, Kroniid ko Deyra. (Apologies, Victor over Daedra) Dov vodahmin hin mal. (I forgot how small you are.) Allow me to make up for this slight against your victory. I shall carry you to wherever you wish.”

I looked at Serana and Barbas. Both were as gobsmacked as I was. I glanced down when Septimus started coughing weakly. “It’s late enough that nobody should be up.” I looked at the Dragon. “If you are willing, then take us to the Mage’s College.”

The dragon turned around and dipped a wing to let us climb aboard. I sat farthest forward, with Serana sitting behind while Barbas lay between us. I pinched my knees, and the dragon took off. Serana’s arms locked around me, but I barely noticed. My fear of the dragon dropped away as swiftly as the ground beneath us. For a moment, I felt as if I could reach out and run my fingers through the aurora.

All too soon, we descended into the courtyard of the Mage’s College. After passing Septimus off to Serana and dismounting, I put a hand on the beast’s head. “ Thankyou. ” I poured as much magicka and sincerity as I could into that word.

The dragon shivered, but also rumbled like it was purring. “There is no word in Dov Tinvaak for what you say. I welcome your word.” The dragon tensed and launched itself into the air, just as the faculty and students began rushing out of the halls. “Unazhaal krongrah, Kroniid ko Deyra! (Ceaseless victory, Victor over Daedra)” Before even one spell could be readied, the dragon was out of sight.  

I looked around at the stunned mages. “Hey guys! I’d love to chat, but Septimus is in pretty bad shape. Could we maybe take this inside?”

...

The faculty, less Collette and Urag who were treating Septimus, stared at me. “I am utterly perplexed,” Savos sat heavily in his chair. “You bound a Daedric Prince?”

“With the assistance of a second Daedric Prince, a Telvanni wizard,” I did see a minor tic in Savos’ eye at the mention of Neloth, “a Dwemer Oculory, and a whole village with every reason to stick Mora in a box. Neloth said he’d write a paper, if you want to pester him.”

That got a genuine frown out of the Arch Mage. “I’d rather consult with you on the particulars. That doesn’t explain the dragon.”

I shrugged. “Met it on the ice fields; it didn’t kill me, and it did talk to me. It apparently felt when I locked the Dwemer box, because it came to the berg to congratulate me. It felt bad about wrecking the boat I used, and offered us a lift.”

Everyone blinked at me while I innocently sipped my tea.

Mirabel shook off the stupor first. “In any case, you should be commended for your accomplishments; however insane they may be, as well as your efforts on Septimus’ behalf. Thank you for bringing him home.”

Savos nodded, then refilled my teacup. “So where are you off to now? Resurrecting the Dwemer, or perhaps smiting Alduin from the skies?” There was a hint of both teasing, and trepidation in his question.

I took my cup back and warmed my hands. “Anyone who’s ever been inside a Dwemer ruin knows that they were, collectively, psychopaths. I have zero desire to see their return. As for Alduin,” I grabbed a pastry, “that’s on Dovahkiin M’Rissa’s shoulders.”

Savos looked at me with uncertainty. “Of course. Was there anything else you wanted to report?”

I nodded, and retrieved the books I had gotten from Viarmo. “I have the books the Bards College borrowed. They were helpful; the group that has been tracking me is a Daedric cult called the Bura Morae . Three guesses who they worship, and the first two don’t count.”

Master Faralda shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I’d heard some rumors surrounding the Thalmor use of Daedric artifacts, but nothing like this.”

I frowned and looked into my cup. “It does track, though. Elenwen’s been getting more and more erratic. She’s been sending non-stop messages back and forth to Markarth since I boxed up Mora. The Penitus Oculatus are concerned she’ll declare the Empire in breach of treaty soon, evidence or not.” I looked around at the Master Mages. “Be on the lookout for her agents; anyone I’ve associated with in the past is likely to become a target.”

...

We left the Mage’s College the next morning, and set out for the Wayward Pass south of Alfthand. I had no desire to go near Windhelm; not after being sold out to the Thalmor. We made it to Nightgate Inn in three days, and another three to Whiterun.

The shocked and horrified look on Idolaf’s face when I strolled through the market square, was both heartening and concerning. I felt confident that Elenwen had learned of my involvement in freeing Thorald Grey-Mane from him; I had no reason to believe he would do differently now.

I brought Serana and Barbas to the Bannered Mare. “I may be a Companion, but I don’t know how they’d react to me bringing a Daughter of Cold Harbor into Jorrvaskr.”

Serana stretched out on the bed. “That’s okay. I just want to get out of the weather and sleep for a while.”

From there, I headed up to the Mead Hall of the Companions. Skjor was the first to notice me.

“Ah, our resident Spell Sword has returned! Do you come with tales of Glory and Honor?”

“Some of those, at least one case of Hiram-Style heroics,” that got a chuckle from the werewolf, “a warning, and a possible opportunity for glory and gold.”

“Oh?” Skjor arched his brow in surprise. “I’m listening.”

I grimaced. “I’d rather tell everyone, because I think they’ll all be needed.”

Skjor huffed and nodded. “Fair enough. Farkas and Aela are here, so head out back and show them what you’ve learned--”

“So they can know what I still need to learn,” I repeated Kodlak’s oft spoken advice on always learning.

With an afternoon of bludgeoning and praise by my two primary instructors, I felt very ready for the nightly feast. Everyone shared tales of their exploits over the table. My recounting of sicking Giants and Falmer on the Thalmor was greatly enjoyed. Once most of the plates were cleared, Skjor looked at me meaningfully.

I stood up and looked around. “Shield Brothers and Sisters, I would like to make a proposition.” The Companions all paused in their drinks and waited. “I will soon be embarking on, well, on a quest for a Princess to retake her ancestral castle from her father.”

I could hear Vignar roll his eyes from across the room. “Why do you Bretons always insist on grand theatrics?”

I smirked at the elder Grey-Mane. “Because there’s no glory to be had from mundane fetch quests and fighting other people’s feuds for them.”

“Isn’t that what you are proposing,” Aela asked over her ale mug, “fighting this princess’ enemies for her?”

“Not exactly.” I gave the Companions the full rundown on Harkon, Serana, the Dawnguard, and the very real threat of Harkon’s plan succeeding. The longer I talked, the more focused the Companions became.

Once I had wound down, Kodlak leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “So you are asking the Companions to help storm the fortress home of a Vampire Lord and his entire blood lineage, while fighting beside a Stendarite splinter group and a Daughter of Cold Harbor, all to prevent the corruption of a divine weapon that could blot out the sun?”

I mentally tallied the talking points while ticing my fingers. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

Kodlak barked a single laugh. He then stood and looked around the hall. “Brothers and sisters of the Companions. You have heard the charge placed before us. What say you?”

After a moment, Aela stood up. “I stand witness to the courage of the soul before us.”

Farkas and Vilkas stood next. “We would stand at his back, that the world might never overtake us!”

Skjor was up, drawing his sword. “My sword stands ready to meet the blood of his foes!”

Kodlak nodded to the rest of the circle, and raised his tankard in salute. “Shield Brother Hiram Abiff, the Companions stand ready to take up this quest.” The rest of the hall stood silently, and saluted me. 

I took a moment to grab my own cup, as I didn’t trust my voice not to crack. “I thank you, Shield Brothers and Sisters. I will lead the Song of Victory, when our hall revels in our stories.”

It took a while for the night to wind down after that. Once it did, Kodlak led me to the underforge to meet with the Circle. “There is still the issue of timing and payment.” 

I nodded. “I still have some errands to run, not least of which is securing the Bow. Once that’s done, and the Dawnguard are rallied,” there was some tense shuffling from Skjor and Aela, “I’ll come through Whiterun again. As for payment: I’ll check with the princess, but don’t foresee any complaints about looting the place of anything not nailed down.”

Skjor sighed. “But will the Dawnguard fight beside us, or against us?”

“I won’t give Isran a choice in the matter,” I said matter-of-factly. “Harkon is too great a threat to ignore in favor of a petty dogma his order can’t even codify internally. He can join us, or be left in the midden of history when the songs are finally sung.”

...

Serana and I purchased a pair of horses at dusk the next day, and began the trip through the Jerrals. I kept a running, rambling conversation for as long as I could; but once we passed the Guardian Stones, I couldn’t hide my reticence. Serana sidled her horse up to mine as I clammed up and slowed.

“Hiram,” she reached across and shook me, as my eyes were fixed up the incline, “we can take another route. You don’t have to go there.”

I gritted my teeth and smiled. “It’s okay; this is the fastest route to Haemar’s Shame. We’re in and out in a jiffy.”

It took another hour to ride up the switchbacks. The sky was practically on fire with the Aurora, and the twin moons eerily lit the snow in alien hues. We finally arrived at the curtain wall surrounding Helgen. The gate was collapsed, with at least one charred corpse visible underneath. Its arm stretched out from under the rubble, as if still trying to claw its way to safety.

I hadn’t the heart to ride over the doomed soul, so I dismounted and walked my horse into the outer bailey. While I couldn’t see any other corpses, I could smell ash, soot, and burnt flesh. My eyes darted around the open space, looking for survivors or any sign of Alduin’s approach. Motion caught my attention, and I saw a collection of disheveled men and women. They were armed and armored with whatever they could get their hands on.

“What are you still doing here,” I frantically yelled. “It’s coming back to kill us all! We need to get into the keep!” The largest of the survivors hesitated, as a dog pressed against my side. I tried to approach the clearly confused survivors, only for them to brandish their valorized weapons and yell back. I stepped forward to try and push the leader towards the inner bailey and the keep, but I was sluggish and dizzy. There was a crushing weight across my chest; it made my breaths ragged, and my voice weak as I begged the survivors to stop trying to fight the dragon and just run !

Someone clasped me from behind and pulled me down, while the dog put his paws on my chest. I was lying on the ground, with the dog on my chest. It was repeating something over and over. It took a few minutes to parse the words over the sound of panicked screaming. The dog laying on my chest spun its head towards the source of the commotion. “Not helping,” it snarled.

