Civil War Aftermath Chapter 3: Season's End pt2

[TheCzarsHussar]

Stalks-Deep-Water

 

Stalks was sneaking quietly through the woods, with bow and arrow in hand. He had been hired to hunt down and kill a troll that had been pestering a local village. It had it's home in a cave in this area the villagers had told him. 

Now he wandered silently through the woods, hoping to find the beast or it's hideout. But so far he couldn't find as much as a trace of the troll. Nor that of any other animal. The woods were completely silent.  

But Stalks payed it no mind as he was focused on the hunt. After a couple of minutes he spotted a large cliff among the trees. And as he had expected; there was the cave, like a black hole going deep under ground. 

He carefully approached the cave, ever on his guard that the troll might jump on him from any direction. But nothing happened. Now looking into the cave he hesitated about going inside. The troll may be hiding behind a rock in the darkness, waiting for him to pass by, not noticing the ambush. 

After a moment of weighing his options he stepped inside the darkness of the cave. He moved slowly and tried to give his eyes time to adapt to the darkness, while watching every shadow and every corner almost nervously. The cave was deeper than he had expected. And the sunlight behind him began to wane as he silently tread deeper and deeper. And then he saw something in the distance. A light: both orange a green, like light shining through painted glass.

Now Stalks nervousness began to subside as his curiosity grew. He headed towards the light, wondering what kind of magic it might be. But he kept reminding himself of the troll. That it still could be lurking in the shadows. Though he kept expecting the troll to be by the light, mesmerized by the light and an easy target. 

He rounded a thick pillar that stood in the middle of the tunnel and then he saw the light: it came from a mushroom, nearly as big as a grown man's head, and completely orange except for green dots on it's hat. Stalks watched the mushroom and wondered what it might be. But his attention quickly went towards the troll besides the mushroom. The troll was sitting on a rock with the head looking down. 

Stalks just stared for a couple of seconds before he remember what he had actually come there for to begin with. He moved a couple of steps to get a better firing position. That however proved to be a mistake, as he took the second step he hit a loose rock on the ground which then sent of several clings of rock hitting rock. 

A slight panic went through Stalks body as he saw the troll turn around to face him. He quickly considered his options: if he could notch and fire the arrow in time or if he would have to draw his spear or even the dagger if the troll was upon him before he could even do that. 

 

"A visitor?" Stalks heard a voice say. It was a dark, mellow and curious voice. At first he wondered who might have said that but then as he realized it came from the direction of the troll, he wondered if might have been the troll that had said that. And also to his surprise; the troll did not attack it just sat there, half turned around and looking at him. 

 

Stalks just stood there like paralyzed, pondering what to do. "Yes?" Stalks then said, hoping to shed some light on this mysterious voice. 

 

"Oh, how lovely. I almost never get visitors." Stalks again heard and this time he actually noticed that the trolls lips moved as the voice spoke. The voice had a quite sincere, pleasant and formal tone to it.

Stalks heard a loud thud before the troll got up from the rock and faced Stalks completely. Ti which he took the opportunity to inspect the troll; the beast looked pretty much like any other troll Stalks had ever seen: a big hairy, humanoid being with a long face and three eyes. But what wasn't in the ordinary was the fact that the troll was holding a book in it's left hand and some kind of red scarf hanging around it's neck. It was tied tightly under the chin and had a lose end hang down on the middle of the chest. 

 

"Who are you?" said Stalks after a moment of trying and failing to come to terms of what he was just experiencing. 

 

"Mr Ytrid. Llort Ytrid. I'm the owner and chief resident of this underground chateau." said the troll with a bow. 

 

"Chateau?" said Stalks, slightly confused by the word. 

 

"My castle. My private retreat. My residence. My home, if you will."

 

"Okay." was all Stalks could say, still trying to wrap his head around it all.

 

"Now would you like some tea?"

 

"Tea?"

 

"Yes, tea." 

 

"Ehm, sure." Stalks answered hesitantly. 

 

"Oh, it's going to be such fun. My little rat and I haven't had a visitor in ages." the troll then turned and picked up the mushroom and held it like a candle. "Follow me. And watch your feet. Some rocks can be rather sharp." and the troll then walked deeper into the cave. 

 

Stalks hesitated for a second before he quickly put back his bow and arrow and hurried after the troll. Stalks couldn't help but to notice as they walked that the troll walked in a rather graceful manner (for a troll that is) and not they clumsy way trolls usually stumble forward in. 

They walked on a for a minute or so, at least that was what Stalks thought as he had no real sense of time in the cave. Then the cave suddenly ended in an perfectly vertical and flat wall. There in the wall was also a solid wooden door, with two mushrooms just like the one Ytrid was holding on both sides of the door. The door itself was well crafted and had the a door knocker in the shape of a large screaming head (with a large and scruffy beard) in what appeared to be bronze, with an overly large nose ring that reached down and dangled under it's jaw. But there were no door handle to speak of. 

Mr Ytrid walked up to the door knocker, grabbed the large nose ring and knocked. To Stalks surprise the door knocker came to life with a soundly sneeze. 

"Must you always wake me up like that. Bah." 

 

"Just let me and my guest in." Ytrid said. 

 

"To pass this you must-" 

 

"First answer my riddles three." Ytrid finished the door knocker's sentence.

 

"Hmpf. Very well then. What is your name?" the door knocker asked, appearing rather offended for being interrupted. 

 

"Mr Llort Ytrid."

 

"What do want?" 

 

"To pass this door."

 

"What is your favorite color?" 

 

"Orange." 

 

"You may pass." said the door knocker, rather annoyed, and the door opened. 

 

But as Stalks was also about to walk through the doorway, the door shut right onto his face so hard he staggered backwards. 

"To pass you must first answer my riddles three." the door knocker said, this time rather amused at the sight of Stalks.

 

"But he - it - Mr Ytrid just answered your riddles." Stalks proclaimed. 

 

"And I let him pass because of it. Now it's your turn to answer my riddles three." the door knocker said with a sinister smile.

 

"What happens if I say the wrong answer?" Stalks asked, feeling uneasy at the smile. But the only answer he got as a low and sinister laugh. "Fine. Tell me your riddles." said Stalks after a moment of hesitation.

 

"What is your name?"

 

"Stalks-Deep-Waters."

 

"What do you want?"

 

"To pass this door."

 

"What is the speed of a horse running down a 90 degree hillside with a fat lobster on it's back?"

 

Stalks was about to say his favorite color just as Ytrid had done. But as he realized that the question now was completely different he was left speechless. He stood and stared at the door knocker and it's smug smile. His knowledge about horses was quite limited and the absurd part of the question did not make it any easier. 

He began wandering back and forth; pondering the answer. Trying to think of everything he knew about horse, and lobsters. He then began to wonder what kind horse the door knocker referred to. 

"Do you mean a Nordic horse or a Cyrodiilic horse?" asked Stalks, hoping that the door knocker would not take his question as an answer. 

 

The door knocker's expression suddenly turned to a confused look. "Well I don't know." and a second after it had said that an explosion erupted around the door knocker. Once the smoke had settled, the door knocker looked rather dizzy and a bit grimy. But other than that it looked completely unscathed by the explosion. 

"You may pass." it then said in a very weary tone.

 

And as it did before for Mr Ytrid, the door opened and let Stalks step inside. The inside was very much unlike the cave. It was like a big room from a noble's manor, except that there were no windows. And it was rather barren as there were no decoration to speak of, except a few candle holders along the walls that held mushrooms similar to the one Llort had, except they shone a bright orange and yellow light, like fire. Other than that there was just a door on the far side of the room, very similar to the one Stalks had just passed through, but with no door knocker. 

Mr Ytrid stood in the middle of the room, reading his book, with the mushroom now sitting on top of the trolls head. 

"Ah, there you are. I was beginning to think that stupid door knocker had blown you to tiny pieces." said Llort, as sincere and nice as before, and seemingly not at all disturbed by the fact that his guest might have painted the cavern walls with his guts. 

 

"Yeah. Why didn't you tell me about the riddles?" asked Stalks

 

"Oh, I thought it wasn't necessary. You looked like such a bright young lad." Mr Ytrid then closed the book and held it up above his head. Then a giant spider suddenly came down and grabbed the book with two of it's legs before it climbed back up along it's string. This at first madde Stalks jump out of surprise and fear. But it then it also made Stalks look up to see where the spider went and what he saw was that there in fact was no roof in the room. Above them was a great web that continued up along the walls that seemed to go on forever. And in the web was books scattered around. Probably hundreds if not thousands of books. 

Mr Ytrid began walking towards the other door once the spider had taken the book. Stalks just waited and stared in awe at the great web and all it's books that just seemed to go on forever. Once he snapped back to it, he hurriedly walked in a brisk pace to catch up with the troll. 

They arrived in a new room, this time with a visible roof high above their heads. The room was slightly smaller than the last, and with a chandelier in the same fashion of the candlesticks of the last room hanging down in the middle of the room, above a long table with only two chairs at the far ends. 

"Rat!" Llort shouted. "Rat, come here! We got a guest!" 

 

A second later a skeever came running towards them on it's hind legs. It was running fast and with a perfectly straight back, and dressed in some kind white shirt with a black jacket on top of it.

"You called, sir." the skeever said, in a even more formal tone that Llort, to the point of being prudish. 

 

"Yes. Me and my guest here would like some tea." 

 

"Very good, sir." then the skeever ran back in the direction he had come from, which proved to a large rat hole. Through which the butler had no problem running through with it's straight back. 

 

"Now come. Sit." Mr Ytrid said as he walked towards the table and sat down in the chair furthest away. 

 

Stalks hesitated for a moment before he complied and sat down in the other chair. "So, do you have many guests?" Stalks asked after a moment of silence. 

 

"Unfortunately no. I tried asking some nearby villagers but they don't even want to answer my requests."

 

Stalks suddenly remembered those villagers and what he had been hired to do. He had completely forgotten about that soon after the troll had begun to speak. "Yeah, those villagers might have a little hard speaking with you." Stalks said. 

 

"Why is that? Am I not properly dressed?" Mr Ytrid said and motioned to his little scarf. 

 

"I don't think it's that."

 

"Are my manners not good enough?" 

 

"I think it might be because you're a... troll." 

 

"That's racist. Well no tea for them then. And speaking of tea." the troll turned his face towards the rat hole from where the butler now came running at high speed with a large tray balancing on one hand. On the tray was a teapot, two teacups and a fish impaled on a stck through it's mouth. 

 

The skeever first served Stalks by giving him a teacup and then pouring some yellow liquid from the teapot. Then he took the fish on the stick and placed it besides Stalks' teacup. 

"Customary gift for new guests." the skeever explained before running over Llort to give the troll his tea as well. 

 

Stalks first looked at the fish, which was unlike anything he had ever seen before: it was silvery blue, had small bright eyes and fins in a shape that best could be described as hairy sticks. Then Stalks turned his attention to the teacup and the yellow liquid inside it. He picked up the cup and smelled it first. It smelled like cheese. But as he took a sip of it tasted like salted fish. He looked over at Llort to see that he seemed to enjoying his tea. Stalks then looked back at the fish and wondered if he was supposed to eat it. While he was not new to eating raw fish, it was definitely strange to be served a raw fish with tea. 

But what ins't strange here. He thought as he picked up the fish by holding the stick and then taking a bite. The fish did not taste like fish, but instead tasted like apples.

Stalks was about to take another bite when he heard a loud bell from somewhere. It sounded like something from a chapel. He looked up as if to see where it came from, but all he saw was Mr Ytrid suddenly standing in front of him besides the table. 

 

"I'm sorry but guest time is up." said the troll and then all Stalks could see was the troll's big hairy fist coming towards him, followed by utter blackness. 

[TheCzarsHussar]

Helen Quentas, Dales Moitre, Witchie

Afternoon,

Imperial City 

 

Helen adjusted her silver spectacles, and shyly raised her hand.  Putting her free-hand on her wooden desk, she waited. As predicated, her instructor pointed her finger at her, 

 

“Yes, Miss Helen?†

 

Helen said, in a shy voice,

 

“Jagar Tharn was royal advisor to Emperor Uriel Septim IV, responsible for usurping him, and secretly impersonating him. He was eventually stopped and brought to justice by the Eternal Champion.â€

 

Her instructor was tall, spoke in a clear, commanding voice, and was quite attractive. 

 

In other words, the opposite of Helen in all regards

 

She gave the imperial teen an approving nod. Helen herself was getting edgy, as her legs began to fidget, 

 

One more hour until work…

 

“Correct, Miss Helen.†The instructor began to walk around the class room, searching for students who weren’t paying attention. In total, there were around twenty five students in the room, all belonging to the upper echelons of the Empires elite. Children of nobles, high-ranking officers in the imperial army, and famous scholars all got there education from the Imperial Dragon Academy. Established in the late second era by Remulus Valerius, the Imperial Dragon Academy was known for its high standard and level of education. Unfortunately for him and the Valerius family, just after four years after establishing the academy,  his family estate caught fire by accident, tragically killing a majority of the family. After that, the academy came into the possession of the Tridus family of Colovia, and has remained as a private school for the privileged and rich ever since. 

 

Helen began to doze off, her mind filling with images of paper, words, ink, and hard leather covers. 

 

Helen’s teacher’s voice brought her back to the present, as she heard,

 

“ Remember class, tomorrow were learning about mid third-era history, so if you want a head start, read chapter seven though eight of “Brief History of The Empire Volume 3†Helen glanced to her side already seeing her classmates leaving there desks. The girl let out a hearty yawn, before grabbing her bag, and leaving the room.

 

****

Helen walked down the stone corridor, clad in her red and black school uniform, gripping her medium sized burlap bag tightly.  Passing by many of her schoolmates, none stopped to greet, or acknowledge her.  Her black braids went back and forth as she walked, and the red ribbons on her braids, thankfully, mundane enough not to attract any attention, followed suit. Helen didn’t want to wear them, but Valeria, one of there maids, insisted,

 

“Girls should express there beauty, my lady.†

 

Helen didn’t really understand what Valeria had meant, but afterwards, she also gave a warning not to trust the men at school. Which was, in Helen’s opinion, quite unfounded. In Helen’s experience, the boys at the Dragon Academy were very courteous, polite, and generally nice. While most didn’t go out of there way to make Helen feel comfortable, they were civil, and sometimes, even warm. It was the girls at the school who were the real nasty ones.

 

As expected from the elite of the empire, most of the men attending were exceptionally handsome, and the females extraordinarily beautiful. Helen was not. The only striking detail about her was her Lapis Lazuli eyes, which she shared with a good percentage of her family. With her braided hair, unhealthy pale skin, and her glasses, Helen wasn’t that all attractive, and from a family famed for there beauty, that was unacceptable. When she was younger, she was almost always ignored by all the other girls in her family, Especially by Mary Quentas, her second cousin. Mary was the lovely flower all the girls in the family wanted to be like. It so happened when Helen was a little girl, Mary tended to pretend that she didn’t even exist, simply because of her plain appearance. The other girls followed her example. Add that to the fact her parents tended to focus much on there work, Helen had a very lonely childhood.  The only people who gave her any sort of attention were her two cousins, Lillin, and Millnerius Quentas, daughters of Avegellion Quentas of Chorrol. Both Lillin and Millnerius, or Lilly and Milly as everyone called them always played with little Helen, not caring about how others perceived her. They were the daughters of the countess of Chorrol, so everyone had to show them respect regardless of who they associated with.

 

Lillin was a physician by trade, learning the art of medicine from the Dragon Academy when she was a young adult. She was also a master in herbal brewing, being one of the best in Cyrodili, and could whip up any king of potion that was required. She also had the unusual talent of finding hard to find information, as well as being skilled in the art of interrogation. Mixed with her experience in medicine and knowing how the body works, she was recruited as an interrogator in the Chorrol Pentiulas Occultus branch fifteen years ago.

 

Milly, like her sister was also a physician. She studied, instead, herbal and natural remedies from her mother, and was well sought out in Chorrol for her skill. Or she was, until she ran away across the sea.

 

The only other company she had were the servants and the maids, who would also play with her when she was younger. Most of the time, she would spend the day locked up in her room, reading books. Helen had always loved books, and she preferred there company over that of a humans. Books never made fun of you for your personality or your appearance. 

 

Helen passed by two older looking girls. The first one had long brown hair, while the second, had golden hair done in a bun.  One of them bumped into Helen very hard, causing the young girl to be thrown onto the ground, scattering her books, and having her glasses being throw off.  They paused for a second, snickering and barely glancing in her direction, one of them knelt and went close to Helen, smiling she said, 

 

“Were oh so sorry Helen.†The other one laughed, and said, 

 

“Yes. Very sorry.†

 

The other one got up from the ground, and joined the second. They turned around and left, laughing among themselves.