“They started it, so I’m stopping it,” came a woman’s petulant reply, as the sound of carnage subsided.

With the noise abated, the dog, Barbas, his name is Barbas. I knew Barbas, but he shouldn’t be in Helgen... shouldn’t he?

“Where are you, Boss?” That question again...   

“Helgen,” I blurted out as I looked around at the ruins. I saw charred wood, collapsed buildings, and recent dead. “The Dragon! We have to get away! We have to get under cover!” I tried to squirm out from under Barbas, but he just splooted on top of me.

“Boss, close your eyes and listen.” Barbas let out a little whimper as he licked my nose.

I pinched my eyes closed and listened for the tornado rush of dragon wings, and smelled for the stench of brimstone breath; there was neither. I heard an owl hoot in the distance. A wolf howled further up the mountains, with another answering howl coming from closer by. I heard the wind whispering through the pine trees. I became aware of the odd citrus scent of Snow Berries, as well as Barbas and a horse. The pain in my chest lessened, and my breaths became steadier. The dragon wasn’t here.

Barbas whimpered a little as I rolled onto my side, curled around him and wept in fear, relief and frustration. I don’t know how long I stayed that way, but when I finally got my emotions and body back in check, I was in my tent under a snow covered pine tree. There was a faint smell of wood fire smoke from a nearby pit, and a body was bundled up in the other bedroll beside Barbas and I.

“You doing better, Boss?”

I looked down at Barbas’ worried muzzle. “I thought I was. Guess I was lying to myself.” I uncoiled from around him and rolled onto my back. “I kept myself busy, and meditated on all the shit that happened, but I was just avoiding it : Helgen.” My guts shivered as I said the name of the doomed town. I looked over at the Daedric Good-Boy. “Thank you.” I saw an eye peek out from under the bundle of furs protecting Serana from Dawn’s first light. “Both of you. I owe you.”

...

We set out at dusk again to make the last leg of the trek up to Haemar’s Shame. I spent the time talking about my experiences in Helgen, both during the attack and our return. I did so not out of any desire to talk about the doomed village, but the need to confront my trauma.

Both moons were high overhead when we arrived at the cave entrance. Barbas was a nervous whining mess.

“You okay there, buddy,” I asked once I’d dismounted.

“Yeah, just excited ya know.” He looked up at me and gave a canine grin. “You’re not bad for a human, but Clavicus is my master. I’m ready to go home.”

I patted him on the head. “Then let’s get you home.”

I faced the cave entrance, as Serana finished tying up our horses. “Alright, so how should we do this?”

Serana walked up beside me and stretched her neck. “I can definitely feel the cabal inside.” She looked around. “Not really a great spot to set up: limited foot traffic, no real escape routes if the locals get stab-happy.”

I nodded at the evaluation. “Well if memory serves, they’re here to petition Clavicus to cure their vampirism.”

She pursed her lips in thought. “You said there’s a mage in Morthal who can cure vampires?”

“Yeah, Falion; he’s a Master Conjurer who had a falling out with Savos.”

She nodded once more, then tugged her bodice tight. “Good. Follow my lead.”

Barbas and I followed after Serana as she imperiously marched into the cave. I was prepared to start blasting, but in each chamber she simply locked eyes with the Vampires and Thralls. One by one, she subdued the residents of Haemar’s Shame until the entire cabal was following after her like a line of ducklings.

We stepped into the main chamber where Clavicus Vile’s shrine stood. The last few vampires rushed up the ramp, only to stop and kneel in front of Serana. She ushered her followers to the side, while Barbas and I made our way down the ramp.

“Oh, now what is this,” a disembodied voice echoed in the chamber. “This lot wanted to be rid of their vampirism, not bound to a new master.”

I smiled up at the statue of Clavicus. “Oh, they will; once we’re done here, my associate will send them off to someone who can cure them.”

“So you’re just going to cure them? No tragic turn of fate, no heavy price for their own folly? Boo,” Clavicus jeered. “Where’s the artistry, where’s the dramatic irony? I’ll bet this is your doing, Barbas.”

“Nope,” Serana capped from the icey gallery. “This is all me. You wanted dramatic irony? How about a Daughter of Cold Harbor leading a cabal of Vampires to their salvation from Molog Bal’s curse.”

“Pphh,” Clavicus scoffed, “That’s... actually that’s pretty good. Molag’s always mocking me for not having a dedicated cult. Having his power diminished by one of his direct creations would serve him right.

“Right,” the room felt as if Clavicus had squared his shoulders, “you are granting the request of my latest petitioners, however unconventionally, so I will grant you my boon. What can I do for you?”

Serana began leading her little flock of vampires and thralls around to the gate behind the shrine. “You can listen to my friend here.”

“What, the Meddler?”

I cocked an eyebrow. “My reputation precedes me, apparently.”

“Oh sure, you’re the talk of Oblivion: the mortal that tricked Hermaeus Mora into Azura’s Star. It’s so preposterous, Sheogorath’s writing a play about it as we speak. He’s even promised not to add his own embellishments; says that would make it more believable.

“So what is it that you want?”

I gestured down to Barbas. “For you to take Barbas back.”

I fully expected the normal derision and ‘no deal’ response.

“I can feel you’ve made a deal for this. Sell me on it: convince me to take Barbas back.”

I hadn’t planned on this. I’d been prepared to swindle or try and bully Clavicus with his imprisoned state, but to have to make a sales pitch? It took me a moment of pacing to gather my thoughts. “Alright, as I understand you two, you are two halves of a whole. You, Clavicus Vile, are diminished with Barbas’ absence. He in turn, is a distracted wreck.

“And yet,” I paused in my walking, “even in that diminished state, he was instrumental in assisting me in several projects: the eradication of the chosen of the Night Mother, the binding and sealing of the Eye of Magnus, countering Molag Bal’s ill-begotten step-son Harkon’s ludicrous plan, and yes, trapping Hermaeus Mora in Azura’s Star.

“Right now, you are an outside observer trapped in this gallery. But if you are reunited with Barbas,” I gestured to the Daedric canine, “then you are whole again. All his accomplishments will become yours. You become the one who was instrumental in binding ol’ Herma Mora and sticking him in a box.”

The room began vibrating with the sound of laughter: first a chuckle, then building to a pulp-fiction villain’s maniacal cackle. “Do you have any idea what you are offering?! All just to take back this mutt?”

I kept my face passive, even as my heart hammered in my chest. “I’m offering you leverage: leverage over mortal affairs and over your fellow Daedric Princes.” I looked down at Barbas. “All you have to do is take back your partner.” I looked up at the statue. “Do we have a deal?”

There was a tense moment of silence.

“Done.” Barbas was swallowed up by a flare of summoning light, only to appear next to Clavicus’ side. “This is... whoa,” I could almost feel Clavicus’ vertigo. “You two have been busy. Anyway, I need to return to my realm, and you need to get out of my sight before I think you’re more trouble than your worth.”

“Bah,” Barbas’ voice echoed in the cave, “don’t mind him. I trusted you, now you trust me. Clavicus means well, he just needs a...”

I smirked as Barbas searched for the right word. “The good-boy at his side?” His only response was a playful growl and bark, before the cave went silent.

I slowly made my way outside, and found Serana sitting alone on the ledge overlooking the pass.  “Sent the ducklings off already?” 

She glanced up at me with a wistful smile. “They should make it to Morthal in seven days. I told them they could help earn their cure by clearing out the vampires you’ve mentioned there.” She patted the rock next to her. “So it’s done? He’s reunited with his master?”

I sat down next to her. “More like his partner, but yeah. He’s home now. Your turn next.” We were silent for a moment. “Think we can make it to Ivarstead before dawn?”

She hopped down, then held out her arms to catch me. I jumped without question, and we headed over to the horses to continue on our way.

Chapter Text

We did indeed make it to Ivarstead before dawn. Aside from a puckish urge to delve into Shroud Hearth Barrow for a sample of Philter of the Phantom, we left at sundown. The road itself was equally unremarkable. We made excellent time, and arrived at Fort Dawnguard just before dawn. We saw Lydia just as she was gearing up to leave.

She waved us over as she was cinching on her breastplate. “Well met. I take it your journey was a success?”

Serana helped Lydia fit the final bits of armor. “Doggy’s with his master now. We’re going to check in with Isran and let him know we’re going after Auriel’s Bow.” She passed Lydia her helmet. “Will you be joining us?”

Lydia gave a rueful chuckle. “Isran has ‘volunteered’ me to Keeper Tolan. Apparently a Vigilant went missing in Markarth, tracking a Daedric Artifact.”

I thought for a moment, then nodded. “The Mace of Molag Bal. Nasty bit of work. Be careful.”

“Always,” Lydia said as she strapped on Dawnbreaker. “Any advice?”

“Yeah; jam the door open for a quick exit, and don’t trust the Silver-Bloods.”

Lydia snorted but nodded as she shook Serana’s hand. “Thane M’Rissa said she’ll meet you here when she’s ready, so I’ll be here once you get back.”

Lydia headed out, and we headed up to find Isran. He looked up from a table where he was reading reports. “Well, well; it’s about time you showed back up,” he growled as he pushed aside the various papers. “Where in Oblivion have you been? We’re fighting a war here, and you just go gallivanting off!”

I could see Isran building up a rant, so I smiled and pulled out a seat for Serana before taking another seat. “You’re not the only one, and this isn’t the only war going on. We have more obligations than just to the Dawnguard. That said,” I leaned back, “we are back on mission now. Serana and I are just checking in to let you know we have the location of Auriel’s Bow. We’ll head out at dusk.”

It looked for a moment like Isran was going to posture more, then he waved us off. “You want to hunt after fairy tales, fine. It’s not like you’ve contributed yet. We’ll make do.”

I was impressed by Serana’s gracious smile as we stood up and headed down to the main hall.

“He’s in a forgetful mood,” she grumbled once we were downstairs.

We headed to the dining hall for a quick bite, when I heard Sorine trying to get someone to head out after something.

“Come on! This is the last one, I swear!”

“You said that about every single thing you’ve had me chasing after,” a young man complained. 

I motioned for Serana to sit and relax, as I headed back into the workshop area.

“But this could be the find of the century!” Sorine was actually tugging on the sleeves of an exhausted Nord. “Can you imagine what we could do with the designs for a Dwarven Crossbow?!”

“Would a working model suffice?”

Both Sorine and the Nord looked up at me. The Nord used Sorine’s distraction to make a quick escape. “Sure,” she said, “but you’d have to get one off of a Dwarven Sphere, and...” 

She trailed off as I unwrapped my kit-bashed Dwarven Crossbow.  

“Three, actually.” I stepped back and let her examine the weapon. “There’s a small seer pin and spring in the stock that tends to break when the sphere does. Took me a few tries to get all the pieces, but it gave me a lot of practice disassembling the thing.”

I walked her through the disassembly and reassembly process once, then took the bag of mixed coins and gemstones she shoved into my hands. With my war chest slightly restocked from horse-trading in Whiterun, I tracked down Gunmar.

The Nord Troll wrangler could only shake his head at Sorine. “I just know she’s going to want to test that thing on my Trolls.” He leaned on a workbench and sized me up. “I’m guessing you need armor?”

“You guess right.” 

He chuffed, then went over to a chest and began pulling out various armor pieces. “You put a smile on Sorine’s face, so I’ll even fit it for you.”

It took the better part of the morning to get the Armor fitted to Gunmar’s taste, but I certainly wasn’t going to complain about a fitted suit of Brigandine armor for free. Once equipped and fed, I headed for the bunk room and slept until Serana woke me.

It was a three day ride to reach Dragon Bridge, then another day of overland riding to reach Darkfall Cave.

“So,” Serana led the way through the darkened cavern, “how do we play this?” She paused as we reached a fork in the tunnel.

A quick Clairvoyance and a tap on the shoulder, and we continued on. “We play it straight. We need to get into the Chantry to get the bow, and the only way to do that is to follow the ‘Path of Auriel’, or whatever it’s called.”

“Right,” Serana sighed, “through an entire city of Falmer to kill a Falmer Vampire that created the whole ‘Tyranny of the Sun’ prophecy, because being changed broke him and now he wants to punish the world.” She snorted. “And Lydia says I act childish.”

I kept a hand on her shoulder as she guided us through the darkened tunnels. I was somewhat unsettled by our path, and it took some doing to figure out why. This wasn’t some random cave near a Nord settlement, or a Dwemer ruin that the Falmer were squatting in: this was their ancestral home. Their ancestors had lived here before the Dwemer had fucked them over, and they still lived here. They didn’t bother anyone or raid surrounding communities. They just lived here, and we were about to invade their home, possibly massacre dozens if not hundreds of them to get an artifact that was, for all intents and purposes, theirs. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel just .

“Hiram?”

I glanced up at Serana’s faint silhouette. She must have felt my hesitancy.

“Unless there’s no way to avoid it, I want to spare as many of the Falmer as possible.” I could feel her hesitancy. “We’re invading their homeland to steal their artifact. Murdering them en masse because they’re in our way doesn’t feel right.”

Her shoulder tensed for a moment, then relaxed as she patted my hand. “Alright. Between our combined magic, I think we should be able to sneak through. But the vampire himself, Arch-Carbuncle Vergil or whatever--”

“We give him a choice.” I felt her tense back up. “This all started when he was turned. We offer the cure in exchange for the bow. If he scorns us, then that’s his choice and he dies; but I’m tired of killing, so we give him the choice.”

“You know he won’t take it,” Serana said sullenly. “Vampires are trapped in the moment of their creation. I will always be the little girl wondering why mommy and daddy let this happen to me; father will always be resentful that he is fundamentally less than my mother, and the Arch-Carbuncle will never be rid of his hatred for his circumstance.”

I gripped her shoulder. “I know, but we still owe him the choice that was denied him.”

We made it safely to Gelebor and his Wayshrine. Serana and I had already agreed that we wouldn’t tell the Knight-Paladin what his brother was until the deed was done: it wouldn’t change the circumstances and would only muddle his own strained resolve. 

I was very heartened as we made our way through the Darkfall Passage. Between stealth, illusion magic, and Serana’s vampiric ability to cloud minds, we managed to make it to the Forgotten Veil with only one dead Charnus along the way. We were looking over the river, when I saw one of the Frost Giants lumbering around. It sparked a memory: Paragon Jewels and hidden treasures.

“I need to take a quick detour.”

Serana followed after. “What’s this way?”

“A couple of things,” I absently said as I began charging defensive spells and drawing my sword. “The Frost Giants are all carrying peculiar, unique gems that activate a gate similar to the Wayshrines. There’s one in particular that leads to the Inner Sanctum.”

She perked up. “So, we could bypass all this hiking?”

I frowned and paused. “Maybe, maybe not. What I’m really after is a place to hide this.” I pulled out Septimus’ Blood Key. “If I can’t destroy it, I can at least hide it away where nobody can get to it.” I put the key away and began climbing again. “Plus, we may be able to climb across the cliff face, rather than cross the frozen lake. There are two dragons that live there, and I don’t want to tangle with them unless we need to.”

The Giant was relatively easy to circumvent. I Dual Calmed it while it was sitting, which ended up putting it to sleep. The creature was as unkempt as its low-land kin, so pickpocketing it was an exercise in controlled breathing, but I came away with the Sapphire Paragon. We scurried up the path and came to the broken arch that was the Paragon Portal. Once through, we were indeed inside the Inner Sanctum. I just didn’t know where inside, or if the various doors would open without the Ewer having been properly filled and used. I settled on snatching up all the loose gemstones and Elven Arrows scattered around. I planted the Blood Key in the chest, and we left.

Serana glanced at me as I considered the gem in my hands, then the socket for opening the Way-Gate. “So, you’ve traded one key for another. Now what?”

I football threw the gem back towards its giant, then readied a Fire Bolt/Lightning Bolt combo. “I smash the lock so nobody can get to it. Let’s step back a little; I’ve never tried this combo before.” As with my Arc-Jet trick, the resulting spell was almost pure heat. The Paragon Socket and a portion of the gate were molten puddles. 

Nobody’s getting Mora out now!

We crawled across the cliff face to the Wayshrine overlooking the frozen lake and continued on our nearly bloodless trek. The only time we paused was to collect the few Elven Arrows scattered around. It was nearly dawn when we finally stood in the frozen cavern of Arch-Curate Vyrthur.

Vyrthur sneered at us from his throne behind the ice barrier. "Did you really come here expecting to claim Auriel's Bow? You've done exactly as I predicted and brought your fetching companion to me.” 

“Is that so,” Serana smiled wickedly, just before shedding her human form. “And what exactly would a simple turned vampire expect to accomplish against a Daughter of Cold Harbor, other than dirtying my nails?”

“What trickery is this?!” Vyrthur pushed himself out of his throne.

“Oh, I’m sorry; did I step on your moment?” Serana cupped her cheeks in a mock-meek expression. “By all means, prattle on about your mad tantrum to ruin the world using my blood.”

"How dare you. I was the Arch-Curate of Auri-El, girl. I had the ears of a god!"

Seeing Serana roll her head like a bored teenager, while hovering a foot over the ground was so absurd I had to laugh. She gave me a side eye and snorted. “Can I kill him now? He’s just so inferior .”

I patted her gray taloned hand. “We agreed to give him the choice. Still,” I rolled my shoulders and readied a Fireball/Chain-Lightning combo, “a little hard negotiation might be needed. You should take cover; the sun's coming up early.”

I don’t really remember what I expected from the spell combo, but the sun-bright flash and explosion of steam was not it. Once I picked myself up off the ground, the roof and walls of the Chantry were gone along with all the frozen Falmer and Charnus’.

“Serana?”

A shallow pile of rubble shifted, and Serana stepped out on wobbly human legs. “That was a bit much, don’t you think?”

I helped steady her as we headed over to where Vyrthur had landed. “I’ve never really had a need to try that one, so I didn’t know it would be that .”

“No,” Vyrthur tried standing, “I won’t let you ruin centuries of preparations!” 

I let go of Serana and leveled a finger-gun Sun Fire at Vyrthur’s forehead. “And I won’t let you condemn the world to eternal night. We’re here for the Bow. Let us take it, and I will tell you how to cure your condition.”

He glared up at me. “Auri-El betrayed me ! You can offer me nothing that wi--”

-FWOOSH-

Vyrthur’s head rocked back as I Sun Fired him in the face. I danced back as his head snapped forward, eyes blood red, and fangs bared. I switched to an offhand Ward and drew my Dragon-Blade ‘Deadra’s Bane’, as the turned Snow Elf lashed out with an Ice Spike. There were dual roars as a Frost Atronoch and a Gargoyle were simultaneously summoned. The two conjurations immediately began tearing into each other, as Vyrthur lunged towards me. His assault was interrupted when Serana tackled him. They slammed into the stairs leading up to the balcony and rolled away from each other. 

Vyrthur’s head twitched back and forth between Serana and Me. I lunged forward during one of his Serana looks. My Ward took the off-hand Ice Spike, and I wound my blade around his arm for a particular arm-bar Njada Stonearm favored back in Jorrvaskr. As Vyrthur arched his back and snarled in pain, Serana rushed in and buried her dagger up to the hilt in his jaw, then turned it like a key.

Both Serana and I stumbled as the Snow Elf vampire collapsed into a pile of dust and ancient Falmer Armor. We were both steadying ourselves when a Way Shrine rose up from the rubble strewn balcony. Gelebor stepped out and looked sadly at the remains of his brother, swiftly dissipating in the breezy dawn.

“It’s done then.” He ran his hand through the dust in the wind, traceries of magika dancing between his fingers as he whispered a prayer. “You have done as I asked, as I could never bring myself to do: you have ended my brother’s suffering. 

“I can’t thank you for such a horrible thing, but I can reward you as promised. Behold,” he gestured into the Wayshrine, “Auri-El’s Bow. Take it, and my brother’s armor, with my blessings. I will also sanctify any Elven arrows you have.”