 

Helen hurriedly started to pick up her books, and then looked for her glasses. She paused, before started to frantically search on the ground for them, her vision very blurry. They were nowhere in sight. With slight hesitation, Helen glanced at the girls who were leaving. She got up, and ran to them. The student asked, in a shy, timid voice,

 

“Excuse me?†

 

The one who had bumped into Helen, answered with her eyes narrowing,

 

“Yes?†

 

Helen responded, 

 

“Ummmm…my glasses are missing…†Suddenly, the girls eyes filled with anger, and sharpened. To Helen’s shock and surprised she grabbed Helen’s collar, and said in a loud voice, 

 

“Are you accusing us you little bitch?â€

 

Helen who began to hyperventilate, said in a frantic tone of voice. She glanced around, no one else was here in the hallway. 

 

“I-…I…â€

 

Her grip tightened, 

 

“Listen here you four eyed freak-“

 

“Is there anything going on here?† Suddenly a man was behind the girl, placing his pale hand on her shoulder. He had black hair, and pale white skin. He looked to be around the same age as the two girls. He was well built, and had dark blue eyes. The young man’s face was blank, 

 

The bully left go of Helen’s collar, and turned around, throwing his hand off her shoulder, “You better watch it Infernus. My father could have you thrown in jail for touching me. Mind your own business.†

 

The young man smiled, 

 

“And my father is a high ranking officer in the Pentiulas Occultus, and a personnel advisor to her majesty Empress Moitre. You do well to remember that Laura.†The girl, Laura, let out a “Humpth†before telling her companion,

 

“Let’s go.†

 

The young man stopped her by once again, placing his hand over her shoulder, tightly. 

 

“You forgot something.†

 

Laura gave him a death stare, before taking Helen’s silver spectacles from her pocket and giving them to the young man. She and friend left the hallway, vanishing from sight. The young man turned to Helen, and placed her glasses in her hands. Helen hurriedly put them on, 

 

“Thank you…Edius.†

 

Edius Inferuns gave her a slight nod, “It was my pleasure. It’s my duty to protect the defenceless.†Helen knew that was just a nicer word for “The Weakâ€, but Edius always remained polite and courteous. However today, he gave her a disapproving frown, 

 

“Listen my lady, they can only pick on you if you let them. You need to start standing up to the lot of them. Or at least make it known that you’re a duchess.â€

 

Helen shook her head, 

 

“They…wouldn't believe me anyway.â€

 

He let out a sigh, 

 

“Look it’s your decision. But I wont always be here to protect you.†He gave the girl a bow, “Now if you’ll excuse me. My fathers expecting me in an hour.†He left Helen, disappearing from view as he went down the hallway. Helen hurriedly left the building, heading to the imperial palace and to work.  

 

****

 

Kongami gently picked up Dale's small hand and squeezed it, which Dales returned,

 

"It's alright. I'll be out here the entire time. Just go in and be straight forward." Dales nodded, and entered, into the bed chamber.

 

She found Skjari sitting in a chair by the window, looking out on the city. While wearing only simple and plain dark grey pants and shirt. He only gave Dales a weary glance. "You're a bit early."

 

"You alright?" She said with genuine concern, "You havn't been sleeping. That's saying somthing, since i've been barely sleeping as well."

 

 "It happens sometimes. When I'm reminded of certain... Anyway, what did you come here for?"

 

"Ehhh....maybe I just wanted to visit you?"

 

"For small talk?"

 

"Or that I found out my brother has a bastard whom I agreed to raise..."

 

"What?"

 

"I'm serious." She let out a breath of air, "I was considering have the mother and the baby killed...but how could have I killed my own niece?"

 

"I repeat: What? And take everything from the beginning."

 

 

Dales went from the beginning, and recalled everything, including the mothers first meeting, and High-General Ceno's suggestion. 

 

"So you want to fake a pregnancy instead?"

 

"Yes." She said with her head bowed low.

 

He began rubbing his temple lightly as he leaned the head on his hand. "A kid... I'm supposed to play father for?"

 

"Yes." She put her hands up, "Only in public. Helen Quentas has agreed, with quite a bit of enthusiasm, to help me raise her. So you dont have to worry about that."

 

"Good." was all he said. He seemed almost lost in thought.

 

"I'm sorry. This is alot to take in. However, I think it's for the best. The people, and the nobility, will recognize are claim to the ruby throne more now that we have a heir."

 

"Yes. And good thing about Helen. Was almost about to ask you to drop your clothes."

 

"She really is an amazing girl isn't she? Apparently I was passed out last night, and she dragged me to bed. Loyal girl." 

 

"Though what shall we do when the child grows older? She wont have any of my Nordic traits. And was the mother a blonde Breton?"

 

"Brown haired. She was an imperial however, and has my families clear blue eyes along with my families general Physique." 

 

"I'll guess that'll do. For now at least. A year from after her 'birth' people will start asking for spares."

 

"Spares?"

 

"Spares. Do you think royals put all their eggs in one basket?"

 

"Ah. We'll manage that when it happens. We can always fake miscarriages."

 

"Yeah. I just hope it wont lead to accusations of lacking fertility. They can almost be as bad as accusations of being an incompetent ruler."

 

"Whatever. What matters is here and now."

 

"I was just thinking of the time I faced those accusations. But you're right; one child solves about three fourths of the problem."

 

"It'll also be a nice change of pace."

 

"To have a child or not having to hear people nag about when you're going to get pregnant?"

 

"Both."

 

A few seconds of silence passed before Skjari broke it. "How do look forward to the life of being married?"

 

"Not excited. Horrible sex. Weird meetings in public, and stupid public apperances." 

 

"There wont be any sex unless your sexuality comes into question again though."

 

"Very good. I'm tired of you ravaging my area with your...snake."

 

"Tired after only one time? Good thing I got women who likes the 'snake'."

 

"Nah, they all love me more. I can make a straight women bisexual in one night." 

 

"Keep dreaming."

 

"Koni barely sleeps with you. She's all mine....but I haven't really slept with anyone for a month now." 

 

Though that might be because I don't react as much to physical pain as she would like to."

 

"Pain is the truest expression of love, as she say's." 

 

"I've had enough cuts, burns and whatnot to not associate pain with love."

 

"Regardless, how goes the wedding preparations?"

 

"Progressing. And I'll conjure up some pretty twinkles as decoration, in addition to what we've already agreed upon, when the day comes."

 

"This sham of a wedding is bullshit."

 

"No less so than your coronation."

 

"Hey, at least I cut down that bastard and his bodyguards myself." 

 

"Still doesn't really change much."

 

"Well, if you want me to find your more attractive, why dont you grow breasts, become a girl, and grow your hair long?"

 

"What? I don't think I've ever said I wanted that. And honestly, the reason you had to deal with having sex with me is because you like women in the first place."

 

"So you think I choose to like women? I was always like this. I tried flirting with a bunch of young noblewomen back in my princess day's. It was very pathetic to watch, according to Koni and Miku." 

 

"Well tough luck you became a princess then."

 

"I thought I was very charming." She puffed,

 

"I doubt it would have changed much if you were."

 

"I'm the 0.9 percent after all. Lilly hasn't made any moves on me, which is quite surprising." 

 

"Maybe you're not enough of a woman for her."

 

"You calling me a little girl?" She put her hand to her hips, 

 

A little."

 

"Har har har." She eyed with sharply, "If i'm a little girl, you had sex with me. Which means your a pedophilla."

 

He gave small, light chuckle. "You know what I mean. Anyway, speaking of your endowment: We should make sure to get your milk glands working. Or are you going to hire the mother as a wet nurse?"

 

"Nah i'll do it myself." She laughed, "Helen was begging me to make her breasts give milk, but I told her she was too young." 

 

"You want to get on it tomorrow?"

 

"Maybe. Though i'll have to tell Kongami that my breasts aren't going to be used in her sick fetishes."

 

"Yeah, you do that."

 

"Anyway, is there anything you'd like to ask?"

 

"And is there anything else we nee-" he said but was then grew silent as they heard the secret passage open.

 

"Interrupting something? You want to tell him something your majesty?" It was Lilly Quentas. She was wearing...very revealing clothing. Dales smiled, and shook her head, "Nothing. Nothing at all." 

 

"Good. Now if you'll excuse us." said Skjari as he got up from the chair and embraced Lilly. Kissing her on the mouth and moving down along her throat towards her breasts, which he had already exposed.

 

Dales had already left, breathing very hard.

 

Hmmmm. Safe for now.

 

******************

 

This is kinda creepy...

 

Helen walked among the streets of the elven garden district, admiring the pretty flowers under the moonlight. She was wearing a very expensive dress, along with her hair done in red ribbons. Lilly sure liked showing her off.  She finally made it to were the address specified. A large, but run down mansion. It was covered in vegatation, and the garden, while beautiful, was way out of proportion.  Helen made her way through the garden, and went to the front door. Knocking.  As helpless as she seemed, Helen knew basic destruction magic, and Lilly had most likely sent somone to watch her from the dark. 

 

A young Breton girl in servant clothing opened the door. "Yes, may I help you?"

 

Helen buttered out, becoming downcast, "Ummmm....the lady of...the house...is expecting me...My-my name is Helen...Quentas," 

 

The servant girl eyed Helen with a curious look for second. "Wait right here for a second." and the she shut the door. A minute later she opened the door. "You may come in. And my lady wishes to know what you would like to do?"

 

"OH. Ummmmm...I dont really know what there is to do...drink...tea?"

 

"Come in." the servant stepped aside and gestured for Helen to come inside. "I'll take you to my lady."

 

Helen shyly went up the servant girl.

 

The servant girl closed and locked the door behind Helen and went ahead towards the stairs.

 

Helen followed the servant, nervously glancing around.

 

They went through the hallway and up the stairs that lead to a corridor. The servant stopped by a door on the right an opened it. 

 

Helen walked through the door, shyly looking around for Lillies friend.

 

Pelena sat in the same chair as when Lilly had left her. Though this time she was facing the door and was reading a book. She closed the book and put it down on the small table besides her as Helen came in. She gave Helen a small smile. "Hello."

 

Helen hid behind her glasses, and said shyly, "Ummmmm....Hello...."

 

"Well aren't you a shy one?"

 

"OH, i'm sorry?!" She said, rather loud bowing her head.

 

"Oh, don't worry. Why don't you sit down?" Pella gestured to the couch opposite of her.

 

"Is that...okay?" She asked 

 

"Why wouldn't it be if I just offered you to sit down?" she asked, slightly surprised at Helen's shyness.

 

"Oka-okay..." She went to the couch and took a seat.

 

"So what you want to do?"

 

 "Ummmm...what is there to do?"

 

Talk; discuss things. Or go out and go shopping. What do you like to do?"

 

"Maybe...both? I need to buy panties." She grew worried face, two reasons. Raine said that the only way she could remain friends with her majesty was to wear only lace underwear. And Karsh said Lilly might have put somthing in them.

 

"Panties?" Pella said, trying to suppress the displeasure and discomfort in her voice.

 

"Yes. Mine are getting too small for me." 

 

"But isn't that something Lilly should help you buy?"

 

"I dont like Lillie's taste in clothing...and...she's been looking through my underwear drawers as of late. So I dont...feel comfortable shopping for panties with her."

 

"That's a little odd of Lilly." Pella said, her discomfort becoming more and more apparent. "Well fine then. I know a good, discreet tailor in the Market District."

 

She gave her a warm, innocent, cute smile, "Thank you."

 

Pelena got up from her chair. "Well lets go then."

 

Helen followed her. 

 

"Gwyn!" Pella shouted once they were outside the room. 

 

Soon a the Breton girl from the door came half running towards them. "Yes, my lady?" she said and bowed her head.

 

"We're going out shopping. You're coming with us." 

 

"Yes, my lady." the servant replied humbly. 

 

"So what are you doing during the days?" Pella then asked Helen as they began walking down the stairs. 

 

"Well I had school. And after school, I work as her majesties hand maiden till eight, though I usually stay till twelve. Sundas is the only say I have off."

 

"And how is school?"

 

She paused for a second, "While I love learning new things, all the other girls are very cruel to me. But it's tolerable, since i'm used to it." 

 

"Do they know who you are?" Pella asked as she opened the door to let everyone through. 

 

Helen went out, "I dont know if they do. They wouldn't really care. I think they do it because I look and act different then how they do."

 

"Well as I remember from my young days," Pella closed and locked the door before going on. "we were told that school was a good place to make connections for later in life. So literally: the higher the status of your parent; the more people wanted to be friends with you."

 

"The only friends I have are from work.  And one girl I know from school."

 

"Well maybe if you toughened up a bit and maybe made a subtle mention on you family's status, maybe the others will start to treat you more nicely."

 

"I dont like hiding behind my families status. Since I barely see my mother and father. Lilly and Milly were the ones who raised me." She paused, "And besides, girls can be crueler then adults. It's not that new.

 

"Well it's at least something to consider. Think about it next time you meet those girls."

 

"I will." 

 

"And how is the palace?"

 

"Very nice. Everyone is extremely nice to me. Especially her majesty." 

 

"Yeah, I'm sure she is." 

 

"She rarely smiles though. I wonder why such a nice person dosen't smile often."

 

"The crown is so heavy that it pushes down and stiffens the facial muscles that you use to smile."

 

"Really?" She asked,

 

"No, I'm just pulling your leg."

 

"Oh." 

 

"So have you tried hunting?" Pella said after a moment of silence. 

 

"Hunting?" She looked curiously at the sky, "I havn't. Though Lilly is quite the hunter."

 

"I'm sure she is. Maybe you could ask her to bring you on a hunt. Or if she's too busy, arrange a hunt for you."

 

"I dont like harming animals." She said softly, "There's a family of little cute bunnies by the pond which I like to visit. Could never dream of harming them."

 

"Then what do you do during your spare time."

 

"Read. And I like gardening."

 

The walked on in silence till they reached the tailor's shop: The Perfect Dress. Outside it didn't look much and the sign didn't hold much more than a picture of a simple and plain dress. But on the inside it was filled with clothes, dresses and sheets of cloth. The finest dresses and clothes were displayed on mannequins on the far left wall. 

"Now stay close." Pella said as she walked up to the counter. 

 

There stood a Colovian woman dressed in a fine yet humble dress. "My lady." she said. The woman looked a little uneasy at the sight of Pelena. "Didn't you find the mourning clothes satisfactory?"

 

"No it's not that. My friends here is looking for some new clothes. Come here Helen."

 

Helen glanced all around the store looking at all the fabrics, with a bewildered expression. Helen, while having a fair amount of clothing, didn't have nearly as many as Lilly. During most of the day, Helen wore her school and maid uniform. She went up Pelena, and tugged at her dress, becoming shy once again,

 

"Ummmm...may...I see your pantie selection?"

 

The women pointed towards a door to the right.

 

"Go on. I'll wait right here." Pella said.

 

"Willl...you wait for me?" She said 

 

"I just said I would. Now please."

 

She nodded, entering into the door. 

 

******

 

"So, do you follow the news?" Pella asked as they closed in on her home. 

 

"I suppose." She said quietly, "Not really though."

 

"What do you know about recent events?"

 

"Well, her majesty was telling me there was a murder recently. So she insisted I take a palace guard as an escort when I left to go back to Lillies mansion." 

 

"You mean the one Lilly is investigating?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"Ah. Well, lets not speak about that one. Okay?" Pella asked but continued before Helen could respond. "So, do you know about the mass execution in Leyawiin or the civil war in High Rock?"

 

"Hmmmm. I know a little  about Leyawiin. Lord Snow-Strider was there, correct?"

 

"Yeah, I heard he was behind the mass execution."

 

"Well they were horrible criminals weren't they?"

 

"From what I've heard yes. Only filthy terrorists of that cat people."

 

She looked at her strangely, "You dont like the Khajit?"

 

"They're scoundrels. And as they've shown in Leyawiin; murderers, rapist and marauders as well."

 

"Are they really that bad?" She asked. Lilly alwyas told her basing your judgment on an entire race by a group of them was a bad thing to do.

 

"Judging by Leyawiin, yes. Not to mention that most of them are allied with the Dominion."

 

heard a group of them raped and murdered a noble family. Forgot who it was..."

 

"That's what I'm talking about. Hopefully they learnt their lesson in Leyawiin."

 

"Are you scarred of them?"

 

"Not really. But I'd definitely don't want to be in the shoes of those living on the border to Elsweyr."

 

"Isn't the legion stationed on mass there though?"

 

"I think so. Though it they may be more concentrated around the Valenwood border. I don't have any insight in how the army is deployed. But none of it changes the fact that it's not that safe down there."

 

"Hmmmm. Maybe I should warn Lilly never to visit there." She played along, she disagreed with Pelana, but she didn't want to upset her or cause an argurement. She made a note to ask Lilly about it. 

 

"I think that will be necessary. I'm sure Lilly already knows how unsafe it is at the border."

 

"Have you ever been there?"

 

"No."

 

"Have you live in the imperial city all your life?"

 

"Mostly. My family have a small manor northwest of the city."

 

"Your father's an elder councilor correct?"

 

"Yes. How so?"

 

"Oh. Lilly was telling me about a few of her friends. She mentioned your dad was a member of the elder counciler, so I was just making sure."

 

"Okay. Though do you really think Lilly would give faulty information given her job?"

 

"Well. Cant be too careful. Lilly is a slippery one."

 

"Yeah. She can be odd." 

 

"Very odd. But she means well. Lilly and her sister pratically raised me, so I owe alot to them."

 

"What happened to your parents then?"

 

She paused, before saying, "My parents were always busy, so they had no time for me."

 

"What do they work with?"

 

"My mother is a duchess and my father is a duke. Are fief's require alot of hands on running of the place, so there usual busy doing that." She stopped herself, before saying, "I shouldn't complain though. Plenty of people barely have enough food and water to eat and drink. I have it very good." 

 

"So how was growing up with Lilly?"

 

"Fine. She always would take her time to talk to me about my day, read to me before bed, and play with me during the day."

 

"So do you want some tea before you head back home?" Pella asked as she began unlocking the door to her home. 

 

"Sure." Helen said, 

 

"Follow me. Gwyn, go get us some tea." Pella ordered the servant girl before she led Helen back to the room where they had first met. 

 

Helen took a seat.

 

"So, do you have a husband yet?"

 

"No. But I do intend to find one soon. I'm sure if I just show off my status, it will net me many suitors."

 

"It's strange you dont have a suitor yet."

 

"I've had a few but none of the wealth and status I would find adequate."

 

"what do you want?"

 

"A wealthy lord with some elegance. All of my suitors have had a respectable title, but none has had both the charms and the gold."

 

"you want someone very rich?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Handsome? Like a prince."

 

"Preferably. Though at least look a little above average. And what about you, what kind of husband do you want?"

 

She looked thoughtfully for a second, "I really have no interest in men right now."

 

"I know you're a bit too young right now. But something to consider for the future."

 

"True I suppose. A hudband would provide finical stability."

 

Pelena was about to say something when Gwyn, the servant girl, came in through the door. She was carrying a tray with two teacups in expensive fine porcelain. As she approached the two noblewomen she hit her foot on the table leg, which caused her to fall forward and spilling the tea onto Pella. The teacups broke and Gwyn was left on all four looking down in the floor in shame as Pella looked in shock at the stains on her dress. 

 

"Ummmm...shall I clean it up for you?" Helen got out of her seat red faced. 

 

"No need. I'll get a servant for it. In the meantime Gwyn here will help me change dress. Please just wait right here." Pella got up from her chair, grabbed the servant girl by the arm and pulled her with her out of the room, then closed the door behind them.

 

Helen squirmed. Something felt off. 

 

It wont hurt if I take a peak. Pella didn't look pleased.

 

Suprising, Helen was quite the good sneak. Despite how clumsy was, when she was focused, she could move around undetected. Helen joked it was because she lived her entire life in the shadows of her family. She got out of her chair, and quietly snuck to the door, Pella and the servant went through, she took a peek through the key hole. 

 

She saw Pelena, now having let go of the servant girl, walk down the hall with Gwyn in toe. Pella seemed to be lecturing the servant girl but she spoke too low for Helen to be able to hear exactly what was said. Then the servant girl said something which caused Pella to suddenly turn around and slap the girl across the face with the back of her hand. Pelena then just said something in very sharp tone before continuing down the corridor. The servant girl followed as before but now held her hand on the cheek that had been hit. They went through a door on the left almost at the end of the corridor. 

 

Helen covered her mouth to stop the gasp from coming out. She wanted to make sure the  servant girl was all right, but she couldn't reveal her presence. Like a ghost she went down the hallway, tip toeing, and slid to the side of the door, before opening it up slightly and peaking in the inside. 

 

There Pella was in the process of undressing and taking off every piece of clothe that had gotten wet by the tea, which was  almost everything except her underwear and her shoes. There she stood half naked and waited while Gwyn picked out dresses from Pella's wardrobe and showed them to her. Pella regarded each dress for a couple of second before shaking her head.

 

What a bitch.

 

Helen wasn't embarssed by the sight of another women in her under wear. She occasionally helped her majesty change her clothing from time to time when she too tired. The sight of her majesty, naked, however was a little too much.

 

Helen noticed...a very off piece of jewelry around the woman's neck. Helen...thought she had seen it before in a book. But before she could look at it more intently Pellana had put it away.  Helen quickly decided it was time for her to get back to the living room, and excuse herself. Which she did. She paid no mind to the woman changing, instead telling a servant girl, "Tell the lady of the household I just remembered I had important business to attend to." She grabbed her panties, and headed to the door, 

[TheCzarsHussar]

Albecias Plebo

Black Horse Courier

Midday

 

The renowned author sat at his private desk in the newspaper’s office, preparing a set of question for his planned interviews with the Empress, Court Mage, High General, and if possible the High Admiral. They were fairly common interview fare, nothing too exciting, although there would be questions as to just what exactly that explosion of light and falling Dunmer were.

 

Albecias’ scribbling was interrupted by courier, who entered abruptly without so much as a knock. He rank of the sour, onion smell of sweat, and the reporter grimaced as the stench assaulted his nostrils and laid siege to his senses.

 

“By the gods, have you ever heard of a bath? You smell like giant pissed on a mammoth in the summer,†he said, covering his face with a handkerchief.

 

The courier flushed with embarrassment, backing away from Albecias. “My apologies, sir, I haven’t had time to wash up. Urgent message, you see.â€

 

Dropping the letter on the desk, the messenger fled as quickly as he had arrived, leaving behind only the lingering odor of his unwashed body, and the slightest trace of grime where he had gripped the letter. Albecias gripped it between two fingers, wiping off the message with his handkerchief. The letter bore no sigil on its waxen seal, and no identifying marks of any kind. He pried the wax off with his fingernail and opened the trifolded letter.

 

Mr. Plebo,

 

You no doubt question the origin of this letter, but I’m afraid I cannot sate your curiosity. All you need to know is that what I tell you is true.

 

Skjari Snow-Strider, court mage to the Empress and her soon to be husband, has bound his soul to hers using an ancient form of magic. No doubt you’ve noticed he rose to prominence rather quickly, which seems mysterious, until you realize he controls her every move.

 

I have compiled a list of people who may know of this conspiracy, or who may have helped him with it. They are listed below. I should not need to tell you though, that this man is dangerous, and if you choose to investigate you must do so with the utmost discretion. Your profiles on the Imperial leadership should make that relatively easy. There will be no further contact between us, besides the sum of gold that has been left in your apartment. That should help you decide whether or not to undertake this investigation.

 

High General Ceno, who was in Skyrim with the man.

Spymaster Lillin Quentas, whose affair with the man is well known.

Magdela Bathory, whose affair with the man is also well known.

Generals Retrius and Lithin, who have previously questioned who he is.

The Synod, were he reportedly studied before going to Skyrim.

 

My agents inside the palace also tell me that he frequently beds the maids, so they too may know something. Again, do not try to contact me, or you will be all the worse for it. Find what you can, and if it is worth publishing, do so. There may be a reward for that if you do.

 

-L

 

Albecias set the letter down, thoroughly perplexed. He couldn’t believe that the mage was controlling the Empress, but it did match up with his meteoric rise from mage to Emperor. Still, that could be explained as simply politics, but this was too juicy a lead to simply disregard. Investigating couldn’t hurt, and it fit his profiles plan perfectly. And it beat the Waterfront District fire that Iszara had asked him to help on. How that imbecile needed help reporting a fire, he couldn’t fathom.

 

He rose and leaned his head outside his office, looking over the desks of lesser reporters and writers, to see if maybe the courier was still hanging around. As expected, he had vanished, and Albecias was secretly glad. He didn’t like the ominous feeling he got from the letter, nearly threatening him if he even looked into who sent it.

 

Although, he thought, sitting back down, there is only one person who I know that has agents, despises the court mage, and would glad see his downfall. Coincidentally, that man’s name also begins with the letter “Lâ€.  But would Lorgar be so stupid as to sign a secret letter with his own initial? No, but whoever did write it was trying to throw suspicion elsewhere. Regardless, who wrote the letter isn’t so important as the story that could come from this. Seems the gods have given me a chance to break the largest story in all of Tamriel.

 

Albecias smirked at his luck, already scheming how he could phrase questions to worm information out of the leadership. He had reason to talk to Ceno, and could ask his friend in the Synod for help on that front. Bathory he could write to, although he had no clue where she was. The two generals would be difficult, but with the war nearing, surely he could find an excuse to talk to them. And Colonel Quentas he’d need to talk to so they could finish the investigation into the Tridus girl’s murder. All in all, whoever wanted this information dug up, had come to exactly the right person. The writer did not enjoy being manipulated, but he cared more for the story than his hurt ego. That would be repaired when he brought down the most powerful man in all of Cyrodiil. 

 

[TheCzarsHussar]

Stalks-Deep-Waters

Morning

 

Stalks slowly but steadily began to open his eyes. Everything was a little foggy at first but as his eyes adjusted he was shocked by what he saw: the head of a big snake staring at him only a couple of feet away. The snake had a dark green color but what was most odd was the big, brown, twirling mustache it had on the nose. It's not over? Stalks wondered as he just kept staring at the snake who just stared back at him. They just kept staring for another minute and as Stalks began glancing on his surroundings he noticed that he was still sitting behind the statue he had used to hide from the legionaries. The snake had the main part of it's body upon the pedestal and was now stretching it's neck over and then down to Stalks. 

"Hello frrriend." the snake said in soft and melodic voice. "Pleasant drrreams?" the snake continued.

 

Stalks then began to remember the cave, the talking troll, the door with three riddles and the underground mansion. Stalks again just stared back the snake with wide open eyes. "Who - what - how?" Stalks stuttered as he tried to form a coherent question. 

 

"Those are verry interrresting questions." the snake solemnly replied. Then the snake's tail came down from the pedestal to twirl it's big mustache.

 

"So, will you answer them?" Stalks asked while wonder if he should try to stab the snake with his dagger that he still held. 

 

"No." the snake replied calmly while still twirling it's mustache.

 

"Then you wouldn't mind if go?" Stalks then began to slowly creep to the side along the pedestal. 

 

"No I wouldn't mind at all. Crrawl along."

 

Stalks just followed the snake with his eyes and as soon as he had gotten a few feet away from it he darted up from the ground and ran into the forest, not even bothering to look back to see if the snake was still there or if it was following him. He ran till he was sure the snake or whatever it had been was far behind. Then he turned to walking at a brisk pace instead. 

So he continued till he found a small stream in which he quickly cleaned off the blood and the little pieces of flesh that had gotten stuck in the barbs on the dagger. After having sheathed the dagger and had a decent meal (a piece or dried meat and a few berries) he set out once again for the Green Road. However the murder he had committed made him wary of traveling on one of the main roads; which was assured to be patrolled by guards and legionaries. His best hope was that he would travel faster than the word of his deed, or more precisely: the description of the murderer. 

 

He came across one patrol of legionaries as he came nearer to Bravil. Stalks just acted as he usually did and tried to pay the soldiers no mind as he went about his own business. Luckily the legionaries did the same and payed Stalks no mind, except for the few suspicious glances Stalks usually got from landstriders. And once the legionaries had passed and were well out range, Stalks let out great sigh of relief. 

He did not stop by in Bravil. While he had heard that the city had been retaken and gotten a lot safer, he had his doubt that the city would have any supplies worth buying. So he continued along the Green Road toward the Golden Road. During the night he slept out in the forest in hastily made shelters and the couple of times he decided to sleep at an inn he made sure to leave quickly at dawn. 

He passed by Skingrad as hastily as he had done with Bravil. And with the last major settlement behind him he felt a relief. The chances of stumbling upon a patrol that would recognize him was now slim. Stalks followed the road west for a while before turning south towards the Strid River. His plan was to dive into the big river and swim underwater up one of the smaller rivers in Valenwood that flowed out in the Strid River. That would get him fairly close to the coordinates he had been given. 

When he reached the Strid River he saw that he was up on a high cliff with the great river running far below. Stalks looked both up and down the river but could see no good way to easily get down the cliff. He had been expecting cliffs as they had been shown on the map, but not of this height. Seeing no other option he took several steps back and took a moment to make sure all his bags and equipment was firmly fixed to his body. He took a deep breath and ran towards the edge. As he leaped from the cliff he hoped that he would get out far enough to land in the deep parts of the water. 

For a second he thought he might instead hit the slope at the lower parts of the cliffs, but as they passed beneath him; he put together his hand in front of him as he dived down towards the water like a spear. He went through the surface with relative ease, with only his equipment preventing the effectiveness of his streamlined body. After a quick peek above the surface for directions he made his way towards the outlet of the river he had chosen to swim upstream of. At first the river was hard with strong currents. Which forced Stalks to go deeper and swim just above the riverbed where the current was weaker than at the surface. 

When the strong current subsided and the water got calmer he went up the surface for another look. Now being surrounded by trees he had a hard time making out his position. There were no easily recognizable landmarks or anything from the map. Suddenly he saw small lines running along the surface of water. Instinctively he pulled out his spear and dived down under the water and as expected he saw the crocodile coming at him in high speed. He made a quick move and fake thrust to the crocodile's side only to turn around and drive the other end of the spear up the crocodile's jaw as it opened it's mouth wide to bite. It was old move he had learnt back in Black Marsh and had by now gotten quite the routine for him. The crocodile began to sink to the bottom when Stalks pulled out the spear and Stalks had no intentions of pulling that heavy body out of the water. So he let it sink and become food for the other river creatures. 

As night fell he left the water and went upon land. He did not know what to expect from the creatures of Valenwood but he decided to take no risks. He climbed up a nearby giant tree, using his claws on hands and feet to bury them into the thick bark, to it's lowest branch. After having made sure the immediate area was safe from whatever might be lurking in the forest, he lied down on the wide branch. He had a little trouble falling asleep as he kept worrying that he might fall off the branch or that some hungry animal would descend upon him. 

 

The next day he awoke to feeling that something was wrapped around his leg and lightly tugging at it. In panic he opened his eyes and tried shaking off the animal. The creature withdrew and Stalks thrashing almost got him to fall off the branch. And before he could regain his composure he heard a strangely familiar voice:

"Is that how you grrreet and old acquaintance?"

 

Stalks shot up and just stared at the big, dark green snake with the big, brown, twirling mustached that now nestled on the branch a few feet away from him. "How?!" was all Stalks managed to let out. 

 

"So wherre are we going?" the snake asked, simply ignoring Stalks question and altogether shock and surprise. 

 

"'We' are not going anywhere. 'I'," Stalks pointed at himself. "am going to my new job. 'You'," now Stalks pointed at the big snake. "will stay here."

 

"If you say so."

 

"Good." Stalks said as he backed off from the big snake that just watched him curious eyes. Stalks then began his descent by the same he had gotten up in the tree. He looked over his shoulder between each step down to see that the snake remained on the branch and just looked at Stalks. 

When he got down on the ground he did the same as he went along the riverbank till the snake was finally out of sight. 

 

After some more traveling with little hassle (and no more mustached snakes) Stalks arrived closely to the place specified by the coordinates. Though the map with coordinates that he had bought was of paper and wasn't so easy to read after his long swim in the river. But he was still sure that the camp was nearby. 

 

A slight sound reached Stalks ear, like a leaf falling. Suddenly Stalks could feel cold steel on his neck. A feminine voice came into his ear:

"One move, Argonian and I cut your throat."

 

"You greet all new employees like this?" said Stalks, assuming that this person was from the camp.

 

"Silence your tongue." Stalks could notice several other figures emerge from the foliage behind him. "We've been stalking you ever since you entered are boundaries. What business do you have?" 

 

"You didn't get what I meant by 'new employees'? I was told to give some commanding officer here a note."

 

"Slowly put it on the ground."

 

Stalks slowly moved his hand to the pocket containing the vial with the note, still dry and in good condition. He held it up so whoever was holding the blade could see it's content. After a few seconds of showing of the vial he slowly and carefully opened it. Holding forth the vial at arms length he simply tipped the vial so the little note fell onto the ground.

"Are you people usually this afraid of notes?" Stalks then asked a little half jokingly. 

 

"Shut up or I'll stick this knife up your egg poach." said the woman. Three figures emerged from the woods. They were wearing dark green leather armor, along with black leather masks that covered there faces.

 

The one behind said: "Pick it up private."

 

One of the trio did so, a tall and heavily built man. He said; in a rather cold voice: "This is dominion shadow corps code for sure. We should take him to Colonel Saladin."

 

One of the masked soldiers, the one to the tall ones right said: "I don't know. The colonel isn't really in a good mood."

 

Shadow corpse? Odd name. Stalks thought. "Well I just want my assignment. Then I'll be off."

 

"Shut up." the female said. After a minute, she finally spoke, "Bag him." and suddenly hands gripped Stalks. He lost vision as something was placed over his head.

 

I've never had such bad treatment by an employer. Stalks thought as he was manhandled. But he did not resist. And he stayed silent, even though he wanted to say something snarky to that stingy woman who seemed to be the one barking the orders.

 

One of the men manhandling Stalks whispered something into his ear: "Forgive the sergeant for her behavior. She doesn't trust anyone. Just don't resist and you wont be harmed."

 

"I came here for an job. And your 'sergeant' is making me want to go find a new employer. Do you treat all new mercenaries that come here like this?" Stalks whispered back. 