There were no words, so we took our spoils and left Gelebor to mourn and rebuild.

Chapter Text

The return trip to Fort Dawnguard was only slightly delayed by dodging Thalmor Justiciar teams on the road.

“Is it just me,” Serana whispered from our hide as a team of Justiciars rushed below us, “or are there more of these guys than usual?”

I kept an eye out as I sipped some water. “They’ve taken a lot of hits recently. It stands to reason they’d go on high alert.”

We paused again in Ivarstead. This time, I paid Klemick to add a message for M’Rissa to be delivered to High Hrothgar. We were in Fort Dawnguard by the next morning.

The fort was no more or less active than normal, which felt like a bit of a slap in the face considering what we’d accomplished. We both noticed Isran stick his head out of his bedroom/torture dungeon alcove. I wordlessly brandished Auriel’s Bow. That managed to get his attention. 

The clatter of him rushing down the spiral staircase attracted everyone’s attention. The great hall soon filled with curious and unbelieving onlookers.

“How,” Isran stumbled to a stop and stared at the bow, “how did you find it?! The old man said you needed all three Elder Scrolls to find the bow, and we only have one!”

I shrugged and secured the bow to my back. “Technically we have two: one’s at the College of Winterhold. But I already knew where the bow was; I just needed everything to be in place before fetching it.” I snapped a Welding Spark between my fingers to forestall Isran’s inevitable posturing. “What matters is that we have the bow now , so the time to act is now. ”

I let the statement hang, and Isran jumped. I tuned out the rallying speech as I made my way to the common bunk room. I could see Serana shooting uncertain glances at the growing din of the Dawnguard whipping themselves up. “Having second thoughts?”

She sighed and sat beside me on the cot. “Yes? No? Maybe? It’s...” Her shoulders slumped as she wrestled with the words.

“We’re in the endgame; planning to invade your ancestral home and kill the only family you’ve ever known?”

She glanced over at me. “Well, maybe not the only family.” She smiled as I squeezed her hand. “Still, he is my father. This is more than just rebelling against my parents. I’m worried that I won’t be able to do it.”

I squeezed her hand again. “You’ve already ‘done it’. You don’t need to be the one to strike the killing blow to put an end to his mad plan. No one should ask that of you.”

She nodded, though I could still see some hesitancy in her eyes. “If it’s any consolation, your mother is alive and well. Well,” I shrugged, “as alive as a Daughter of Cold Harbor trapped in the Soul Cairn can be. Once your father is dealt with, we’ll head there and give her the all-clear.”

That earned me a disbelieving look. “Just pop on into the dimension of the Ideal Masters and say hi to my mother?”

“I’ll admit,” I let her hand go and laid down on the cot, “there will be a few steps and one surly dragon to get the matter settled, but it’s doable.” I nodded to the nearby cot. “You should get some rest; we head out to Whiterun at dusk, and then on to Home-sweet-Castle.”

...

Aside from some personal reticence as we passed back through the newly abandoned Helgen, and crossing lake Ilinalta to avoid Riverwood and Delphine, we made decent time to Whiterun. Despite the early hour, the market was already active as we headed up to Jorrvaskr. I could hear some of the Companions drilling in the common yard, and the faint sound of work from the Skyforge.

We stepped inside before the Sun crested over the city’s retaining wall. Tilma was cleaning up around the main hall as we walked in.

“Ah, Hiram; welcome back. I can bring you some porridge if you like. And for the lady,” she considered Serana for a moment, “perhaps a very rare steak?”

I glanced at Serana, who simply shrugged and smiled. I looked back at Tilma. “That would be wonderful, thank you.”

We were mostly finished when Kodlak came in from the training yard. “Welcome, Companion. Is the time upon us?”

I nodded as I set aside my bowl. “We have the Bow of Auriel, and the Dawnguard are on the move as we speak.”

Kodlak nodded in satisfaction. “Then let us make haste. Glory and Sovngarde await!”

The Companions were already packed and ready to march, with only Vignar, Eorlund and Tilma staying behind. I made a quick stop in the Temple to Kynareth to get a bottle of the Holy Water that welled up in the center hall, then to Arcadia’s to buy a Taproot and some Spriggan Sap. Arcadia was a little confused when I simply put both into the Temple water, rather than trying to mix a potion. Once I rejoined the Companions, I passed Auriel’s Bow off to Aela. She took the Divine weapon and reverently hid it away amongst our gear on a peculiar one pony cart driven by Kodlak.

Ten days later, we were moving past Fort Hraggstad when Skjor spotted a group moving up the road from Volskygge.

“A Nord woman,” he pointed out the lead figure, “being chased by several Thalmor.”

Kodlak sneered and unlimbered Wuuthrad. “It’s been a long march. Let’s work some of the cold out.”

Aela and Skjor shifted and moved to flanking positions, while the rest of us jogged down the hill. We were halfway to the Nord, when I finally recognized her. It was Lydia. I stopped running and began taking Lightning Bolt shots at the chasing Thalmor mages. The elves finally took notice of the approaching Companions, only to be blindsided by the Werewolves. Lydia spun around and slashed at the closest pursuer, just before Kodlak and the rest of the companions crashed into the Thalmor. Serana slipped into the melee and snatched Lydia out and carried her up the hill.

When I glanced over at Lydia, she looked exhausted. I held off on any teasing until the last Justiciar fell, cleaved in half by Ysgramor’s battle axe Wuuthrad. I let my spell fade and passed Lydia a wineskin. “So, how’s Markarth?”

Lydia swallowed, glared at me then spat to the side. “Met that fellow you said the Jarl was keeping in the mines.”

I sat next to her and absently cast a Healing spell on her. “Got involved in the murder investigation, did you?”

Lydia looked at me oddly. “No idea about any murders until I broke Madanach out. The Thalmor snatched me up almost as soon as I got there. Their head, Ondolemar, wanted to interrogate me about you, but Jarl Igmund argued that I could be ransomed. I got stuck in the mine while they argued.” By this point, the Companions were finished stripping the corpses.

Serana sat next to Lydia and handed her some rations. “Well don’t leave us in suspense; what happened?”

Everyone paused as Lydia gobbled down the trail food. “I ended up meeting Madanach. Meridia’d been pretty noisy in my head ever since the Thalmor stripped me,” all the Circle of Companions flinched at the Daedric Prince’s name, “so I agreed with the first plan he floated, on the condition he help me get everything back. He agreed, we broke out of the prison and broke into Understone Keep. We followed Meridia’s prompting to a… temple, I guess.” She locked eyes with me. “It was nearly identical to Miraak’s Sanctum under the Tree Stone.”

I hissed and nodded. “It makes a twisted kind of sense. If the Thalmor were using the Bura Morae to find their targets, they’d need to be close by to get their ‘marching orders’. And it was in the area they were taking me.” I motioned for her to continue.

“Turns out there were a lot of Reachmen sympathizers still living in the city. Most of the Guards and Justiciars were called out as the streets filled up with rioters. Madanach broke off as soon as we passed the Royal chambers; my guess is he went after Igmund. No Idea if he succeeded. I found my things and made a break for it through the Halls of the Dead. I’ve been hounded by Thalmor and Meridia’s ranting ever since.”

Aella nodded sagely. “The Lady of Light was probably called to this hunt just as surely as we were. Her favor, and your sword arm, will be much appreciated.”

The various Companion Whelps all glanced at one another, with Ria shuffling as their spokesman. “What about Markarth?”

I waved her off as I stood and helped Lydia up. “We’ll sic the Vigilants on them. The Thalmor running a secret Daedric Cult in the depths of a city in Skyrim is exactly the sort of thing they go after. We have a more pressing matter to deal with.”

We arrived at the point past the ruins of Northwatch Keep, just behind Isran and the Dawnguard. Gunmar’s armored trolls shifted nervously, likely sensing the two werewolves among the Companions. Isran then looked at us in mild annoyance, and a little relief. “Who are they,” he raised his nose at the troop behind me.

I gave my most insufferable smirk. “ We are the Companions of Ysgramor.” That brought the Dawnguard up short.

Durak coughed and choked slightly. “We?!”

Kodlak stepped down from the cart and strode up beside me. “Yes, ‘ we’ . Hiram was inducted into the Companions some months ago.”

Isran chuckled and shook his head. “Any other surprises?”

I nodded and smiled beneficently. “Several of the Companions are werewolves.”

There was a building murmur amongst the Dawnguard.

“Enough,” Isran barked out over his shoulder. “We are the Dawnguard, not the Vigilants of Stendarr. Our only concern is and should always be, the Vampire menace.” He looked from me to Kodlak, then to Serana. “This fight is too important to let fear and prejudice turn us away from willing allies.” He stepped up to Kodlak and held out his hand. Everyone sighed in relief when Kodlak took his arm in a firm grip.

Vilkas turned back towards the troop of Whelps. “Alright, get the barge set up while the Circle and the Dawnguard prepare our plan.” The Whelps set about dismantling the cart and converting it into a simple flat-bottomed boat.

Kodlak, Serana and Isran developed a plan to attack the castle on two fronts: Serana, Isran, Lydia, Aela and I would take the dory to the hidden slip on the western side of the island, while Kodlak would lead the main force in an assault on the southern rampart just after dawn. The main assault was meant to draw as many vampires and thralls away from our flanking force, so we could slip into the Chapel of Molag Bal.

Kodlak eyed the sand map suspiciously. “You’re certain Harkon will be in the chapel, and not with the main force?”

“Father loves power and ordering people around, but he’s not a creation of Molog Bal; he’s always been unsure of himself and his power. He won’t be in the main hall with the rest of the clan.” Serana’s voice was tinged with a hint of regret and embarrassment. “He’ll send everyone else out and retreat to where he feels strongest.”

My team left an hour before dawn, and silently slipped into the ruined docks just as the sun was cresting over the water. We sniped the undead sentries and slipped into the castle, just as we heard a general alarm raised. Serana led us through the winding corridors into the heart of the castle, where her father was waiting.

“Serana,” the Vampire Lord hovered in all his grotesque glory, “so much like your traitor mother.”