 

"Your not a wolf that's for sure. The colonel handles contracts in this area. He's most likely just going to process and send you on your way to your new unit. Who recruited you?"

 

"A small woman, or girl. If that make any sense to you."

 

"Did she have white hair?"

 

"Yes, I think so."

 

"Then that's miss Akney."

 

"Aheh." muttered Stalks. The name didn't tell him anything and he didn't really care for it anyway.

 

After a good hour, Stalks realized they were taking him inside some kind of building. When the bag came off he saw that he was in some sort of holding cell. There was a table, with a set of three chairs. Only a single person was in the room with him. A tall looking man, whom, like his comrades, face was covered by a leather mask.

He said: "The colonel will be with you shortly." 

 

Must get unbearably hot in those masks. Stalks thought before he spoke: "Is all this really necessary in order to give me my assignment?" 

 

"Precautions are necessary." Said a very tall looking man entering the room, He was wearing a Hammerfell styled dark leather long-coat, and seemed to wear a chain mail underneath going by the small amounts of it you could see under his sleeves. Attached to his coat, was a black hood, but he wore it down. Like the others Stalks had seen, his face was covered with a leather mask, but unlike the rest, he had some kind of animal skull painted over on the front. The most distinctive feature about him, however, in place of his right eye, there was a bright red glow. On his back, was strapped a large greatsword. "I apologize for my subordinates mistreatment of you, however with this region being infested with Rebels, you cant be too careful. Please, have a seat."

 

Stalks hesitated for a moment before he took a seat in the chair closest to him. But he couldn't take his eyes of the red glow. It made him feel a little uneasy. "Though I would expect any rebels to be less scaly."

 

"As I said, I cant be too careful." He paused, before taking a seat. He lied down a scroll on the table, and prepared ink and a quill. "Your name please."

 

Stalks hesitated for a second, partly because he had second thoughts (given the treatment he had just endured) and partly because he was not good with a pen. He then picked up the quill, dipped it into the ink and began to write. The end result wasn't pretty and looked like a child had written the name, along with a couple of ink dots around the name. "There. I guess."

 

The man didn't comment on Stalks poor writing skills. "The message you were given was in Dominion code. If a competent legionary, or Oculatus agent recognized it, and found it among your possessions, you would have been drawn and quartered."

 

"Great. Though I don't see how they can tell one set of numbers apart from another. But I'm not going ask. Now I just want to be on my way."

 

"I still have to process you." The man said, he chuckled, "Is my eye disturbing you?"

 

"A little. And what do you mean by 'process'?"

 

The man put up his hood, shrouding his entire face in complete darkness. Not even the glowing red shone through. "I'm simply going to give you details on your contract, and send you to them. You of course, will be escorted by one of my commando's until you're out of my bases border."

 

"Okay. Will I get something or will this new group just have to take my word for it that I'm hired?"

 

"This." He offered Stalks a sealed scroll, "You'll be working for the 8th light infantry skirmishers. A group composed of all Dominion loyal Bosmer. In a sense, you're an irregular."

 

Stalks slowly retrieved the scroll. "Well I will certainly stick out like a sore thumb then." he muttered.

 

"It's decent pay, and you get fed. So it's a pretty good deal."

 

"Wasn't there a roof above my head and a bed to sleep in also part of the deal?"

 

"Depends. You might have to sleep on the ground when your out in the field. Your unit is stationed at a very old imperial fort. So I suppose you will."

 

"The short lady who recruited me said I might also get to sell any loot I find. So will I be able to?"

 

"My men aren't. Looting is unprofessional. But I know for a fact that your commanding officer is much more...liberal in regards to his troops behavior, so yes, you should be allowed to take any loot you find." the man sounded a little smug, "Did this short lady have white hair?"

 

"Yeah. One of your men said she was Akney and I think that was how she presented herself. And while you think looting is unprofessional, it's been a way for me to get by when an employer has decided to pay me less than what was originally promised."

 

"What's your usual line of work?"

 

"Sword for hire, bounty hunting, that kind of stuff."

 

"So your no assassin?"

 

"No. I guess some jobs has been close to what one might call an assassination, but that's about it."

 

"Not your style, eh?"

 

"I prefer to lay in ambush. But breaking into a house and slit the throat of someone sleeping isn't my style, yes."

 

"How long have you been a merc?"

 

"Should be six, seven years now."

 

"Not too long huh? What did you do before this?"

 

"Hunt, fish, pick herbs. I'm from inner Black Marsh as you probably might see on my slightly more... bestial appearance."

 

"Ah. What decided to make your pursue a life of bloodshed?"

 

"I wanted to travel. And I knew how to handle a weapon."

 

"I wanted to travel. And I knew how to handle a weapon."

 

"And do you enjoy it?"

 

"I like the traveling and excitement. The violence I'm mostly indifferent to."

 

"Then why not an explorer instead of a mercenary?"

 

"Because how many will hire explorers?"

 

"Ah, you kill for gold." The man drew his greatsword and started to flourish it, striking the air. The sword itself looked very old, having a very strange looking pale rust about it. Blood red runes covered the blade all the way to the hilt. It was large, even for a greatsword. It was almost unbelievable a man could hold it without two hands.

 

"So are we done here?" said Stalks as he watched the blade, less out of fascination but more out of a worry that the weird man would slip with the sword and hit him. And that the man was swinging such a large blade in a relatively tight space didn't feel any more assuring.

 

"Yes quite." A black bag was placed on Stalks head, and Stalks felt a blunt object hit into his head, as the darkness came to him, he heard a primal chuckle, "Always be aware of your surroundings."

 

Stalks felt like he was still sitting in a chair, a second later the bag was removed and he was almost blinded by the light. But instead of the somewhat dark and dreary room, he was now sitting in the same chair and in the same room as when he had had tea with the talking troll. And almost to Stalks' anticipation: there was the troll sitting in the chair at opposite far side of the table. 

He looked around a little but the room was pretty much the same as it was when he left. Though this time it wasn't teatime and instead it the skeever seemed to be preparing dinner. The rat butler held in one hand a overly large tray on which a couple pots and plates containing various dishes (that looked in various degrees both delicious and strange) that he placed out along the table. When the tray was empty the butler simply ran out through the large rat hole in the wall and shortly returned with a new, filled tray. 

Mr Ytrid, the troll, didn't speak or really react to Stalks presence. Stalks didn't seem to mind being ignored right now as he moved his hand to feel the soreness of where he had been hit. It wasn't that bad but he definitely wished that those "Shadow Corpses" could have found a better way to treat new employees than abductions and blows to the head. 

Another minute passed as the skeever laid the table and Stalks just sat there trying to come to terms with being the this weird place again. He took a closer look at Mr Ytrid across the table and saw that the troll still had that odd scarf, but no longer had the mushroom on top of the head. 

Once the table was brimming with dishes to the point that some seemed to be about to fall of the edge, and the skeever did not return from the big rat hole, Mr Ytrid stood up. "Welcome back. I'm glad you accepted my dinner invitation." 

 

At the declaration that Stalks had gotten a dinner invitation made Stalks unsure of what to say, as he clearly hadn't gotten one, but at the same time he didn't want to offend the troll. "I... was passing by in the area. And I... uhm... couldn't pass up an opportunity for a good meal." he then finally said, hoping the troll would accept it as an answer. 

 

"And I hope the food wont disappoint then. Now, lets eat!" Mr Ytrid declared and sat down in a solemn manner. 

 

Stalks at first just watched the dishes and wondered what to eat. On one platter was a green mouse that looked like squashed peas and topped with an apple that had a small worm sticking out on the side of it. In a bowl was a blue liquid that looked and moved like a miniature of the sea, and in the sea was something that looked like a small boat. Stalks leaned closer to look closer at the boat and what it was made of, small tentacles sprung out of the soup just around the ship and pulled it down under the surface. Stalks was at first so surprised by the scene that he just watched the little sea for a few seconds, waiting for the boat to float back up. Then he moved on to another plate which looked to contain large berries marinating in a dark red sauce. The berries themselves looked like overgrown blueberries and it overall seemed normal enough that Stalks took the plate to his seat. He grabbed the fork and put into the berry, though as he lifted it from the plate and was about to eat it, the berry split open like eyelids and revealed a big eye looking at Stalks. The whole thing chocked Stalks so much he dropped the fork and the eye landed back on the plate and the other "berries" split open in the same manner and looked at Stalks. It hadn't been a platter full of large berries instead a platted filled with closed, and still living, eyeballs. They all blinked in unison at him. And while Stalks had eaten eyeballs before but having them open up like that and actively look back at him made him lose his appetite.

Now Stalks wanted to leave. The table brimming with food just filled him with an uncertainty of what was what and a disgust over what it might actually be. He sank down into the chair and watched his surroundings to see if there was a possibility of sneaking away without alerting anyone. Though with the room being so large and the table being in the middle of the room, it would be tricky at best. 

Stalks thoughts of escape was however interrupted as he felt something slither around and grab his left leg near the ankle. And before Stalks could really react and kick it off, he was pulled in under the table. The room disappeared behind the table cloth and now Stalks felt like he was lying on grass. Though before he could react again he was hoisted up in the air, dangling by the left leg. At first he was so disoriented that it took several seconds for the world to stop spinning, and when he finally regain his composure he saw the familiar face of the mustached snake staring back at him. Stalks glanced upwards and saw that it that the big snake was wrapped around a big branch on a tree and that it's tail was the thing holding Stalks up in the air. 

The snake tilted it's head little by little till it was turned upside down like Stalks was. 

"Hello my little frrriend. How farre the new 'job'?"

 

"You again?" said Stalks. 

 

"What? You don't like me?"

 

"Put me down!" yelled Stalks. 

 

"As you wish." the snake then obeyed, though not in the manner Stalks had wanted, and simply let go of Stalks leg so he fell down to the ground.'

 

With a soundly thud Stalks landed in the grass. "Damned snake." muttered Stalks lowly under his breath as he began to rise onto his feet. He looked first at the snake which was now only looked back at him while using the tip of the tail to twirl the mustache, then to his surroundings which he recognized as the Valenwood forest. On a rock a couple of feet from Stalks lied a scroll tied up with a simple string holding it together. He slowly began to move towards the rock while throwing glances at the snake every other second.When he got the scroll he removed the string and saw that the scroll was a map detailing an area of the forest.

Stalks put away the document in a pocket but kept the map in hand as he planned to use it to figure out his location and from there make it to the camp which had been highlighted by a small ring on the map. But right now he just wanted to get away from the snake. 

Stalks looked up only to find the snake had stretched it's neck and body from the branch and had apparently been looking over Stalks shoulder as he read the map and document. 

 

"So is that wherrre you arre going? The rrring on the map."

 

"None of your business. Now leave me alone!" yelled Stalks, both angry and scared of the big snake. 

 

"As you wish. Forrr now." said the snake and pulled back it's before began to slither down from the branch and into a bush where it disappeared. 

 

Stalks stayed and waited to see if the snake would return, though nothing seemed to indicate that it would. After a few minutes had passed and Stalks was certain the snake was gone he headed for a nearby hill to see if he could find any landmarks he could use to figure out where he was. Though as he made his way through the forest, he felt an unease that the talking troll and snake had followed him this far. He also began to wonder how and why they had followed him. Though the more he thought about it, the less any of it made sense. In the end he decided to try to ignore it all and focus on getting to this camp.

[TheCzarsHussar]

Samuel, Lorgar

Valenwood,

Night,

 

"Sure about this?†Two Altmer sat in a dark corridor, only lit up by a few torches. It was maybe three weeks ago when they had first gotten reports of the missing patrols. One week ago, they had come across a man, a Colovian, sleeping in a make-shift camp made from a tree that had fallen over a long time ago.

 

The commander had said he was a vampire, and they were about to execute him, before he mentioned a few details about their missing people. The casual way it had been thrown at them wouldn’t have affected him much; many people had tried to push Thalmor agents off-balance by acting unafraid. They usually changed their tune shortly after the interrogation started. Instead, this Imperial bastard has started to taunt them and tell them how to more efficiently torture him, making snide remarks that hit him at home. Literally, he felt that the comments he had been given was tailored to his personal life. And everything he said only seemed to raise questions, rather than give answers. On the second day of the interrogation, his companion had lost his nerve and put a blade in the bastard’s left eye. The rest of that day they had to deal with him laughing at them for finally making things interesting.

 

“We should just kill him, instead of wasting our time trying to get something out of him. It’s been a week already and he doesn’t even seem bothered by what we do.â€

 

“We could take him back to the city…â€

 

“And risk loosing a blood fiend on the people? You’re as insane as some of the tree-huggers. How’d it go?â€

 

The question was directed at a Khajiit. She had entered the corridor through a door on the far end of the Mer, nervously glancing around. She too, huh? [censored] hell, it was the first time he could say he didn’t feel that he had the power in the interrogation and it seemed to affect more people than just himself.

 

“Hss! Bad, bad man! Snapping at S’Rava’s tail with his teeth! S’Rava think he grows hungry, yes, very hungry. This one propose we play the waiting game, instead of conventional methods. And when that one is weak and desperate, S’Rava will inflict great pain on the Bad Man.â€

 

“Alveron says we should just kil-“

 

“No! No killing! S’Rava lost her brother in one of those patrols! She’ll keep him here until she knows what happened and where to find the body!â€

 

“You’re not in charge, S’Rava!†Alveron stood up, pointing his finger in her face, but found himself on his knees with the cat’s claws at his throat. “What are you doing!?â€

 

“S’Rava does what she needs to find her brother!â€

 

****

 

Samuel sat in the torturer’s chair, with a wide smile on his lips, looking at the contraption he had been fastened to for most of the last week. Ah, it was so long since he had the pleasure of doing things like this, though losing his eye might not have been the most favorable outcome. It would make it harder to fall in with a crowd, in many instances. A part of his mind was a little bothered by the fact that he had actually been caught, instead of letting himself be caught. He needed to be more careful in the future.

 

Outside he heard the screams of his Altmer wardens, before the door opened anew. S’Rava was bloody and had a few burn marks in her fur, but looked otherwise fine. “This one has taken care of the jailors.â€

“You know, S’Rava, you’d make a fine vampire. Just like your brother.â€

 

“S’Rava is too young, he says! Says she has to live some of her mortal life before she can join him in eternity.â€

 

“Ah, but what does he know? War is coming. He wouldn’t want you to be dead by the time you’re old enough, would he?â€

 

“Yes, it is right! H’Reni wouldn’t want S’Rava dead. Do it! Make this one a vampire and get back its strength! We’ve been here long enough!â€

 

******

 

 Saladin walked down the hall, with the candles dimly flickering. His bright red eye was giving off more light in the hallway then the small wax light sources. His face was covered by his Balaclava, and the painted wolf skull over it looked like somthing from the depths of Oblivion. His black leather hood was down, and his longcoat was gently fluttering from the small draft of wind. Lorgar glanced out of a window to see the pale moon shining brightly, 

 

I love nights like this.

 

Suddenly, an odd scent filled his nose. He...knew it. Drawing his great blade, which due to the full moon, was glowing gentle pale light, he glanced around. He wasn't alone,

 

"Step out of the shadows, daemon. I know your there. Even in my weakened state, I can cut you down."

 

"No, it can't," a voice laughed from the shadows. Female. Distinctly Khajiit pattern of speech. Masked scent, then? "It does not see where the shadows crawl, what they hide. Blind slashes are like the winds of the desert; the sands will shift, but are never hurt."

 

That isn't Samuel...

 

"Shadow makes way to light. That is the natural order of things." Lorgar carefully listened to where the voice was coming, trying to find it's location, "You order scum hide in the dark. Never going out to face the light. You fear even the light of the pale moon." His eye slowly began to burn bright red, like embers. The runes on his greatsword, took the same color.

 

"Come now, be civilized, S'Rava. Can't we meet as friends?" Samuel walked up behind Lorgar, out in the open, stopping just short of the reach he knew the man would have in a surprise attack. If he was weakened, this would be overkill, but he decided to not take that statement on face value. The laughter of the cat reached new heights, before it died down. With a leap, she flew over Lorgar's head and joined Samuel. He gave her a kiss on the forehead, and a scratch behind the ears.

 

"This one has never felt so agile!" S'Rava purred at him. "I should have joined in your blood a long time ago..."

 

"S'Rava, what did I say? Introduce yourself properly now, we can't have you make a poor first impression."

 

"Of course," the cat turned around, giving a deep bow. Her fur was light grey in color, with small, black spots in her fur. Her eyes gave the telltale feint of red as the moonlight was reflected in them. "I am S'Rava, youngest of the faceless one's bloodline. Former entertainer and thief, at your service."

 

"[censored] vampires." Lorgar muttered. He quickly backed off, his former speed was starting to return to him, and he was more then able to fight two opponents at once. He said, rather deadpanly,

 

"Oh boy. I didn't think he told you what awaits you in the after life, cat. Ass [censored] by Molag Bal for all eternity."  

 

"S'Rava has no concern for the afterlife; this one intends to live forever."