“Father,” Serana spat out the word, “so much like Molag Bal.”

Harkon maliciously laughed. “Let me show you how much !”

The fight was on.

Lydia stuck close to Serana, obliterating skeletons and gargoyles with Dawnbreaker, while Serana flooded the room with her own summoned undead to protect Aela and Isran as they laid into Harkon with hammer and bow. I headed directly to the altar of Molog Bal and dumped Kynareth-blessed water-soaked Taproot into the font.

I had just finished pouring the last dregs of sap when Harkon materialized above me. He was either unaware or unconcerned by my presence, since he encased us both in a protective barrier and began drawing on the font. The red tendrils of power were suffused with flashes of green and brown, and Harkon shuddered and began screaming. A vine grew out from under his breastplate, just as Aela nailed him with a Sunhallowed arrow. He tried transforming into mist and bats to escape, but simply exploded in a cloud of bees and butterflies before reforming on the ground in the middle of the room. Lydia lunged forward and struck Harkon in the head, causing him to burst into flames. He tried summoning something, anything to defend himself; but the more power he tried to draw, the faster he was consumed by Kynareth’s power.

“What…" He retched as more growth began tearing out of him. He turned a pleading eye towards the shrine to Molog Bal, but the font was now overgrown with moss and thorny vines.

I simply shook my head and walked past Isran. I took Serana’s shoulder, turned her round and hugged her as the leader of the Dawnguard raised his hammer high.

- CRUNCH -

She flinched as her father, Harkon, Vampire Lord of Castle Volkihar, was finally laid low.

The doors to the chapel were pushed open by Vilkas. He was covered in blood, and his armor was dented in several places.

“Aela, Hiram,” his voice was low and solemn, “you should come.”

I glanced at Aela and saw her nose twitching. She immediately shifted and began running, leaving Auriel’s Bow on the ground.

Serana picked up the divine weapon and handed it to me. “Go. I’ll be along in a moment.”

I followed Vilkas at a jog, trying not to choke on the cloud of Vampire Dust that filled the halls. Suddenly the castle echoed with a wolf’s mournful cry. I knew then that at least one of the Companions had fallen. We descended into one of the ‘meal preparation’ chambers and found Aela’s hulking form hugging another bloodied and broken werewolf to her chest. Nearby, the rest of the Companions were tending to Kodlak’s mortal remains. The floor was an inch thick with vampire dust nearly turned to mud by spilled thrall and Hell-Hound blood.

Aela lifted her muzzle from Skjor’s corpse to look at Kodlak, then at the rest of the Companions, then to me. Some of the Dawnguard came into the tableau and gasped as the black beast let loose one last mournful howl. The following silence was deafening as Aela clung to Skjor, silently weeping for the loss of our friends.

Chapter Text

The amassed force of Dawnguard and Companions stood on the point looking across the water towards the Kilkreath Mountains. Despite our victory over Harkon and his clan, we had all paid a heavy price. Drurak was wrapped in linen and laid beside Kodlak and Skjor, waiting to be sent back to the Stronghold of his birth. The two traveling chests of loot being loaded onto the barge seemed a pitiful blood price to pay for our collective loss.

I walked over to Serana, who was shuffling listlessly. “Will you be okay here alone?”

She smiled down at me, then looked back at the castle that had been her childhood home. “I won’t be entirely alone; certainly not defenseless. There are still dozens of constructs throughout the place.” Her smile waned as she looked back at me and Lydia. “I want to find Mother and let her know it’s done. I have everything you taught me,” she reached out a hand to Lydia, who took it with a weak smile, “and I know what to do to bring her home.” She took my hand as well. “Once that’s done, I’ll decide what I want to do with my life. Mother can just live with that.” A corner of her mouth twitched in a grin. “So to speak.”

We all chuckled, then Lydia pulled Serana into a hug. “Be well, little sister.” She stepped back and smiled up at Serana. “It may not be a palace, but you are always welcome in my home in Whiterun.”

We broke and headed towards the docks. Lydia glanced at me. “I take it you are going with the Companions?”

I sighed and nodded. “We’ll take Kodlak and Skjor back. I’m not certain of all the details of tradition, but I think Aela and the brothers intend to hold a full blown Wake.” I looked over at the Companions loading onto the barge. “Then there’s the choosing of the new Harbinger. My guess it’s going to be either Aela or Vilkas. All told, I expect to spend a week in Whiterun. Once that’s all settled, I head back to the College and fetch the Elder Scroll, then meet you at High Hrothgar.”

Lydia slowed down and rubbed her chin. “If Thane M’Rissa is finished by the time I reach the Graybeards, we’ll be heading back to Solstheim right after.” She looked from the Companions then to me. “Leave the scroll where it is and wait for us in Whiterun.”

I nodded and clasped her arm. “I’ll see you and M’Rissa in Whiterun then.”

The Companions, once our cart was put back together, headed to Solitude and the docks. We came across a peculiar sight as we neared the provincial capitol: a wagon train of Thalmor heading out of the city. I stepped up to the carriage man as we watched them ride by.

“What’s this about?”

The Nord waited a moment for the current group of Thalmor to ride out of earshot. “People are saying there’s been a revolt in Markarth by the Reachmen. The First Minister is moving out,” he paused as another cart of Justiciars and Thalmor soldiers rode by, “out of Castle Dour and back into her embassy and sending every troop she can spare to take back the Reach.”

I decided a little stirring of the pot was in order. “I’d heard a little about Markarth, but I thought it was because they were hoarding Daedric artifacts.”

The cartman flinched back. “No,” he gasped in disbelief.

“Oh yes,” I whispered conspiratorially. “I heard there’s a whole museum in Understone Keep filled with artifacts they’re trying to pass off as Dwemer so they can smuggle them out to the Summerset Isles.”

It was a bold-faced lie, but I trusted the rumor network that was the carriage route to filter and sanitize the story. By the time Lydia got word to the Vigilants about what was really going on in Markarth, the rumors would simply substantiate her story. With any luck, the Thalmor military presence in Skyrim would be crippled by the time M’Rissa called for the summit-on-the-summit.

Aela walked up to me as we turned down the hill towards the East Empire Company docks. “What are you up to?”

I gave her my most insincerely innocent smile. “In the finest tradition of Ysgramor and his Companions, I’m causing trouble for the elves.”

She glanced at the column of Altmer soldiers making their way to Markarth. “Good.”

We collectively chose to sail to Dawnstar, and then trekked to Whiterun. At Aela’s request, we left Skjor inside a Sprigan cave north of Korvanjund. 

“Kodlak chose Sovngarde,” she said as she unwrapped her fellow werewolf, “but Skjor chose the wild.” 

Once we entered the city of Whiterun, we processed solemnly but proudly back to Jorrvaskr. Tor called the City Guard to render an Honor Guard as we went, and by the time we arrived at the Skyforge, nearly the entire city had turned out.

Kodlak was first given over to the Temple of Arkay to be prepared. Then came the celebration. I can only guess it was supposed to be an emulation of what awaited in Sovngarde. During the day, there were martial competitions, feats of strength and agility, and even organized hunts in honor of Skjor. At night, the whole city was alive with song and revelry. It was a bit like how the Iliad described the funeral games for Hector.

After five days of games, Kodlak’s body was ready for cremation. The cremation itself was for the Companions, their family and associates. This was solemn, and personal.

Once the body was nothing more than pottash in the Skyforge, the Companions retreated into Jorrvaskr.

We all sat at the communal table, and looked at the two empty seats.

“Now what,” Torvar huffed over a mug of small beers. “Who’s the Harbinger?”

Vilkas drummed his fingers on the table. “Kodlak had intended for Skjor to take his place, but...”

I frowned as everyone else looked at the fire. “Vignar,” the elder Graymane looked up at me, “is there a precedent for the Companions not having a clear line of succession? I mean, the organization dates back to the first crossing from Atmora. It has to have happened at least once.”

Vignar nodded. “Aye, but that was over a hundred years ago. Half the Companions and all but two of the Circle died during the Oblivion Crisis. The circle members headed into the Underforge to ‘deliberate’.” I could hear the ‘air-quotes’. “One came back out, and the other was found outside the city, ‘savaged by a wild beast’.” He cast a meaningful look at the three Circle members. “I don’t think that’s the best choice right now.”

Vilkas put up a placating hand. “There was also the Rain’s Hand Plague of 128 of the Third Era. There were five surviving Circle members, and the Companions and Whelps chose by casting lots.”

Democracy vs. Thunderdome: Democracy wins!

Farkas stood up and moved until he was sitting beside me. “Count me out. I know I’m not Harbinger material.” Aela and Vilkas both looked at Farkas accusingly. “Well now neither of you knows which one I’ll choose.” Farkas smirked like he’d just won an argument; which, to be fair, he had.

Aela huffed and waved helplessly. “So how’s everyone supposed to choose: just colored stones in a bag?”

I looked around and nodded. “When the time comes to choose, yes. But before that,” I looked back at Aela and Vilkas, “tell us how you’ll lead the Companions: how will you grow the Companions, how will you keep it strong, and how will you preserve it for future generations? Then let us ask questions about anything you said, or matters that we feel need to be addressed. After all that, then we’ll cast lots.”

While political debates in my home may have devolved into Reality-TV spectacle, the Companions were honor driven enough that what they said now, they’d stick to it.

The two Companions sputtered for a moment, until they saw the expectant eyes of the rest of the Companions and associates. Vilkas motioned to Aela, then turned to face her as she stood.

“The Companions are, first and foremost, my family. You don’t always get to choose who your family is,” she glanced at me, “and sometimes they embarrass the life out of you, but you are always stronger for them. I want to keep that tradition.” Apparently my intrusive ‘Wolf-Mommy Aela’ thoughts were loud enough for her to hear, because she shot me a ‘don’t you dare speak’ glare.  

Unsurprisingly, Aela had nothing more to say. She does prefer action to words.

Vilkas stood, once Aela was seated. “Tradition and history are all well and good, but even a family must grow, adapt and change. The Companions of old were an army of thousands. We now number less than a dozen. I would grow the Companions again.” He shot Aela a side-eye at her snort. “I do not expect us to ever rival the Legion or the Stormcloaks in scope, but the more Companions there are, the more there will be in generations to come.”

Everyone sat still and looked around once Vilkas sat. It seemed that nobody wanted to be the first to ask a question. 

The more things change, the more they stay the same. I stood up and faced the two Circle members. “How would each of you guide the Companions? Would it be more of the same that everyone knows, or would you take the Companions in a new direction?”

Aela squinted at me. “What do you mean by ‘new direction’?”

I pursed my lips, knowing I was about to open a can of worms. I was about to speak, when Athis stood up. “He means, are the Companions going to continue to be thugs for hire: settling feuds for wealthy folks too ignorant of the idea of honor to risk themselves, or are we going to become something more?” There was a lot of murmuring and nodding heads in the hall. 

Njada didn’t stand, though she did suck her teeth loudly while staring at the fire, shooting glances at Aela. “The Riverwood job you sent me on last Moon? Skeevers in the basement. Poncy little Bard was an embarrassment to Nords everywhere, screaming like a baby. But once the biters were dealt with, he was all sass and slick words, like I should have been grateful to him. ” 

She turned to look fully at Aela and Vilkas. “ That’s what we are to people. We just fought an entire Vampire clan in their castle, and triumphed ; but I guarantee you by next week, someone’s going to come to one of you with purse full of coin and belly full of milk, and expect one of us to beat up a traveling merchant or widow that didn’t grovel enough for their taste. That’s what people think we are. Are either of you going to change that?”

The hall was back to silence, though this time it was tense. Aela looked at her fellow circle member before standing. “You’re right. We have allowed our reputation to slip; sold our honor to whichever merchant or noble happened to pay the most. At the time...” She stalled out. “No, no excuses. We were scared and complacent.” 

Aela looked over at me. “That giant in the cabbage fields of Pelagia Farm was the first job in two seasons that felt like it meant something; and we, the Companions of Ysgramor, nearly got shown up by a wildcat pit fighter and her pet mage. Then you turned right around and went after a dragon because it needed to be done. 

“Gods forgive me, but I hated you at that moment.” She leaned heavily on the table. “I am Huntmistress Aela, chosen of Hircine and a member of the Circle of Companions, and I was less than a wild-eyed, shit-covered Breton Mage in borrowed pants, because you charged into the teeth of a dragon while we waited for someone to pay us to fight.”

She slumped into her chair and looked out over the mead hall. “Somewhere along the way, we lost that drive. We hid behind our traditions and our title as Companions. No more!” She slammed her hands on the table and stood back up. “We are the Companions of Ysgramor! From now on we fight the fights others can’t , not the ones they won’t .” 

I caught Vilkas’ eye as the hall erupted in cheering. We both knew there was nothing he could say after that that could possibly beat Aela’s fire. He stood and faced his fellow Circlemember and raised his tankard. That hall fell silent. “I say we begin casting our lots for Harbinger. I cast mine for Aela!” He raised his mug in toast, as the cheering redoubled. Within seconds, the entire hall was on its feet saluting the new Harbinger.

God, I wish elections were this simple and clean back home.

...

I lay on my cot in the Whelp’s room, with one foot dangling off and touching the floor.

“I’ll never drink me-ead with Torvarr again,” I mumble-sang off key, while Tilma chuckled from the other end of the room.

It felt like the room flexed as Athis stuck his head through the doorway. “Hiram, the Circle is asking for you.”

“Unless one of them is offering to put me out of my misery,” I groaned, “tell them I can hear the sunrise just fine from down here.” Despite my protests, I dragged myself out of bed, dressed and hydrated, and headed upstairs. 

I had expected to head to the Underforge, but Aela, Vilkas, and Farkas were all in the Great Hall. I thumped onto a bench and started working on a Salmon Steak and a hunk of cheese. “The circle has called?”

Aela snorted. “No, the Circle has convened , and you’re late.”

I blinked owlishly for a moment. “You’re, what: making me a member of the Circle?”

“No,” Farkas chuckled from the opposite side of the room, “we’ve already made you a member. We’re trying to rebuild the Companions, and while tradition is good, growth is better.”

“Well, as long as I don’t have to drink anyone’s blood,” I nodded slowly, then winced as my head throbbed. “Unless it would deal with this hangover.”

Vilkas let out a soft laugh. “No such luck Shield Brother. Nothing but time, food and tea will fix that. On to the business at hand: recruitment.”

“Amren,” I blurted out, almost not knowing why until my brain caught up with my mouth.

Aela looked puzzled. “What, that Redguard who’s been trying to hire mercs to track down his family sword?”

I nodded. “That’s the one.” I started ticking off my fingers. “He’s former military, so skilled in arms and experienced in combat. He’s a family man with a wife and daughter, so he won’t be gadding around the countryside, and he longs for the camaraderie of service life; dare I say, Companionship . I think he’d make a good Companion, and a good influence on the Companions.”

It was Vilkas’ turn to blink in surprise. “Yes, well I meant a more general plan.”

Aela smirked at Vilkas. “I think I like this plan better than parchment fliers and town criers: build up a solid core cadre of seasoned warriors, and let our combined reputation draw potential recruits.” She looked back at me. “Any other suggestions?”

We spent the next couple of hours putting together a list of names I remembered from before , as well as the beginnings of a regimented syllabus for members. Farkas suggested I add some Magic into the lessons.

“We Nords may not like Magic, but it’s all around us. Better to know what’s actually going on, than just trusting in Nord Blood and Steel to carry the day.”

I winced a little. “I’ll try putting some basic lessons together: nothing mind-altering, but Healing, Lesser Ward, Turn Lesser Undead, Mage Light and Oakflesh will all go a long way towards saving a Whelp in the field.” I wanted to laugh, as Aela’s ears involuntarily flexed in dismay at my list. “However I still have an obligation to Dovahkiin , so I’ll be away for a while in the near term.”

Vilkas coughed into his hand. “That’s fair; it’ll give us a chance to figure out how we’ll finance all the spell tomes you’re suggesting.”

We continued planning into the early afternoon, when the Mead Hall doors opened for Lydia. “Companions, Hiram,” she nodded to the three other companions, then faced me, “it’s time.”

I sighed and stood. “So it is. Companions, I take my leave.”

Aela and the brothers stood and raised their mugs in salute, then headed out back to train while I collected my gear, and followed Lydia. She glanced at me as we passed the Gildergreen. “You look like hell.”

“I feel like hell.” I squinted my eyes at the sunlight glinting off the shallow canals running into the Market District. “I’m good to travel.”

We headed straight to the waiting carriage outside the stables. M’Rissa was already sitting in the back as we climbed aboard. She looked over at me, then pulled me into a hug.

“This one mourns for your loss.”

I smiled and squeezed back. Then winced as she pinched one of my earlobes. “Ow! Alright, no more getting drunk until we’re celebrating Alduin’s defeat. Happy?”

She huffed and sat back on her bench. “Ecstatic.”

We made a single layover stop in Morthal before continuing to Solitude. There was only one room at the inn in the Hjaalmarch capital, and dozens of almost familiar faces. It seemed that Serana’s ducklings from Hamar’s Shame had made it to Morthal, and made good on their promise. We arrived at the Solitude docks the next day just after slack low tide. While I expected most of the Thalmor to be tied up in the Reach, I still wore my ‘Victor von Doom’ disguise until we were settled below decks on an East Empire Company trade ship bound for Solstheim.

We arrived in Raven Rock just after dawn. The dockhands and crew chatted idly until one of the porters saw us. He sputtered something in Dunmeri before running into town.

I glanced over at Lydia and shrugged. “He didn’t look angry, so I don’t think it’s a problem for us.” I grimaced as the porter came back to the docks, followed by a mid-sized crowd, a contingent of the Redoran Guard, and the Second Councilor. 

M’Rissa gave a frustrated growl as Adril Arano all but pushed his way to the front of the crowd. “I suppose I should welcome you back to Raven Rock. I would ask ,” he looked meaningfully towards Captain Veleth, “that you come with me to--”

M’Rissa gave a sharp whistle and slashed her bared claws through the air. “Whatever dire calamity has befallen you yet again can wait. M’Rissa-Dro has pressing business with the Skaal.”

Adril bristled at the interruption, and more at the disdainful murmurs from the crowd. “I shouldn’t be surprised at your disrespect towards the Council of Raven Rock.” The murmuring from the crowd built, and the Redorans tensed at the vitriol being directed at the Councilor. Adril feigned indifference, but I could see a faint sheen of sweat on his face in the late winter sea morning. “Captain, please escort these outsiders to the Councillor's house.”

Veleth took one look at us, then glanced at the proto-mob surrounding him. “With respect, Councillor, but even if I had every able body on hand, I don’t think I’d have enough men to escort these three anywhere they didn’t want to go. Besides, you have my men spread thin protecting Raven Rock as it is.” Captain Veleth gave a peculiar clicking signal, and the Guard split the crowd, while several formed a detail around Adril.

We were escorted past the mine, and through a door in a very basic chitten-reinforced wooden stockade. Captain Veleth nodded to all of us as we turned to face him. “My sworn duty is to protect Raven Rock and its Councilors. Occasionally that means protecting them from themselves.

“I’ll ask you to come through the South Gate when you return.” He then turned and sealed the door behind him.

The sun was setting by the time we came up to the ruins of Miraak’s Temple and the Tree Stone. There was a slight commotion from inside, just before one of the Bura Morae were thrown off by a cheering mob of Rieklings. One Riekling was struck by a fire bolt from behind, and the entire mob spun and charged back into the amphitheater.

Lydia looked on in cynical admiration. “Looks like Serana’s subjects are keeping the temple clear.”

Night was fully upon us when we entered the village. Before we could knock on any doors to try and secure lodging, the Great House doors opened and Storn stepped out.

“Come Dragonborn,” he waved us over. “Your return was foreseen. Rest for the night; tomorrow is soon enough to join the battle.”