 

"I'm serious, can we skip the formalities?" Samuel yawned. "Lorgar, we both know that I wouldn't be here if I couldn't make sure I came out of it alive, and that if I wanted to harm you I wouldn't confront you openly, so why don't you lower your sword and we can play catch-up? I brought wine."

 

A flask of Jazbay appeared in his hand. The label said it was from the year 399 of the 3rd Era, which had been a fine year of wintering for most of Tamriel. "A little something I hid, in case it would be worth a lot of money someday. But I've grown bored knowing it just sits there, untouched."

 

Lorgar carefully eyed him, not bothering to lower his sword, "What business do you have with me?" 

 

"Playing catchup, as I said. I have this fine wine and no one to share it with. Well, except you and S'Rava. Thought I'd take a step to make our last encounter up to you," the Colovian stepped into the light, revealing his 'new face', as it was. His left eyeball had responded to the healing magic nicely, but he'd never get its sight back even if the eyeball itself was whole again. He had a scar that trailed from his left ear down along his jaw to his chin and up again over his mouth, finally stopping under the nose. His hands showed the sights of similar treatment and he was missing his right ring finger. "As you can see, things have happened lately. Even for me."

 

"The wolf-man would be more impressed with the scars S'Rava left," the Khajiit added with a laugh, much to Samuel's amusement. 

 

"That's real cute." Lorgar tore off his leather Balaclava, showing a horrifying sight. The skin on his face was charred black, and covered in large scars. His wolf fangs were visible, and along with his bright red magical eye, Lorgar looked a horror from Oblivion. "So the pretty boy vampire loses his eye. So what."  

 

"Ah, a pissing contest. How boring. Am I to be impressed that you've been beaten senseless more than I have? Don't be silly. I just thought it would peek your interest that the unscathed vampire pretty boy had an intimate meeting with someone's ill intentions. But, if you rather that we leave, so you can't keep a temporary eye on us, and you pass up the chance to learn something new, that is your choice."

 

"Wait." He was curious, "You have my attention. Why would you attempt to help me though?" 

 

"Why does the Faceless One do anything, wolf-man? Why doesn't it take any one side? There is no why. It only is."

 

"Such an insightful new friend I've gained. S'Rava is quite right. There is no why, as far as you or anyone else are concerned. There just is."

 

"Go on then." Lorgar lowered his sword slightly, 

 

"Great!" he seemed ecstatic for a brief moment. "Do you have some glasses and chairs? We can better enjoy the wine if we don't have to drink it from the bottle. And we're probably about as eager to taste your saliva as you are to taste ours."

 

"We stand." he paused "Civillians are strictly prohibited from being on my base. This is an exception but I don't want you two seen."

 

"Do you at least have the glasses?" Samuel sighed, disappointed. 

 

Lorgar threw him two empty water skins, "Use these if you must. I dont really drink on duty." 

 

"Nothing is free, Lorgar. And I think my price is quite fair this time; join us for a drink. You don't want to waste such a fine bottle, do you? Imagine the horrendous nature of only a couple of vampires getting to enjoy such a rare flavor."

 

Two Vampires and a werewolf walk into a bar. It's like some [censored] up joke, 

 

"Fine." He walked up to the pair, sword lowered. 

 

"I assume you want the bottle as a collective thing? You know, for all the nice memories. Also, it could be valuable to certain collectors. Bosmer, mostly. I wonder why the men often seem so crazy. The women aren't that bad though," Samuel gave the bottle and waterskins to S'Rava, who in turn divided the contents into three roughly equal portions. The bottle was handed to Lorgar. "So, what do we toast? S'Rava's new destiny? My lost eye? Your burned and beaten body? I'd go for the new destiny myself. Not as unpleasant as the other ones."

 

"S'Rava likes that idea. What about the wolf-man?"

 

"To Marius Imperius." The man said with the bitterness of winter tinged to his voice, 

 

"To Marius Imperius," Samuel joined.

 

"Who?" S'Rava asked after the toast was had.

 

"Former lover I ended up killing. Long story, better suited for long nights in the forest as we travel the lands. And friend of our esteemed host. A good man, broken by destiny."

 

Ignoring them, Lorgar asked, "Now Samuel, tell me what brings you to my fortress?" 

 

"Coincidence, actually. I've been spending a lot of time in the Valenwood forests lately. You know, small time Dominion killings, not enough to get on the larger reports, enough to keep the locals on their toes. Turned a few into blood fiends, but I haven't heard about them since, so I assume they burned to death before they figured out the sun hurts. Most people are astonishingly ignorant of the telltale signs for the turning. Came upon this fortress in the middle of nowhere by chance, happened to see you being here. Thought I'd stop by, for a chat."

 

"Yeah, in a fort filled with two hundred of the most viscous and skilled killers in Tamriel."   

 

"Don't flatter yourselves. In the dark corners of the world, far greater dangers lurk. But what have you been up to, Lorgar? I seem to remember something about you being a traitor, yet here we are. I don't think I am far off if I say these people remind me of the Penitus Oculatus."

 

"The Penitus Oculatus are famous in certain parts of Elseweyr... for being the worst spies the Empire has ever had. But being compared to the Blades is nothing like walking on warm sands."

 

"I don't get that saying at all, S'Rava," Samuel scratched his head. "Warm sands are awful to walk on without thick boots. That said, I'm equally confused when a Nord tells me to have the wind at my back. Given the winds of Skyrim, I prefer to not be outside when it comes. Too damn cold."

 

That caused Lorgar to adopt a sinister wolf like grin, "Oh be my guest. Continue to think I'm a good for nothing traitor, and my failed politcal career proves my incompetence. Or maybe believe that the Occultus is firmly a useless organization only useful for canon fodder." the way Lorgar spoke was odd...

 

Samuel sighed. "Why is it always so easy to make you spill the secret? Your response says so much, and I wonder if you even know it sometimes. Letting your pride speak for you is not recommended. So it was a covert operation. How dreadfully boring. Foolish to let out so easily though. I am not the only one skilled in the words said and unsaid. Beware the Thalmor, for they speak both languages."

 

"S'Rava thinks the wolf-man must be a Nord by birth. Or a Redguard. Its soul is dripping with pride, unaware of the dangers of making people question assumptions of weakness."

 

"Your both weak though. In soul. The All Maker forsakes you. And I tell you so easil because your the one person who'll find out so easily. It would have been just been a matter of time."

 

"You don't get it, do you? It doesn't matter that I would have found out. What if I was a Dominion skin-stealer? What if it is not coincidence that I suddenly have Khajiit companions instead of Dunmer, Orcs and humans? What if I was captured, which I was, but never got free and some Thalmor agent stole my face? That would mean the end for whatever you're up to. If nothing else, at least take that bit of advise from me."

 

"Unlike how you stooged Baldur Red-Snow I didn't need two old general's to break myself out of prison, I know how to survive against all odds. I've been put in situations more were death would have claimed me in the last year then my entire life. I can handle something if my plan goes wrong." he paused before saying "Enough with the pleasantries. You said you have information."

 

"Does the wolf-man think that surviving means the same as success? This one finds that very peculiar. It can fail even if it lives."

 

"S'Rava, that's enough. Our host clearly isn't interested in taking advise," with a stern look at the cat Samuel shook his head. "Yes, I have some information. Rather interesting information. But I have to wait a few more minutes to share it. We've yet to finish the wine."

 

The last part was said with a wink to Lorgar and raised his waterflask. He had a mouthful or so left in it. "What do we toast this time?"

 

"Darius Bathory's death." Lorgar said with a sly smile, 

 

"Always cheers up my day. To Darius' death."

 

S'Rava looked as confused as she did when Marius Imperius was brought up. She was a good thief, but Samuel did have to say that he'd like for her to be a bit more worldly. Then again, she had lived in Elseweyr most of her life, until she joined the Dominion military. She, like many criminals, had been connected to Samuel at times in the past, through her brother, but she was rare in the loyalty she showed not only to him as a person, but to his identity as "the faceless one". She seemed to regard him with almost a superstitious reverence.

 

"The faceless one enjoys his drinking? News to this one," a fourth voice joined the conversation. Once more a Khajiit came flying over Lorgar's figure, landing behind Samuel. He was a head taller than the Colovian and had a dark brown color to his fur, without any spots of stripes. Scar from a paw's claws were barely visible on his nose as he turned around. In his right hand he held a bag from which he fished up a scroll and handed it over to Samuel.

 

"Ah, perfect timing. Lorgar, let me introduce you to H'Reni. S'Rava's adoptive brother. He's the one who acquired the information I wanted to give you," the scroll was hastily read through by the Colovian before he held it out to Lorgar. "In it you'll find flaws in this place's defenses and patrolling schedules that can be exploited by stealth specialists. As I am sure you know, that is something the Dominon has plenty of. There is a list of suggestions for improvement included as well."

 

"H'Reni is honored to meet the wolf-man. He is known as a great warrior to this one."

 

"More like great killer." He said deadpanly, he started to scratch his chin, "Hmmm this isn't my men's patrol schedules. It's the dominion garrasion to the northeast." he have a small grin "If this was to fall into rebel hands. My wolves would be called to deploy into the area. Meaning more gold"

 

"How embarrassing! Shame on us for accidentally giving away such information. Heh. I'll see you around, Lorgar. Or perhaps I won't."

 

Samuel gave a bow, before he and his companions simply disappeared.

 

**

 

The trio had been walking for a couple of hours, silent as ever. Only whey they reached the site for their nightly camp did S'Rava let out a question that had bothered her ever since they shared the toast with the wolf-man. What Samuel had said about this Marius Imperius made her claws emerge and retract nervously. "Are you going to kill me too?"

 

"Hmm?" Samuel hadn't paid attention to her, so it took a moment before he realized what she had asked. "Why wou- Haha, I get it now. Ask yourself this; are you an Imperial Legion General who have vowed to destroy me? If not, I wouldn't be worried."

 

"Then S'Rava never want to join the Legion," she purred, met with a quiet laughter from H'Reni. Luckily he was as lighthearted as the old Renrijra Krin about such matters. 

 

[TheCzarsHussar]

Rebec, Baldur

Outskirts of Kyne's Watch

6 a.m.

 

"So, is Hull-Breaker okay with you not coming home last night? I mean, with that whole bear thing last time. And she's pretty pregnant now."

 

Baldur said, "It's your sixteenth birthday, boy! She understands, I'm sure. It's not every day that you turn sixteen. It was just for a night. She's probably happy to have some time alone anyway."

 

"Sure about that?" said Daric, dubiously.

 

"No, but it's too late now, isn't it? You didn't seem too concerned last night when I told you we were camping."

 

"That's because you said you had a present for me! I still haven't seen no blasted present." Daric started scratching at the wraps that kept his right arm tucked to his body. The arrow wound to his shoulder damaged him more than they thought, and affected his entire right side.

 

Baldur said, "You'll get it once Stuhnir gets back and I start this fire. In the mean time, why don't you go back to sleep, eh? You're yapping too much." Daric sighed hard, steam escaping from his mouth in the winds of the North. Curling back into his bed roll, the Breton closed his eyes, merely to keep the freezing air out of them, rather than sleeping.

 

Baldur watched until he was sure he no longer looked at him, then took a note from a small pouch dangling off the front of his long green tunic's belt.

 

Dear High General Bugger Red-Whore

 

I dont give too sckeiver pellits hoo you are or wat you done. You got my boy over there in that town doin only the gods know what with em, and I wont stand for it. Hes my boy, Breton or no, and I demand he gets his skinny ass back home with me and his mama, or so help me, I'll plant my Nordic boot in your High butt, then his next.

 

Yours truly,

Grinvuld Blue-Knuckled

 

Baldur knew that this man was talking about Daric, even though judging from the grammar and the mead stains on the note, he was too drunk to even remember it. He also knew that this man likely wanted it to arrive here on his birthday, and that he didn't expect the High General to give him a response, being who he was. But, he didn't know Baldur Red-Snow.

 

Baldur took his pen out and wrote:

 

Dear Grinvuld Blue-Knuckled

 

I swear to all the gods I know, if I so much as smell your greasy hide in my town, I will treat you like you do your wife and make you my bitch. And if you ever mock my name again, I'll order my Grim Ones to march down... no, I'll personally come down to Falkreath and drag your ass out of that rotten piece of troll ass you call a home, and beat you till you draw your last breath. Yes, I know where you live.

 

You want Daric back? Come and take him from my cold dead hands.

 

Sincerely,

High-General Baldur Red-Snow

 

Baldur gave the parchment time to dry, then placed both back in his pouch. He'd tell Daric about it sometime later. He didn't need to see it on the first day he'd ever have a celebration on the day of his birth.

 

A few minutes passed before Stuhnir finally came hopping back almost like the prey that rested calmly in his mouth. "Hey, he did it! Wake up, boy. Time I teach you some practical life skills."

 

"Uhnh, this isn't the present, is it?"

 

"Hush. And watch," Baldur ordered. Baldur grabbed the rabbit from the now larger Stuhnir, then used his dagger to strip it of its skin and rip it off like a full body coat. Placing the fur on an arrangement of sticks, Baldur took his stone and his striking steel to produce sparks for a fire. Though doing so in the cold hard winds was proving to be difficult.

 

"Can't we just use the thu'um already so we can eat?" asked Daric.

 

"No. You need to learn how to start a fire like ordinary men. I can't believe you went this long without learning already. Your parents should be ashamed. Now watch," said Baldur.

 

"Ugghh."

 

***

 

Eventually, Baldur managed to get a fire going, then the trio ate their fill of rabbit and venison from last night's hunting. After a few hours, they made their way back to town, just in time to see it start to awaken with life. Kyne's Watch was finally starting to feel like a real town. They had more general goods shops with Nordic goods from Solitude, as well as Breton goods from the ships. Ysana managed to convince a few fisherman families from Solitude to come over as well, since their waters wouldn't be as heavily contested.

 

Even the Tavern was complete, though no one bought it yet. It was obvious to everyone that the place was Baldur's, but even as the High-General, he still had to pay for property rights like everyone else, which he was just a few months off from paying for. In the mean time, he was getting the place furnished, and filling a dozen large mead barrels in a locked back room with a fire pit at the center. He had to keep the fire going constantly, or the Frost-Honey mead would easily freeze over before he was ready for that final step.

 

This was the room in which Baldur kept Daric's surprise, which he came out with while Daric waited for him to stoke the fire pit. "Here you go, lad. Fresh from the fires of the Skyforge. Two twin Nordic Carved blades with your name etched in them, like my axes."

 

Daric stood shocked when Baldur drew the two blades from his belt and placed them in his good hand. The etching was indeed there amongst the design at the center. It said 'Daric the Dexterous', in brilliant silver cursive. "You got me not one, but two?"

 

"Thought I'd take advantage of my station a bit. Weapons from the Skyforge at cheap prices, that's a dream come true, lad. I had to give you two. I noticed in our training that you were ambidextrous. Might as well take advantage of that. Don't lose these."

 

Daric smiled with pride then, but looked saddened soon after, angry at his injuries now more than ever. He'd just have to train with his good arm until it healed. Baldur strapped the sheaths to his belt and placed them both in for him while Daric struggled to find words to thank him for the gift. "I...uh..."

 

"No need to thank me and say something cliche, heh. Just do me a favor and train hard with those, got it?"

 

Daric shook his head and said, "Right! I'll get on it right now. See you later, Baldur!"

 

Baldur smiled deep as he watched the Breton boy run away so happily. A much better gift than what Baldur got on his sixteenth birthday. Which was nothing.

 

***

 

Baldur and Stuhnir made their way back to the longhouse then, with a bundle of fresh fish from the merchants at the docks, and a couple of bottles of early Baldurbrau, hoping that would placate Rebec if she was put off after all. "Hey, we're back! I brought fish."

 

There was a grunt from under the furs, but that was all, and the fire had burned out. It was obvious Rebec had no plans to get up, even with Baldur and Stuhnir rattling around.

 

There were navy trainees at the fort, but the new officers appointed the previous winter were overseeing their training. Sigrid, the vice admiral, was leading an expedition to Solstheim and Morrowind, to survey the coastal security there, and liaise with the informal Great House fleets which were all that the Dunmer could call a navy. Rebec had been setting up the books for her shipping business and had hired a crew for her cog. She'd named the merchant vessel The Bard's Daughter, because it was how she would help provide for their new family and because Baldur insisted she was carrying a girl.

 

With that settled, the cog was out to sea. There was always something to do, but anytime she tried to help with building in the town, Ysana would appear behind her with that look. Weapons practice was embarrassing. Sometime after the battle with the Forsworn, she'd gotten clumsy and slow. Mazoga was out with the crew so there wasn't even the temptation of sailing off somewhere.  Her relative inactivity made her restless and depressed. And there was the other thing that bothered her. All of that added up to a lot of sleeping. If she'd noticed Baldur was gone, it wasn't apparent.

 

Baldur felt a stab of guilt at leaving her alone then, when he realized how exhausted she was. It was freezing in the house, which worried him, even if Rebec was a Nord. It was quiet enough inside even to hear the shouts from the shore, most likely the newest batch of Grim Trial runners.

 

Stuhnir hopped in the bed next to the slumbering Rebec while Baldur got the fire going to fry up the fish, figuring the smell of food would soon wake her. He cut the innards out from outside, then placed them in a pan for the fox.

 

Removing his boots, Baldur settled in next to Rebec with her bowl and his. Ysana had been teaching him different dishes to cook for Rebec that would satisfy her increased hunger. One of them was her sea gumbo; fried fish and shrimp with rice clumps, tomato and some cut sweet yam chunks.

 

There was more grunting and some motion under the furs at the smell of food cooking. Finally Rebec peeked out, stretched with a loud yawn, and sat up. "Morning. You two take up more room than I do." The furs had slid down to show her rounded belly, but she pulled them back up and grabbed the dish from Baldur's hand. Eating hungrily, she avoided asking her husband where he'd been. The truth was it was a relief not to have to put him off, or feel guilty about doing so. Better not to bring it up.

 

Her not asking him where he'd been hadn't gone unnoticed. It was very odd to him, but Baldur thought it might've just been that she was too tired to take note of it. He'd been feeling a bit distant from her lately, however, but he didn't know why. Or rather, he did know why, but didn't want to admit that it might've been because they hadn't knocked the headboard around in a while. That or it was just the by-product of their distance. Sex or no sex, they hadn't been very intimate at all.

 

Baldur watched her eat, occasionally taking bites himself, trying to read her. "I took the boy camping. Thought I'd teach him a few things he ought to know before I gave him his gift. His arm's still messed up." After eating a while, he said, "How's Mazoga been doing?"

 

"Glad to be sailing. I'm just relieved she survived the trials and the sickness after. I think she might have gone to Sovngarde or wherever she ends up, if Menel hadn't been here." Rebec glanced at him. "You spend a lot of time with Daric."

 

"He's injured and not good for much because of it, so I wanted to make sure he didn't get too depressed," he said, a bit defensively. "But I'll stick around here more if you want." Baldur sounded more hopeful than he meant to, wishing that she'd ask him to stay.

 

"You're babying him, that's all. Breton boy probably got enough of that at home." She finished her stew and put the bowl aside, then laid down and put a hand on Stuhnir's head, stroking the soft fur and scratching behind his ear.

 

"Maybe, but..." Baldur was about to correct her, but decided to let the letter he received yesterday speak for him instead. "Here. Read that."

 

She glanced over it, then said, "Shor's bones. He sounds worse than Rivka. I guess it's good that Daric's got you, then. You don't need to spend more time around here. One of us should do something useful."

 

Baldur laid down beside her opposite of the fox. "I'll stick around more anyway. That's the whole reason I had the officers run the trials for me in the first place. I'll jus-," An annoyingly urgent knock came from the door suddenly, interrupting Baldur mid speech. Before he could answer the door, Ysana already came waltzing in, since Baldur left the door unlocked. 

 

"Hello, you two! Hope I'm not interru- oh, I smell breakfast!" Ysana immediately went for the pot, fixing herself a bowl before Baldur even got up to greet her.

 

Hugging her from behind while she picked out the biggest pieces of shrimp, Baldur said, "Hey ma! You've been busy lately. I haven't seen you around in a while. What's in the sack?"

 

"That's a surprise for the mother. Let me eat first, and I'll show it to you," said Ysana.

 

Rebec stayed in bed. "More toys? This kid's already got enough to be some pampered Cyrodiil lordling's brat." Probably not many of those had a rattle made from a Forsworn heart, as Vigge had managed to make. Instead of a toy chest, he'd made a proper sailor's trunk that the baby could use one day on a ship.

 

"I said it was for the mother, not the baby, dear. Scoot scoot."

 

Baldur, having been evicted out of his own marital bed, took a seat at the table with the sack. Stuhnir tried laying on the charm and cuddled up in her lap, only to be shooed away. "No no, I know your game. You'll get none of my food, scavenger."

 

Baldur weighed the bag in his hand, noting how light it was. "So what brings you here besides this and our food, ma?"

 

"I actually have a favor to ask of Rebec. The refugees need a place to stay, and I've already taken some in my home. The others have been bearing the cold of this place outside, and they need a way to make coin. Could you get them jobs at sea? Maybe work for you while their families stay in the longhouses? Their fathers or mothers could work off the dept they owe for the homes in the meantime."

 

"I heard Lod Carpbreath say he needs help on the fishing boats," she answered, still sprawled in bed. "People to man the boats, and some to sort and clean the catch. It's smelly work but it pays. I imagine the military would hire some builders short-term. We need barracks at the fort and more piers. I'll talk to Veleda about taking a bigger cut of the Reach silver shipments she's got going through here."

 

"That'll work for the time being, though I hope to find them something long term eventually. But for now, getting them shelter is what I'm concerned with. I've been thinking of switching them out of my home in the mean time."

 

"Uh, no offense to them, but I don't at all like that idea, ma. One strange family living with you alone is already taxing my nerves." Unable to hold his curiosity any longer, Baldur stood up and dumped the bag on the bed, revealing several woolen garments of different colors, a rich blue gown, and a silvery-turquoise garment of fine silk.

 

"Baldur, I told you to wait," said Ysana sighing. Now Baldur could see why. Holding up the cloth revealed that they were women's gowns that went down to the legs almost like dresses. They were big enough that they could be worn normally, or evidently when one was as pregnant as Rebec was. "Well, what do you think?"

 

"What do I think? When did you have time to make these? They're great!" said Baldur. "Rebec's had to resort to wearing my shirts, but we've had to cut them on the sides lately so they'd fit her better."

 

"What is that?" Rebec regarded the pile of fabric uncomprehendingly. As Ysana and Baldur talked, she looked between the both of them and realized that she was meant to wear these. The face she made came automatically, but she wiped it away quickly when Ysana glanced her way. "Uh... thanks Ma. I'll try these on..." Never. "...later. So what did Veleda say about the idea of bringing an orphanage here? I guess we ought not do that until we can get our own people set up."

 

"That's basically what she said as well, and I agreed. No need bringing in extra mouths to feed until we've got everything set up. Another two seasons, and we should be ready for the Queen's orphanage." Ysana quickly finished her food and grabbed herself another bowl, since Baldur as usual made too much, despite her warnings of wasting food. "I'm gonna go now, since you two will be busy with those. Let me know how they fit. You and I are the same size, minus the belly of course, so I tailored them as if I'd wear them. Which you can, even when you're not swollen."

 

"We will, thanks again ma," said Baldur.

 

"Right. And stop wasting coin on overpriced Breton wares, son. If you just asked, I could have made you the same thing. Better, even," said Ysana, sounding almost insulted that Baldur got clothes from somewhere else.

 

"Sorry, I will. It's just that it was already there. You could always make some more."

 

"Too late. I've got other projects to work on now. Missed your chance. Bye bye now." Ysana bolted out before Baldur could get another word in, unfortunately. But Baldur's mind was on other things before thoughts of him somehow offending his mother got too far.

 

Turning around with a stupid grin, Baldur said, "Rebec...I know what you're going to say, but hear me out..."

 

Rebec was up then and stuffed a piece of old sweetroll in her mouth. It was already stale the day before, but once her appetite got going, it wouldn't quit. "I'm going over to the fort and see what those landlubbing recruits are up to. Nobody can teach rowing like Maz, but I just couldn't bear making her stay when she wanted to be out to sea." She was pawing through the pile of clothes in her cupboard, trying to find the least dirty tunic.

 

Baldur's smile sunk then. "Wait, you're leaving now all of a sudden? I thought we were gonna stay in." Baldur walked up behind her and nuzzled her cheek. "Come on, stay with me and let me see you in the new clothes. It'll be just like back in Solitude with the dress. On the cliffs. Remember?" Baldur nuzzled her cheek with a soft groan.

 

She wouldn't ever forget being held up so high that she could almost reach out and touch Masser and Secunda while Baldur's mouth was on her. The thought sent a shiver down her spine, but then it was answered by the sharp knot that sat in her back whenever she stood for more than a minute. Pushing at Baldur, she said, "I got things to do. I can't be lollygagging just because you were out with Daric all night. And, no offense to your ma, but I'm not wearing those. Just tell her I did and we won't get in trouble."

 

Baldur stood, looking confused. It was fine if she didn't feel like fooling around, but he didn't understand the need to leave all of a sudden. "But you were just going to lay there a minute ago before ma came here..." Baldur held the metallic turquoise gown up and said, "What's wrong with the gowns? It's no worse than the dress. I think you'd look beautiful in them."

 

"I take it you haven't looked at me lately. Maybe I ought to worry about you frolicking with Daric." She tried to grin, but it wasn't working very well. "I just... need to get out of here." Rebec had found a tunic, but there were no clean trousers. She'd split the seams in her last pair the day before. "Gods damn it," she said irritably, tossing the trousers into the mending pile.

 

Baldur walked up behind her again and grabbed her hand in his. "I've seen you. So what? You're carrying our child for the both of us, and I want you just as much as I always do." Baldur kissed her hand close to her marital ring, then said, "The real reason I've been spending more time with Daric is because you seemed to want time alone, so I gave it to you. But now, I want to be with my wife again." Baldur looked at the pair of ruined trousers, then said, "You're going to rip all your clothes if you keep trying to force yourself into the ones that don't fit anymore..."

 

"Nothing fits!" She pulled her hand away and sat down, then started to pull her boots on, apparently intending to go out in nothing but them and a tunic.

 

Baldur said with the same confused look from earlier, "The gowns..." but stopped short. He started wondering if Rebec was beginning to regret all this like before, but refrained from bringing up questions about Jala; remembering how she chose to handle such conversations before. Silently, with his brows knit from frustration, Baldur wandered over to his drawer and threw her a pair of his leather trousers.

 

Rebec held them up, dubious. "I don't think I could wear these when I wasn't carrying around a gourd the size of this house." She looked across to him. "This isn't the same as Markarth and dress-up. You're just going to have to wait until I'm myself again." If that ever happens. She stood and threw on her seacloak. "I'll go over to the fort and see if they got anything I can wear. Maybe that giantess Burla's got something." Avoiding the sad look in Baldur's eyes, she was out the door and slamming it behind her before he could say another word.

 

"If that ever happens," Baldur said to himself, not knowing he echoed the same thought, but for different reasons entirely. Memories of the way Rebec greeted him so warmly after the trials filled his mind, comparing that moment to this one. His mind also ran over their time in Falkreath, when she kicked him as he slept for feeling ignored. Baldur sat at the edge of the bed, rocking the boat crib back and forth, until thoughts of the dream came back in his head. Maybe she feared something similar and resented him for it, he thought. Whatever.

 

Embarrassed and feeling the fool for having his wife run off from his advances, Baldur decided then that he'd probably spend another night outside of the house in the tavern, which was still empty. It was one thing that she didn't feel like having sex, but suddenly wanting to leave the house when he returned was what got to him. She clearly didn't want him around, and he didn't feel intent on disappointing her at the sight of him whenever she decided to return. Stuhnir tried following him out, but Baldur slammed the door shut before he could leave.

 

Five paces from the door Rebec stopped, holding her belly. I ought to go back. Talk to him. She wouldn't know what to say, though, and then she'd want to sleep with him just to get the closeness back without having to talk, but she couldn't do that now either, big and clumsy as she was.

 

Flashes of the past came to her. Toki and Jala, and what a mess she'd made of everything. Maybe you couldn't change. People didn't change, most of the time.

 

Hearing the door slam, Rebec looked back and saw Baldur leaving while poor Stuhnir got locked inside. Her mouth opened to say something, but nothing came out.

 

***

 

Baldur awoke that morning feeling like he was kicked in the head. He spent most of the night tossing and turning, unable to keep Rebec out of his head and sleep. The guilt was getting to him still, until he had to check on her to make sure she was okay, despite being upset with her. She was still sleeping while the fire was once again out, so he brought it back to life, warming up the longhouse before leaving shortly after.

 

To sleep, Baldur did what any Nord would do with so much mead at his disposal in a tavern. Drink. From the spigot, too, though this being Baldurbrau, it didn't take much of it for him to pass out. Which was why he was walking back home feeling like a dragon just sat on him all night. He knew how to handle hangovers though. That wasn't really a problem. Some flagons of water, some time with his head exposed to the cold, and he'd be fine again in a few hours. How to handle this side of Rebec wouldn't be as easy. One thing he knew for certain though was that he wouldn't stay another night away. It wouldn't fix anything. And the tavern wasn't stocked with food.

 

Rebec hadn't had a very restful night, either. The baby had started kicking and while that was a relief, it also awoke the anxieties that had plagued her dreams, and it didn't make for a good night's sleep.

 

When Baldur returned, she had finally gotten a couple of restless hours, but got up anyway, awkwardly did her business in the privy, then sat next to the fire and took up some sewing. Guilty, she avoided looking at him. "How's Daric?" she asked finally, trying to keep her voice neutral, as if nothing was wrong. The gowns were nowhere in sight, probably stashed in the back of her closet.

 

Baldur thought about lying and telling her he was fine, but he didn't have the mental energy to keep that up. "I don't know. I didn't talk to him again yet. I'm sure he's fine." Baldur busied himself with cleaning his face, then said, "So did Burla have something for you?"

 

"Her drawers smell like Eidar cheese that's gone off," Rebec answered glumly. "I'm a third wheel around the fort anyway. I'll sew myself some new stuff. Your ma obviously has different ideas of what I need."

 

"We going to keep pretending that a lack of suitable clothing is all that's wrong with you?" he asked. Turning around, he said, "I don't know if this is what other couples do, but this... I can't keep doing this."

 

She kept sewing, furiously. "I don't know what you..." Her fingers flew, stabbed, flew. More moments passed and Rebec didn't get any closer to verbiage.

 

Baldur sighed as he walked over to her slowly, sitting on the floor next her, forcing her to look at him. "Forget about the gowns, the clothes, whatever. This is about Jala, right? You're feeling regret, maybe anger at me for putting you in this position again. Is that it?" He grabbed her hand then to stop her incessant sewing.

 

Her lip twitched, and she tried to avoid his eyes, but finally couldn't. "I'm scared, Baldur. It's like I said before. Maybe some people just aren't cut out to be parents."

 

Baldur tried to say something comforting or thoughtful, but the truth was, so was he. Even now, looking at Rebec with her pregnant belly was surreal to him. He let go of her hand and slid it across her partly exposed stomach up her shirt, imagining the little one inside.

He tried to say something again, but then he felt the child move, making Baldur's hand tremble. Smiling, but from nervousness, rather than happiness, he said, "So am I." He couldn't bring himself to say it was because he thought he'd be raising it alone.

 

"I know. Maz told me about your dream, after the Forsworn attack."

 

Baldur's hand flew away from her then, his expression matching the flames reflecting in his eyes from the fireplace. "What are you talking about?"

 

"The dream you told Daric about. After you washed their hair, when they were recovering. Don't you see, Baldur. Your dream was reality. There's Forsworn and Thalmor and... and mudcrabs. We're bringing a baby into all that."

 

Baldur was already up before she finished her sentence. "Stop. That, wasn't for her to hear. I thought she... I don't-," A knock from the door interrupted him yet again, this time softer. Soft enough that Baldur wondered if he heard it at all until he heard the knock again. "I'll get it. I'm done talking anyway."

 

Rebec nodded. She felt a nudge on her leg, and saw two golden eyes looking up at her. "Come on. The lap is shrinking, you might as well take advantage of it while there's any left." The fox jumped up and settled onto the shirt she'd been sewing. That was that, then.

 

Baldur took a deep breath to calm himself down, with all the thoughts and feelings racing through his head at the moment. The most prominent one being embarrassment. But now that the dream was brought up, Rebec's words about Forsworn and Thalmor brought his axe to his hand before opening the door at the sound of the suspicious knocking.

 

"What is... uh, hello?"

 

From outside came the sound of a female gasp. "It's him! Oh Divines, you were right, Thera! He does live here!" There was giggling from other female voices, three in all.

 

The first woman's accent was imperial, but the one named Thera was obviously Nord. "High General Red Snow. We just came in from Solitude. They said you lived in the center of town near the tavern, and here you are." All three women were clutching copies of Gift of the Hawk, published by Reunion Press, with a foreword written by Magdela Bathory.

 

One of the imperial women pushed forward, practically knocking her Nord companion out of the way. "I was visiting my cousin here. We're touring all the places from Sons of Skyrim, but I just had to come here too. Is she here? The Gift of the Hawk?"

 

Rebec's voice called out behind him, "Who in the name of Orkey's pimpled ass is that?"

 

"Uhh..." Baldur was speechless and couldn't hide a smile of delight. Is this really happening? Now? Sheathing the axe, he said, "Yea, she's here. Rebec... love... we have guests. Could you come here a second?"

 

Rebec appeared at the doorway, half clothed and axe in hand. This was becoming a habit. She looked the first woman up and down, sizing up where to carve first. "Who are you on a Morndas?"

 

The women's smiles vanished and they stood shocked. Then one after the other of them started giggling and poking each other. "She's just like Heidi!"

 

"Not Heidi, silly. She's Runa Far Cry. Anyway Heidi died in the end, so you can't compare them. Rebec Red Snow didn't die in Falkreath, she's standing right here."