We ate and shared stories, such as Frea telling of leading a hunting party after a company of Thalmor that had abducted Baldor Iron-Shaper. We in turn related our own adventures. I had the honor of meeting Heerom, the infant son of one of the village hunters.

I did my best not to mis-handle my namesake. “You do realize you are naming him after a chronic trouble maker, right?”

Storn chuckled as the baby gurgled happily, despite the late hour. “The All-Maker brought him into the world almost the very instant you sealed Old Herma Mora away. He could not have been named any other way.”

My sleep was untroubled that night, and after a hearty breakfast we moved outside. The Shamans all surrounded M’Rissa as she sat down with the Black Book Waking Dreams in her lap. She glanced at Lydia and I. “Wish this one luck.”

I smirked back at her. “You don’t need luck; you have preparation on your side!”

She nodded back, then opened the book.

I had not seen any of the previous times M’Rissa had used a Black Book, so my only experience was in the Mora trap. I wasn't entirely sure what to expect; M’Rissa closing and re-opening the book several times was certainly not it.

“It is not working,” she slammed the book shut and looked at me in concern. “Why is it not working?!”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged helplessly. I then helped her stand and started marching south. “But Neloth will. Let’s go.”

The sun was setting when we finally arrived at Tel Mithryn.  

I was the first up the shaft into Neloth’s main work and living space. “Magister Neloth? It’s Hiram.”

“- slurp- So it is.” Neloth stepped out of the Enchanting alcove. 

“We have a problem,” I said as M’Rissa and Lydia followed me up. “The Black Book Waking Dreams doesn’t work.”

“Incorrect,” the Telvanni wizard said pedantically as he stepped aside and gestured at his own Black Book. “ None of the Black Books work. They are extensions of Hermaeus Mora’s will. With him sealed away--”

“There’s nothing to power the bridge to Apocrypha,” I finished before slumping into a chair. I racked my brain for a solution, one dancing just on the edge of reason.

M’Rissa growled as she pulled out Waking Dreams. “This one refuses to wait primly for Miraak to come here! There must be a way to go to him before he is ready!”

I groaned and leaned my forehead onto my hands. “God, there might be.” Everyone looked at me as I stood up and headed into the Enchanting alcove. “Neloth, do you have a copy of Liminal Bridges ,” I asked as I collected his Black Book.

“Of course I do,” he sputtered indignantly. “I have one of the first copies transcribed from Calimnowe’s lecture notes-oh...” He paused in his search for the requested tome. “Are you sure about this?”

I groaned as I set the Black Book down on a workbench. “I’m certain we have to get M’Rissa into Apocrypha before Miraak is ready, and get her out again once the deed is done.”

Lydia and M’Rissa looked back and forth between Neloth and I. “What’s so important about this Linen Britches book,” Lydia asked as she followed me over to Neloth’s library.

I looked at her as Neloth handed me the lovingly cared for book. “ Liminal Bridges is a ‘how-to’ manual for building an Oblivion Gate.”

Neloth scoffed while Lydia choked. “A plebian but succinct explanation.”

I could see Lydia working herself up, when M’Rissa came up and put a hand on her shoulder. “Will it work?”

“My Thane, you can’t be serious!?”

M’Rissa hung her head. “You did not see him, Lydia. Miraak could command all the denizens of Apocrypha while Hermaeus Mora was free, and any dragon close enough to hear his voice. If he crosses over, he will be unstoppable.” She gently shook Lydia’s shoulder. “He must be stopped before he is ready. So M’Rissa-Dro must ask one more time: can this be done?”

I looked at Neloth. “Miraak did most of the heavy lifting in building out the temple complex. If we use the room Waking Dreams was stored in--”

Neloth smiled and headed back to his Staff Enchanter. “Then we need only construct the arch itself.” He came out with an armload of the Daedric Staves we had made to trap Mora. “These will do as structural members, though we will need more Summoning and Banishing scrolls than I have on hand.” He dumped the armload on the table. “To answer your question: if we have all seven Black Books located on the island, then yes we can build a stable bridge to Apocrypha.”

“Seven,” Lydia recoiled. “M’Rissa and I only found three, then there's the one you had.”

M’Rissa huffed and stood back. “So we must find the remaining three. Should we bring them back here?”

I flipped back and forth through some of the diagram pages of Liminal Bridges. “No, best to stage out of Skaal Village. Once we have all the rest of the pieces, I’ll see if we can cajole Revus into taking Dusty out on one last trip.”

Neloth came out of one of the other alcoves with an armload of books and scrolls, as well as a local map. “I had already identified the likely location of all the books on the island. Just cross off the ones you have already visited, and proceed after the remaining books.”

M’Rissa nodded and took the map. She began crossing locations off, then started cussing in Khajiiti. Lydia joined her in the indulgence in invective once she looked at the map.

I put everything aside, then came over. “What is it?” M’Rissa jabbed a claw into a spot in the southwest ash wastes of the island: Kolbjorn Barrow. “Damn.”

“What seems to be the problem,” Neloth set his pile down and came over.

I looked up. “One of the books is at the bottom of Kolbjorn Barrow, still under several tons of ash.”

Neloth snorted. “Not any more. At least it shouldn’t be after the sum I paid that Rallis fellow.”

M’Rissa, Lydia and I all groaned. I huffed then looked at my friends. “You two should head out to the ice fields. I’ll hit the ash wastes and deal with Ahzidal. Neloth,” I looked over to the Telvanni as I started organizing my gear, “I’d appreciate it if you could get started on the gate.”

Everyone nodded, and we set out on our various quests. I was ten minutes into my hike to Kolbjorn when it hit me: this was only my second time on a mission alone. It was the first time I’d really been alone since arriving in Skyrim. I paused as I considered how I felt. I was bolstered by the casual confidence M’Rissa and Lydia had shown by not asking if I could do this alone, but it was still daunting: no allies, no preparing the field ahead of time, just what I knew, and what I’d learned.

Fortune favors the bold.

The sun was rising when I arrived at the dig site. It was everything I expected and feared. Nix Hounds and Ash Hoppers were picking over the cadavers strewn about the camp. A quick application of Flame Cloak kept the scavengers focused on the carrion, rather than coming after me. Once inside the Barrow, I cast Ebony Flesh and Stendarr’s Aura, polished off an herbal and floral Magicka potion to top off, and waded into the charnel depths of Kolbjorn Barrow.

I had to refresh my spells and Magicka a few times as I slogged through the catacombs. Most of the Draugr disintegrated on contact with my Cloak and Aura. A few needed sniping with a Vampire’s Bane, and one particular hulk of a corpse had to be fought sword on sword. I made it to the bottom without any new scars, though my armor took a few hits in the fight.

I refreshed my spells and Magicka and walked into Ahzidal’s Crypt, just as the Dragon Priest immolated Rallis. “Fah hin zahrahmiik.” (For your sacrifice.)

“Ahzidal!” The lich looked up at my shout. “Zu'u fen daal hi wah dinok!” (I return you to death!)

The floating cadaver sneered, and let out a shriek of power. “Alok, ahrk viik dii paal!” (Arise, and destroy my foe!) As the room began filling with Draugr and reanimated miners, I was really wishing I hadn’t left Auriel’s Bow with Aela.

I spent the next bloody eternity dodging Fire magic from the Priest’s repertoire of spells and Thu’um, while whittling down his undead army. Thankfully, half of those I fought were reduced to ash the first go around, but that still meant the rest needed killing twice before they stayed down. 

The smoke coming off of my armor let me know my defensive spells were at their limit. It was time to take it to Ahzidal and put an end to him. I dodged another Yol-Toor-Shul , and rushed in. I let both Stendarr’s Aura and Flame Cloak soak into Daedra’s Bane’s blade as I hewed into the Dragon Priest. I battered him back into a corner just as my Aura and Cloak collapsed. He blasted me with a point-blank Fireball. My Dawnguard armor crumbled to ash and rust, but I could feel my Ebony Flesh almost flare once the obstruction was gone. I dropped my sword, jammed my hands under his mask, and blasted him in the face with a Dual Vampire’s Bane.

The ancient Nord Lich gave one last shuddering wail before crumbling at my feet. My bare feet. The only clothing I had left was the Dragonhide scabbard and belt for Daedra’s Bane. Not even my Dustman’s Cloak had been spared

“Fuck!” It was becoming really tedious having to replace armor. Though from what I could feel, I might not need to any more. “Fuck it!” 

I doubled back to where the various bits of Ahzidal’s armor and Rings could be found. The Boots in the main Chamber were the only items not in the Barrow, obviously collected during M’Rissa and Lydia’s first visit. I descended back into the Crypt, collected Ahzidal’s Mask, and made my way to the Black Book Nook.

There were always plenty of Battle Axes, Hide Shields and Linen in Nord barrows, so rigging up a skid to haul everything wasn’t an issue; though it was a little slow going up the winding staircase. I stepped out into the Ash Wastes to relatively clear skies, and an audience.

“Well well, what do we have here?” A group of whom I assumed were local Reavers in various types of Chitin and Bonemold armor were picking over the camp. “Looks like we may come away from this with more than just scraps. Why don’t you do the smart thing and hand over all you’ve got, and I’ll consider letting you leave with your hide intact.” 

I’m sure the bandits were trying their best to seem menacing, but after everything I’d been through on Solstheim, they just seemed petty and desperate. I sighed and shook my head as I glanced back at the skid, then looked at the spokesman. “I’m afraid most of that belongs to a friend of mine, so I can’t just give it away.” I let the skid slide back down into the barrow’s entry pit, while holding onto Daedra’s Bane. “I do have at least one more fight in me, if you want that.” I flared my Flame Cloak and Ebony Flesh as I drew my Dragonbone Longsword. “Though if you do want that, it’ll cost you.”

The posture of several bandits shifted, and I could only imagine what was going through their minds at the sight of a magic-wreathed naked Breton brandishing a sword crafted from Dragon Bone. Their leader was made of sterner (or stupider) stuff, and charged me. What he wasn’t, was Farkas. He may as well have been as naked as me for all the defense he put up, and fell in a single pass. I stepped out onto the ash, motes of dust igniting as they brushed up against me.