 

"You're just always trying to put Runa with Skor! He doesn't love her. Get over it."

 

"There's something there, I tell you. Magdela wouldn't write it if it didn't mean something. They'll be together in the sequel, you'll see, then you'll eat your words and I'm going to laugh and laugh and laugh."

 

Axe still poised, Rebec looked up at Baldur, perplexed.

 

Baldur grabbed the axe from her hand and tossed it behind him. "Um, we're not familiar with these people, or what is it exactly that you three young ladies are seeking. Perhaps we can all talk inside? We can talk over some mead."

 

Baldur was already leading them in, taking Rebec by her hand in case she decided to play Tsun at the door.

 

"Why did you... what are you..." Rebec sputtered, more enamored of the idea of inviting three frost trolls. The women all cooed in delight, however, and were in the door before she could spit another syllable.

 

The trio walked around, poking at and picking up things. "Is this mead? I've had Blackbriar and Honningbrew but no juniper mead yet. Hal Long Hammer was always drinking juniper mead."

 

Before Baldur could answer, one of the women gasped loudly. "Are you PREGNANT?! Look, she's pregnant!" Rebec slapped the woman's hand before it could touch her belly, but it didn't deter another chorus of cooing.

 

One of the imperials, a dark haired young thing, laid on Baldur's arm, gazing up at him. "Are you going to write another book of poems about it? You could call it The Egg of the Hawk."

 

Baldur was admittedly loving all the attention and was fascinated that he had fans so delighted from such small things. "Heh, well I'm always writing bars here and there or making up songs. If the books I published already do well enough, I just might publish another one." To the woman with the mead, Baldur said, "That's actually a mead of my own make. Juniper berries with ice wraith teeth added. It was a recipe given to me from the Empress' court mage. You all can try some, if you'd like, while you fill me in on these characters."

 

Baldur was between her and her axes, but the look Rebec was giving the young woman who was assaulting his arm would've dropped a charging bear. The imperial scampered over to the mead just in time.

 

"You haven't read Sons of Skyrim?" Thera asked, shocked. "You can have my copy if you promise to autograph your book for me." She handed him a dog-eared volume of Magdela Bathory's novel. "It's... a little... um, stained."

 

"Oh holy gods," Rebec snorted.

 

Baldur nudged her, telling her to be nice while he flipped through the book. "She did mention she wrote adventure novels when she asked about mine. Thank you for this, a gift of literature is always well received from me. I'll be glad to sign all of your copies. Rebec, could you fix us some Baldurbrau while I get my pen and ink please?"

 

Rebec glared at him, but moved slowly to pour the mead, eyes darting from one to the other of the women lest they grope Baldur while her back was turned.

 

"Magdela's the best!" Thera's imperial cousin went on. "She had a fling with the emperor!"

 

"Two emperors," Thera corrected.

 

"Technically the court mage isn't emperor yet."

 

"But he's court mage."

 

"I just said that."

 

"You said he was emperor."

 

"Well he's going to be." Thera looked up at Baldur. "He's a Nord, too. Do you know him? Did you fight in the war together?"

 

"Were the imperial generals very dashing?" one of the other women asked. She burped from her long sip of mead, then looked at Rebec. "I heard one of them sunk your ship. Gracchus Ceno! Is he handsome?"

 

Baldur gave the girl who brought up the Howling Harpy a warning glance. "Sore subject, one we don't like to talk about. I'm sure you've heard stories of my wife sinking the Imperial ships already. But yes, I'd say General Gracchus Ceno and General Marius were both sharp looking individuals. Marius especially, but he uh, didn't play for the right side, if you get my meaning. As for the mage, yes. He was under my command during the civil war. You said Maggie had a thing with him and Motierre?" Baldur hid his look of disgust, and decided to avoid the details. The idea that Baldur was working with someone who bedded the likes of Motierre wasn't exactly pleasant. "So Magdela's what, a courtesan?"

 

"Yes," one of the women replied. "They even say she had an Altmer lover. A Thalmor."

 

"She was spying on them. All courtesans are spies. Or assassins."

 

Rebec nearly dropped the mead keg. Her face white, she looked over to Baldur. "This is the woman who published your book?"

 

"Magdela Bathory," Thera answered, interrupting. "She's the daughter of the count of Skingrad."

 

"Was the daughter of the count of Skingrad, until he died in that horrible fire. Dibella's mercy, I hope it doesn't stop her from writing. She's supposed to be coming out with a book about Morrowind next."

 

"Not Morrowind. Valenwood. There'd better be some imperials in it. The elves are..." The woman's voice trailed off. How to politely say that you couldn't lust over Bosmer in quite the same way.

 

Baldur's eyebrows were raised, eyes closed, obviously trying to take in the overload of new and unwanted information. "Wow, well. Miss Magdela certainly sounds like she gets around. She must be alright though, if she bedded down with the mage. He doesn't take kindly to the elves or those that associate with them. I thank you all for the information on my publisher, but my wife as you can see is indeed pregnant, and needs her rest. So before I sign your books, did you have any last questions or requests?"

 

Groaning in disappointment, the dark-haired woman said, "Aw. We were just getting started. Just tell me, are you going to write more books?"

 

"Assuming that we defeat the elves and I live to tell about it, of course. Now that I know I have fans," he said with a smile. "But, I may put out another one sooner, after my child's birth. And since you all traveled so far to visit, I'll add a small poem above the signature as a gift in exchange for Magdela's book. How's that sound?"

 

This was met by squeals and clapping. "My name is Junia. J-u-n-i-a."

 

"And I'm Valeria. You can call me Val." She reached up on tiptoes to inspect Baldur's cheek. "Is that a war paint mark? It is! Oh divines. We need to buy some war paint, right now."

 

"I'm going to paint a swirl like that right on my..."

 

Rebec slammed the mead keg down, causing the table to shake and silverware to go flying.

 

Baldur didn't really know what to say, but clearly these women were suicidal. Clearing his throat and acting like none of it happened, he took the books from the women and sat at the table Rebec just attacked.

 

In all three, Baldur wrote:

 

She's a great bird of prey, I am but a snake, with her wings, we're dragons, not land dwellers, drakes,

Not trampled and drizzled on like grass in the dew, for Kyne's gift uplifts me to the realm of the blue,

Now let my words slither 'round into your mind, so I can bestow you this gift now in kind,

And may you soon find a woeful fellow doomed to walk, and uplift him with love, the Gift of the Hawk.

 

Baldur signed his name in each book after addressing it to each of the women, then finished by taking out his dagger dangling in the front of his belt. Placing the bloody snowflake signature of his clan so the authenticity would be known, he held up the last book to be autographed and sang the passage aloud to them so they'd know the rhythm.

 

Stars in their eyes, the women leaned on each other and listened to Baldur sing. When he was done and presented them their books back, one looked at the inscription and gave a rapturous sigh. "I'm dead. This has got to be Aetherius."

 

Rebec opened the door and made a shooing gesture. "Right, Aetherius. And I'm the gatekeeper. So go."

 

Baldur was beaming with self-pride and delight. Finally his work was receiving recognition. And even if something happened to one of them, the world would remember their love through his book. And, he had to admit that the attention was nice. "Right, like I said, she needs her rest for the little one. Try and be safe around Skyrim, and let those in the Empire know we Nords know art too."

 

For all their groans of disappointment, the girls seemed just as excited to be leaving as they did coming in. "Bye! Good luck with the baby!" one of them called back, almost smacking into a Stormcloak patrol as he walked by. That set them off again.

 

Rebec closed the door firmly against the sound of giggling. She was about to light into Baldur for flirting with them and inviting them in, but the proud expression on his face stopped her short. It didn't do any harm, really, and it made him happy. So what if some dumb imperials thought they knew them both and hadn't noticed that their lives weren't as romantic as it sounded in their books. Except the poems in Baldur's book were real, she reminded herself.

 

Whatever else, she needed to pee, and then to sit. At the table again, she picked up Sons of Skyrim and read a few lines. "What a piece of trash," she muttered. Turning the page, her eyebrow raised, and she kept reading.

 

Baldur was curious himself, wondering what a courtesan's book must have been like. He imagined it was rather smutty, and figured he must've been right, as it seemed to have held Rebec's attention. Baldur thought about the conversation they had before, and was glad that for now they had a distraction from all of it. He'd need to bring it up again later, but didn't feel like mentioning it still. Baldur laid down in the bed, watching her curiously. "Is it good? Why don't you read it to me?"

 

Rebec glanced over her shoulder. Maybe it was seeing Baldur sprawling out there, or the scene she had just read, but a flush crept up her neck. Then the baby kicked and she remembered that no matter how good Baldur looked, she still was a big gassy mess.

 

Skipping ahead a few pages, she read a battle scene set in some fictional town called Hearthstone. It wasn't terrible, but it was obvious that it was all written by someone who didn't know Skyrim and had never been in a real battle. At some of the unrealistic parts, Rebec laughed. Flipping ahead to the end of the chapter, there was a scene where the Stormcloak captain and imperial legate, once best friends in their youth, met on the bloody battlefield in secret to talk about what they lost.

 

"What a bunch of rubbish," Rebec concluded, tossing the book over to Baldur.

 

Baldur caught it and quickly read through what she skipped. Then he read through it again and had to stop lest he got too excited, which wasn't hard considering how long it had been since the Underking saw any under parts. Sighing after remembering this, Baldur suddenly was hit with a swell of depression when he remembered again where they were at. Even if they both admitted to being afraid, it didn't really change anything between them. Rebec still wanted to herself, and Baldur still couldn't help but feel like his patience was only wasting precious time they had.

 

"It's not rubbish, even if she doesn't get certain things about us and the war. No matter how good the friendship, in reality, those two friends likely would have killed one another when they got the chance. That is a soldier's life. Gods know we spilled plenty of old family and friend's blood already. But, it gives you perspective into how the Imperials think. How the author thinks. She's a courtesan. Affiliation and race, that doesn't mean a great deal to the likes of her. So she wouldn't likely understand how much a soldier's colors mean to them. It's a different perspective, and both perspectives are important to see. Perspective is how the most important war in our history seems like nothing more than a sideshow to outsiders. Something to write fictional stories about. It's also how while one person may see an ugly grey storm that destroys everything it touches, another might see the light shining from the center of it, and want nothing more than to stay at its core."

 

Baldur stood up then, leaving the book where he rested, then said, "You think about that, while I go check up on Daric."

 

Rebec's expression was skeptical. She didn't much care what some horkerbrained imperial noblewoman thought of their war, as long as it didn't involve trying to take Skyrim again. After Baldur left, she was going to sew again, but looked back at the book and eventually picked it up again and flipped through until she found another racy scene. This is what I'm reduced to, she thought, shaking her head. But, she kept reading.

 

Finally, feeling foolish and like some teenage girl in the bath, her hand slipped between her legs. Or rather, tried to. "Gods, I can't even do this," Rebec grumbled, finding it a strain to get around the mead keg that was her abdomen. And her back hurt.

 

Baldur couldn't even find Daric around, and soon gave up trying to. He knew really, he was just using it as an excuse to leave the house. It dawned on him that he was doing almost the same thing Rebec was. It wasn't that he wanted sex, though he most certainly did. But any time he and Rebec got close or laughed together like they always did, things just eventually lead to sex anyway. They couldn't help it, as it was just the way they were. So now that it was off the table, Baldur felt like he was walking on eggshells, trying not to make her feel like all he wanted from her was a release, when really he just wanted to enjoy her company again.

 

Thinking about this, Baldur doubled back to the home, running a speech through his head so he'd know what to say.

 

Look, Rebec. If you don't want to make love, that's fine. But can't I still hold you and be close without you shying away from me? We don't have to make love to be close. I just want to hold you in my arms again and enjoy being with you without worrying about making you uncomfortable. Because I love you.

 

Yea, that sounds good. Cheesy, but good. Baldur quickly opened the door and began blathering out the speech before he forgot it. "Look, Rebec. If you..."

 

She jumped and looked up, the novel and a mead mug flying as her hand flew out from its excavations and her belly hit the table. "Baldur. You're back. Already."  Then Rebec tried hard to look nonchalant. "Um... I was just... reading. How's Daric?"

 

Baldur stood frozen for a moment, and for a second, he almost decided to act offended. The idea didn't last long though. Suddenly, he didn't care what rules they'd set up, and before he knew what he was doing, he strolled over to her and seized her by the back of her head, kissing her in a way that he hadn't in several months.

 

Rebec started to protest, but with Baldur's tongue in her throat, that was moot. She was still tense, but after a moment began to kiss him back.

 

Baldur kept at it as long as he could stand to help relax her, slowly working her back to the bed where she laid. Breaking off the kiss, Baldur quickly wrestled off his long tunic in front of her and unfastened his trousers. He placed her fingers she was using earlier in his mouth for a taste before lowering them down to his engorged middle. Things had started quickly, but Baldur took his time rubbing at her neglected center with her head tucked in his arm. The time without her was so long that every stroke from her felt more intense than the last. Eyes closed, his lids opened almost timidly, in hopes that he'd read it in her eyes that she wanted this.

 

Rebec let herself be carried along, and performed the motions, but her mind was too clouded to enjoy it. It was not only the anxiety that had bottled her up in the first place, but now also the guilt of having pushed him away for so long, and even the overwhelm from being suddenly intimate again. As she caught him peeking, she knew that he wasn't seeing what he wanted to see. "I'm sorry," she said, breaking off her pleasuring motion. "I can't." Miserable, Rebec turned over with her back to him.

 

Baldur's stomach sank when she turned, leaving him to watch her back. Exposed, embarrassed and feeling all more the fool, he had no choice but to sit in frustration as his excitement lowered. Once he was in his own mind again, Baldur sighed quietly, utterly lost and not knowing what to do now. Standing to put his trousers back on, he eventually came back, moving close behind her with his arm resting on her side. It was a while before Baldur finally said something. The only thing he could think of. "I'm sorry, Rebec. For all of it. Just...please talk to me. It's me, remember? You can tell me anything. But please do it soon, before I lose the chance to hear you for good."

 

Relieved that he didn't leave again, Rebec calmed a little. She took his hand and squeezed it. "It was always so good before. And now I can't." She sniffed once. It wasn't really about the sex, though that contributed, and it was the easiest to talk about. "Just... could you rub my back?" It was hard to think of anything except how uncomfortable she was. Shifting up, she grabbed a pillow and put it under her big belly, then settled back.

 

In truth, Baldur was happy for her just to request something of him again, even if it was something small. Baldur got up and brought a damp cloth to rub her aches away the best he could. "You know, this was the kind of thing I was looking forward to when you first told me you were with child. I was supposed to pamper and spoil you, rub your back, massage your feet. I wish you'd ask me to do things like that more."

 

She thought about it. "I'm used to doing for myself, I guess. Or doing without." Looking over her shoulder, she touched his cheek. "I didn't trust myself around you for just this reason, because I can't keep my hands off you, gods know. But I knew it would be a disaster. I mean, look at me."

 

Baldur moved closer so that his mouth was close enough to her ear that he only needed to whisper. While rubbing her side with the cloth, he said, "Didn't I tell you to think on my words when I left? I was talking about you when I mentioned the storm. I don't know if you've noticed or not, but I don't care how much of a mess you think you are. I just want to enjoy it while I still can."

 

"Why do you keep talking like that? Like one of us is about to die? I wasn't surprised when Maz told me about your dream, but she said you cried like it had really happened."

 

"Gods damnit, how much did she hear?! That orc has a big fat mouth... she should learn to keep things to herself." Baldur turned to his back, crossing his arms over his chest to sulk. He didn't say anything for a while, just stared at the ceiling as if it too blathered to Rebec about his secret soliloquy. He and Rebec shared a lot before, but he never intended on sharing any of that with anyone ever. He didn't want to be seen in that light by her when he was supposed to be strong willed. After a moment, his expression softened a little, and he began to speak. Though his mood was evidently still soured.

 

"What do you want me to say. Before, when I forced the issue of a baby on you, your words about the dangers of the world didn't really do anything to me. All I knew was that I had to have a child with you. But then the attack came, and the dream. It was so real. Then the prisoners and what I did with them because of it... I don't know, sometimes I feel like I have it coming. Like I deserve this for doing this to you for my own selfish reasons. Then when you started to close off, I guess I started to think somehow you knew it too. And that maybe you resented me for it. That just made it feel all the more real. That's all I've been able to think about for weeks now. In my sleep, when I'm awake. It's like I've been awake the whole time. I'm tired and tense everywhere. But I hide it for your sake. Guess it was pointless, since Maz told you everything anyway."

 

"I think she really just wanted to sleep." Rebec gave a little grin over her shoulder, despite the seriousness of everything. Seeing him laying back made her want to cuddle, but rolling over was a process, like a turtle trying to flip itself, then once she was there her belly jutted in between them anyway. "Gods. Why couldn't I have married an elf. Then I'd have a tiny little baby instead of this moose." Smiling again, she touched his chest almost shyly, playing with the hair. "You didn't force anything. I couldn't run from what happened forever. Except now that I'm in it, there are moments when I wish we hadn't. It'd be easier if it was just the two of us. Everything would."