The rest of the Reavers decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and ran from the mad naked spell-sword.

Once I was sure I was alone again, I pulled my spoils up out of the pit. I then headed into Rallis’ tent, raided his food stores, and crashed.

...

I managed to scrounge a set of miner’s clothes and boots that fit passingly well. My newfound understanding of armor spells may render all but Dragonplate obsolete, but I had no intent to hike across the ash wastes barefoot with my junk swinging in the wind. After a quick meal, I started back to Tel Mithryn. It was well past sunset when I finally dragged myself back into the main mushroom. 

I silently held up a hand to forestall questions as I rummaged through my skid. I came up with Ahzidal’s Mask, and his Rings of Arcana and Necromancy. “The armor is M’Rissa’s. I’ll tell you all about it after a bath, a decent meal, and a proper night’s sleep.”

Neloth took the proffered artifacts. “I’ll rouse Elynea and Ulves. Take your rest and repast, then you can regale me with your adventures while we work on this gate.”

Chapter Text

Neloth’s caretakers were not pleased with getting roused after hours, but they were dutiful to their master’s wishes. I woke clean and refreshed the next morning, dressed in my sundry enchanted clothes, and buckled down to help Neloth lay out an Oblivion Gate. It took us three days to work out all the formulas and necessary enchantments, as well as scribe the scrolls needed to help bind the whole thing together. From there we secured Dusty’s services for the low price of Neloth giving her a full health check and fortified fodder. 

Who knew the man living in a mushroom had a soft spot for giant insects .

It took only an hour to get to Skaal village by silt strider. The Skaal themselves gawped like tourists as Neloth and I offloaded our supplies with M’Rissa’s and Lydia’s help.

I heaved a sigh once everything was down and organized. “We should probably tell the--”

“This one has already warned them,” M’Rissa interrupted. “Storn and the Shamans were understanding. Their hunters will guard the chamber from the Bura Morae ,” she paused, “and anything that slips past us.”

There wasn’t anything else that needed to be said, so we packed up and headed to the eastern exit to Miraak’s Temple. Once inside the book chamber, Neloth and I began setting up our gate. Waking Dreams served as the key-stone for the arcane arch, and the room shuddered with barely contained power. Neloth and I stood on opposite sides of the arch, and each cast a spell we had developed for this moment. 

The gate snapped into existence. It was an oily plane that devoured light and rippled under unknowable currents.

I looked at M’Rissa and Lydia as Neloth stepped around to our side. “Neloth will come through with us to secure and stabilize the gate as best he can.” I ignored his derisive snort and nodded to M’Rissa. “It should put us on the same terrace where you first encountered Miraak.”

Lydia glared at me as she drew Dawnbreaker. “‘It should ’?”

I waved at the arcane structure made from Black Books, Spell Scrolls and Magic Staves. “This thing is made out of paper mache and wishful thinking. We have a day, maybe less before Apocrypha eats the gate from the Oblivion side; we should thank the Gods it works at all, so let’s make this fast.”

The four of us stepped through the gate...

Into near pitch darkness and a feeling like a full body chemical burn. The only recognizable point of light nearby was a halo around Lydia. Then there was a snap as Neloth lit a Mage Light in the middle of us. We all huddled around the glowing orb.

Lydia helped steady M’Rissa. “Is this where you arrived?”

M’Rissa looked around. “No, yes, maybe.” She stepped to the edge of the light of Neloth’s light and squinted around. “Yes, this is where this one first met Miraak; though there was green light everywhere, and a sea of black tentacles and eyes.” She pointed in one direction, then hissed and snatched her hand back from the darkness. “Now there is only a chasm, though the tower that Miraak flew towards has some light.”

I decided to test something, and cast my Stendarr’s Aura. I then stepped out into the shadows. There was no pain, and the light reached into that from the Mage light. Lydia sheathed her sword and stepped into my aura.

“It’s safe, my Thane.” She looked knowingly at me as M’Rissa joined us. 

I cast my Clairvoyance, looking for the Chapter logs that I desperately hoped still worked. I felt a clear trail, and cast my own Mage Light in that direction. It came to rest against a pulpit with an open book.

M’Rissa nodded. “This one knows how those work. You ,” she looked at me, “find our path. You ,” she looked at Lydia, “protect us on that path, and you ,” she looked at Neloth, “ensure we have a way home.”

Everyone silently agreed, then M’Rissa, Lydia and I set off towards the Chapter tomes.

The Chapter gate did work, once I fed it a Soul Gem. For the first time since Lydia’s and mine’s trip through Meridia’s temple, I insisted on scavenging as we went. I knew that various pods and containers were likely to also have charged Soul Gems, and we were going to need a lot. 

Thankfully, the various Magika Fonts were still active, since I was burning through Magika to keep my Aura up. Unfortunately, those and the Stamina Fonts had become watering holes for Seekers. Those in turn attracted Lurkers in a Lovecraftian nightmare-fuel circle of life. It did mean we didn’t have as many things to fight, but it still took longer than I was comfortable with.

We finally wound our way to the word Wall terrace. There were no fonts, so there were none of Apocrypha’s denizens. The only light was from Dawnbreaker, my Aura, and a faint glow high in the distance.

M’Rissa growled. “We’re even farther away than when we arrived!”

“I know,” I placated, “but the only way up to the Summit of Apocrypha is by dragon; and the only way to attract one here is that Word Wall.”

M’Rissa grumbled as we walked over to the oddly shifting structure. “M’Rissa-Dro is not interested in amassing a dictionary of dragon words.”

Lydia and I posted a watch as M’Rissa communed. The moment the word passed into the Dovahkiin , a warbling roar echoed through the empty darkness. An almost oily shadow landed on the terrace in front of us.

“ Volaanne! ” (Intruders!)

“ Gol, Hah-Dov! ”

Lydia and I staggered at M’Rissa’s Thu’um , though that shock was nothing compared to seeing a dragon genuflect.

“Hail thuri ,” the scaleless dragon touched its snout to the stone of the terrace. “Your Thu’um has the mastery. Climb aboard and I will carry you to Miraak.”

Lydia looked at me. “Do I even want to know how the dragon knows where we want to go?”

M’Rissa huffed as she climbed onto Sahrotaar’s neck. “Where else would anyone go in this place? Climb up here so we can be done with this.”

We silently clung to the dragon’s neck as we flew over the vast emptiness of Apocrypha. When we approached the mesa, I could see several of the floating eye-lights normally found in shadowed areas had been lashed to the various arches. Miraak was pacing around one of the raised dais’ when our ride landed.

“Sahrotaar,” Miraak turned and postured, “are you so easily--”

“Return to where you found us, and await this one’s call.” M’Rissa slapped the dragon’s neck once we were all on the ground. I could see from M’Rissa’s posture that she was nervous; but it wasn’t fear, rather anticipation. She was a gladiator first and foremost, and Miraak was arguably our greatest challenge to date. M’Rissa was revving herself up for a fight. She closed her eyes and took one last calming breath.

“ Mul, Qah-Diiv. ”

Miraak shook off his quiet from being interrupted and stepped down onto the level with us, while eyeing the Khajiit now glowing with the full Dragon Aspect. “ And so the First Dragonborn meets the Last Dragonborn at the summit of Apocrypha.” He cast a glance at Lydia and I. “Perhaps not quite as Hermaeus Mora intended.” 

I heard M’Rissa begin hissing out a quiet breath that sounded a lot like Wuld. 

Is she using a sotto-voce shout?  

“No matter. You are here in your full power, and thus subject to--”

“ Nah-Kest !” M’Rissa flashed across the intervening space, and smashed an elbow into Miraak’s mask, sending him tumbling backwards. “You talk too much.”

When Miraak raised his head from where he had landed, two things were immediately visible: the pale Atmoran skin exposed by the crumbling mask, and a flash of fear in his eye.

“Kruziikrel, Relonikiv: come to my aid! Mul, Qah-Diiv! ”

Lydia and I squared up beside M’Rissa when the dragons launched into the air. “You two deal with the dragons,” she hissed as she bared her claws and fangs. “ Khrassozay qojiit is M’Rissa-Dro’s!”

Lydia nodded, then drew her shield and Dawnbreaker. “Alright, you knock them down, and I’ll knock them out!”

“We can’t let them land,” I yelled out. “Miraak will feed on them if they get close enough!”

Lydia bit back a snarl as she dropped her preferred weapons, and drew her Elven Crossbow. “Fine: you keep them off balance, I’ll pick them off when they get close!”

She put words to action, and nailed one of the dragons in its open mouth as it tried to make a strafing run. The second dragon was circling in the darkness, so I had to rely on its roars to try and track it with my Fireball/Chain Lightning spell combo primed. It took a couple of shots before I had the second dragon bracketed.

-BWOOM-

-SCREEONCH-

My target screamed and floundered in the air before I heard the rush of it diving below us.

“ Wuld, Nah-Kest! Relonikiv ! ” Miraak appeared in one of the oily pools, just before one of the dragons swooped up. Lydia and I both blasted it, but it was already too late. Miraak cackled as he drained the dragon, leaving only a desiccated corpse drooped over the sludge pool.

“Do you see now, the futility of- thwok - ”

Miraak’s head rocked as M’Rissa nailed him in the exposed face with a thrown apple.

“What did this one just say?! ”

I heard the second dragon roar in the middle distance, and Lydia and I refocused on our given task.

“Switch to steel bolts,” I said as I prepared an off-hand Chain Lightning and a right handed Firebolt.

Lydia racked in the new bolt, and we waited as the dragon circled in the outer darkness. It was a tense few seconds as we waited for the beast to come in close. The moment it swooped in to strafe us, Lydia put a bolt into its belly.

I followed up with the Chain Lightning as the dragon climbed into the darkness. As I’d hoped, the spell went straight for the steel. I followed up with Firebolt after Firebolt while tracking where my Lightning was going, causing the beast to glow red. Lydia pumped several exploding firebolts into the dragon as well.