 

Baldur almost didn't want to look her in the eye due to his embarrassment, but really, it was better that she knew. And when he did look her in the eye, with her laying there at his side, it made him feel silly that he was even embarrassed in the first place. Or fearful in the first place. Somewhere down the road, he'd forgotten who he was talking to, and perhaps needed a reminder. "I'm worried about a lot of things, I won't lie. But the one thing I can say is that despite it all, I don't regret any of it."

 

Baldur sat up in the bed, putting a few pillows behind his back. "Come here, lay your head on my shoulder and rest your side on me. Don't worry, I can take it."

 

Rebec shifted again, then cursed since she had to get up to make water. When she came back, she angled herself under his arm and went to lay back, getting a mouth full of Baldur's golden locks. Spitting them out, she laughed and settled back. "What a process. Worse than getting a bunch of riled up Nords to get in formation."

 

Her head on his shoulder, she said, "You weren't the only one who had a dream that day. I'm guessing deep down we felt something was coming on the village." She hesitated, then told him about the dream of the baby sinking under the waves. A few times she had to stop.

 

Hearing Rebec recite Namira's cruel visions made Baldur's eyes blurry, forcing him to close them. But after Rebec finished, Baldur couldn't help it. Unexpectedly, and to himself as well, he started to laugh despite the morbid nature of the topic.

 

Rebec lifted her head and cocked a brow, sure Baldur had lost it. "You think that's... funny?"

 

Baldur put a hand on her cheek to get her to rest her head again. "No no. I'm sorry. It's just that, we're so damn alike that it's almost comical sometimes. Here I am trying to keep this a secret, and you were going through the same thing. I wonder what else we have in common... You ever tried peeing your name in the snow? Probably'd be kinda hard for you."

 

She eased back. "Puddle my name, you mean. Doesn't work quite the same." Taking his hand, she stroked it and said, "I admit it worried me to hear how affected you were. I hadn't thought that you'd have fears like that. Your words back in Morthal are what calmed me. 'Our baby's going to be strong as a dragon.' I think it's got that part down." Rebec ran her free hand over her stomach.

 

Sighing, he put his hand over hers and said, "I know. Which is why I didn't want you to know about it. That's what men do though. We tell ourselves things that help us cope with life. 'I've got time still, no worries', 'that look means she wants me, I know it', or 'I'm the strongest, nothing can kill me'. That sort of thing. But I meant what I said. It's just different when war is close to home, with family and friends and your pregnant wife all depending on you. I guess the fear of losing you is greater than my confidence. Even when I fight, I fight not so much for the enjoyment, but for the fear of what will happen if we lose."

 

Thinking back on his ferocity against the Forsworn, he said, "Perhaps that's not such a bad thing though. But it is stressful."

 

Rebec paused, then snorted. "Listen to us. We sound like a couple of damned milk drinkers. I just think about how many dangers are out there and guiding a small child through them. It's no good to worry, though. I told myself I was going to stop. I'm sure the little one can feel it from both of us, and I don't want her to come into the world like that."

 

Baldur's cheek reddened and he sighed again, still feeling angry at Mazoga. "Like I said, you weren't even supposed to know. But, the truth is you're not ever going to stop. Neither am I. We'll just have to accept it and not let it get to us so much. Vigge mentioned that with you and Vilnur, all he did was worry, non stop. But look where we are now, eh? We came a very long way, you and I. Let's just try and have fun with all this. I'm having fun right now, sitting here with this thing laying on me." Baldur made beats on Rebec's belly like the little drum back on their honeymoon island.

 

She laughed, suddenly ticklish. The break in tension made her feel the familiar stirring, and in spite of herself her eyes trailed down his body to get a peek. She was still nervous, however, and didn't say anything.

 

He didn't notice her peeking at him and took her silence to mean she was done talking. Which was fine. Hearing her laugh, he realized was what he was after all along. Of course, some nubs would've been nice as well. He pulled the furs over them both, rubbing her back while he rested his eyes, looking forward to a good night's sleep, finally. It wasn't quite night yet, but he had no doubt that he could sleep until it was.

 

Rebec was momentarily disappointed that he didn't seem interested anymore. His hand rubbing her back felt so good that she got over it. As he settled in to sleep, however, the urge came back again. "Baldur," she whispered, nudging him with her knee. She put out of her mind thoughts of how ridiculous she was bound to look trying to do this, and lifted his hand up to her breast.

 

Baldur's scarred eye opened first, wondering what she was up to. He smiled in amusement, but truth be told, he just wasn't in the mood for sex anymore after all the talking, and the embarrassment.

 

That was before she filled his hands with breast, however, which made him blind to how ridiculous she thought she looked. As if his body had a mind of its own, his other hand without thinking slid down her back until he had a handful of ass as well. Her bust flowed effortlessly along with the palm of his hands as they worked to not just indulge himself, but also to gently rub out the many aches that were likely within.

 

Baldur didn't fully trust that Rebec wanted this now though. And although Underking was easy to sell, and jutting out at her through his trousers, Baldur was watching her reaction closely as he groped her. The last thing he wanted was her to do this out of a feeling of duty. But then again, this felt damn good.

 

She moved his hand under her tunic so that the grip he had on her breast was skin to skin. "This might be like mating a horker," Rebec warned him, her voice husky with growing lust. For the moment she was content to let him play with her, however, to ease her back into their intimacy. In the meantime her own hand moved down and she began to brush her fingertips over him, finally adjusting the light touch to a firmer grip. Eyes holding his, she whispered, "I'm sorry. About everything." This time it wasn't an apology for breaking the action off- since she had no intention of doing that- but about giving up her useless attempt to fend off the cost of loving someone so much.

 

Baldur grabbed her face in his hand and said, "I shouldn't have left. But let's not be sorry. Just relax and... have fun." Baldur kissed her softly, then a little more enthusiastically, more urgently each time, pausing only to flicker his tongue with hers. Then out came his middle, happy to once again be in Rebec's grasp as Baldur ripped away the fastenings on his pants. He could always mend them later.

Admittedly, making love to his wife this pregnant would certainly be an experience, but there was a challenge to it that appealed to his adventurous side. And also, something about seeing Rebec in the midst of such a womanly state, the peek of creation, and so vulnerable... dependent on him. Maybe another man would call him crazy, but for him, Rebec practically radiated sexual energy. In fact, he realized he could sense it in her for a time, and could tell she wanted this all along, but she was unsure of herself. That was the tension he was feeling from her.
 
He whispered in her ear as his hand made its way back between her legs, rubbing over her for a while before letting her engulf his fingers once she was thoroughly wet. Keeping his thumb firmly pressed on her clit as his fingers wandered below, he said gently, "If only you realized how beautiful you are to me, even now. Do you believe me?"

 

Rebec's eyes were closed, the emotion stronger than the physical sensations, but this time she wasn't about to let it drive her away from him. She opened her eyes at his question. Still as blunt as ever, she said quietly, "I don't feel it. But I do believe you." Closing her eyes again, she rested her head on his shoulder and let the motion of his fingers bring her up, while the rise and fall of his chest against her calmed her.

 

After a time she sat up and pulled the tunic over her head, exposing herself. She shifted so that she lay back against his chest, and opened her legs so that he could continue to touch her. Looking down the length of both their bodies, Rebec found she didn't much care about how she looked. This child was Baldur's.

 

The practiced motions of his hand, now insistent and then light and teasing, eventually had their way and she sat up, body trembling while the release melted all the tension out of her limbs.

 

Baldur, now more confident with her again, helped Rebec ease out of his lap onto the bed, positioning pillows behind her back so she could continue to relax. Her limbs weakened from her release made her easier to position for what would come next.

 

It was important to him that Rebec see him watching her, all of her and not hiding her belly, so he sat in front of her, scooting closer and closer until their legs were intertwined. He smiled as his eyes met with hers in this new position, entering her slow until eventually all of him sank within. Taking her hands in his, fingers interlocked like their legs, Baldur began to push at her with his center, slow and deliberate. The long months without her touch was working against him, and his face soon grew serious, but the slow pace helped him to enjoy the closeness of this as much as possible.

 

Grinding up against her pelvis with his at an angle, Baldur began to gently pull back against her hands, encouraging and allowing her to do so as well with her arms like an intimate tug of war in a continuous rocking motion that soon had the whole bed moving.

 

Rebec smiled at him, self-conscious at first but curious at this new approach. Ultimately the sensation of him entering her was so reassuring and energizing that any hesitation fell away. Holding his gaze, she rocked on him, taking encouragement from his obvious lust. I still got it, she thought, and laughed a little, reaching forward to wrap her arms around Baldur's shoulders. "Your turn," she whispered, inviting him to let go.

 

Hands now free, Baldur ran them over her bust again before they fell to her hips, then legs. Pausing a moment to figure things out, he quickly noticed the leverage he could get from holding onto Rebec's legs. Lust slowly overcame what was left of his senses as he used the leverage to thrust into her faster. Before long, his head fell into her chest, resting in the welcoming embrace of her breasts as Baldur grew closer and closer to his release, built up after so long. And finally he had it.

 

It was almost shocking to his system, as if he just rediscovered the feeling that climaxing brought. He buried his panicked gasps in Rebec's breast, just before collapsing to his back, arms spread eagle and legs still tangled like vines. Chest still rising and falling, he lay there, as relaxed as a snake baking on a rock in the sun. He noticed at the corner of his eye that Rebec's leg was outstretched over his next to him. Taking her foot in his hands, he rubbed at them while they laid there groin to groin.

 

Baldur's excitement was almost as good as her own, and by the time he was finished Rebec was feeling sensual again. She let him play with her foot, then used the toe to tickle and stroke his side while her legs were still open to his view. Meanwhile her mind wandered over all the things she still wanted to do to him.

 

Reality returned with her tiredness, however. She gave in to it, content now that they were together again. There was time that night to be adventurous. Returning to Baldur's side, she laid her head on his chest, took his hand, and rubbed it across her stomach. The baby wasn't kicking now, despite all the athletics it had to be a part of. Rebec wondered if the little berserker was asleep because her mother's tension had eased. She must feel calmer with her father near, too.

 

The thought put a lump in Rebec's throat, and soon she was sniffing again. This was the real reason she had been so afraid to let Baldur near her. Feeling his love cracked her open. That meant letting the child in.

 

Baldur heard this, and kissed her on the head. Thinking about his own dream and how he handled it, he thought about how Rebec always kept her feelings bottled up more than he did. The baby in her belly, its comforting weight resting on him now along with its mother, it was a constant reminder to him of the love they shared. But he knew it was also a constant reminder of what Rebec lost. Perhaps she needed another kind of release, like his in the fort.

 

"Let it out," he said in her ear, rubbing her stomach and back. "Go on, it's okay."

 

Tears began to fall, and she held on to Baldur tightly, but the storm was brief. Wiping her cheeks, Rebec said, "I'm alright. Whatever happens, I can get through it if you're here." A thought occurred to her and she added, "You going to watch the birth?"

 

A little snicker escaped him. "Mother informed me that if I didn't... That's all she said. I don't want to find out what happens if I don't, so I'll be there." Baldur got up momentarily to relieve himself. Stuhnir was sitting atop a table next to the chamber pot, watching him with his head tilted. Returning to bed, he said, "The fox didn't hide this time, heh. Our little guy's all grown up. Anyway, I was gonna watch the birth already, but now I have even more incentive, thanks to ma. Father's gotta be there to bite the cord, after all. I've seen plenty of blood and gore. How bad could this be."

 

Rebec gave a knowing smile. "I'd rather axe a few skulls, but I'm glad you're going to be there." She settled in next to him again and pulled the furs up over them, then gave a little whistle to Stuhnir. "It's safe to come back now, furball. For a while."

 

On cue, Stuhnir hoped from the table to the chamber pot, to a chair, off the child's future chest, the bed's headboard, then finally onto the two of them, snuggling up to Rebec's belly as she rested on Baldur. They were finally all together now, though Baldur knew this wouldn't be the end of their issues. Rebec was likely in for a castle full of old emotions resurfacing, and Baldur would have to do his best to help with that, even if it meant that sometimes they wouldn't always be intimate. But for now, he was too tired and comfortable to care about all that. They already drank enough milk for one night. Enough to run the Empire.

 

An eye cracked open again though, when a thought occurred to him. Whispering, he tickled her belly to get her attention, and said, "I'm sure we're both pretty tired, but if you have trouble sleeping tonight, feel free to give a nudge. I'll be up before you can say..."

 

"'Never trust an elf,'" she supplied with a smile.

 

"Heh, close enough." His eyes closed, Baldur thought to himself: That's probably what Nerevarine would say. That and trust no n'wahs.

[TheCzarsHussar]

Alef, Bragash, Bill

Falensarano, Vvardenfell

Some time after Samuel disappeared

 

For a few seconds, as the flakes fell on her naked face, eyes closed, she imagined that she was back in the land of the Nords. Where her people had taken up residence in scattered strongholds away from peering eyes. Of all the places of Tamriel she'd visited, Skyrim was her favorite. The feeling of pain was different there. The cold numbed you to punches and blade nicks, but the pain lingered longer and in a way that it echoed to the core of your bones, just as the cold itself seeped through you. You could really bring an opponent to their knees with the right strike in the cold, specifically with exposed toes and fingers.

 

The bone chill aggravated her tusks, and sometimes it was necessary to cover them with animal skins akin to the lamb skins that some men used when visiting whores, but despite the discomfort, the cool sting on her face always felt like a welcoming kiss from a harsh land that only the strong could dwell in.

 

She heard the harsh raspy voice of a Dunmer call out at the sound of something breaking, probably a rusty pickaxe. That made her aware again of the ping pang of the excavators she was overlooking, making her reluctantly open her eyes again to what she was imagining to be snow, but in reality was the grey grimy ash of Red Mountain. Alas, she was not in Skyrim with her people, not that she much cared about any of them. But in this alien land of grey skins that never did feel very alien, strangely enough. That was what she hated about this place the most. The ash. It was... familiar, and she knew it must be because she was destined to end up in the Ashpits of the King of Outcasts.

 

Samuel knew how she felt about this place, and it felt like a cruel joke that he was playing. He was always doing that.

 

"Sheo, take you lot! How are we supposed to get into this damn ruin when you N'wahs can't even supply proper pickaxes? That's the third one I've went through in the past two hours!"

 

Bragash answered his question with a snap of her tusks and a low grumble, and that was that.

 

"I do hate working with the likes of these," Alef mentioned to the Orc, absentmindedly. She was glad to be back in Morrowind, but why in the name of the Reclamations had they been sent into the Ashlands? What was it Samuel hoped to find here? Wouldn't digging out the remnants of the Ghostgate be more productive? The Bouyant Armirgers had had a strong presence there, so it should be full of treasure. But no, they were ordered to Falensarano. Supposedly the home of hedge witches at one point. No one noteworthy, just practitioners of magic the Dunmer never tolerated from anyone but the Temple.

 

She saw the moron who had broken his pickaxe make a move towards Bragash, but the foreman just laid a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head. Either he thought the payment was too good to let some upstart mess it all up, or he knew that he'd have one less worker to meet the quota if he didn't intervene.

 

Bragash was honestly disappointed. A brawl would have at least passed the time a bit, though the scrawny Dunmer didn't look like much. Shaking her head to be rid of the ash in her ponytail situated almost at the top, she said, "If this takes any longer, the three of us are grabbing pickaxes as well, so be ready to roughen up those pretty hands of yours a little."

 

Bill, silent as ever, just glared at her. Alef shook her head, but then she paused for a moment. She thought she had seen something in the Breton's eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Probably nothing. The thought of going down into the ruin must have put her on more of an edge than she thought.

 

"Whatever," the Dunmer finally answered. She still had a scar after what the Imperial General had done to her, so her hands weren't that pretty. While it was common for Samuel to leave his subordinates out of the loop, they'd usually be given some semblance of why they were sent to do something. But now he hadn't even given that, but he had sent one of his information dealers on a mission far better suited for warriors. "Why did Samuel want us all the way out here anyway? And why would he need me here? Am I going to make deals with the skeletal remains of whoever used to live here?"

 

This wasn't a tomb, it was an old Dunmer Stronghold. There were no common practice to use the dead to defend these. Any undead presence would only mean a necromancer, so she felt comfortable phrasing it the way she did.

 

Bragash shrugged and said, "Not my problem. If so, you make sure to wear a nice smile and act charming. Lest we end up doing all of this for nothing."

 

"Hey, uh, Ma'am?" the foreman of the workers walked up to the two women. He looked notably concerned. "We've, uh, found something. A door, but it is sealed."

 

"Details, sharp one. Sealed how? Magically, or can we break it down?" Bragash was hoping it was magical. That meant their work was done for now.

 

"Well, I dunno, Ma'am. This is an old Dunmer Stronghold. We don't know what our ancestors left to defend this place. But I don't want to try anything before your mage friend has taken a look."

 

"Falensarano was inhabited by witches sometime before the Red Year, so any ward left by the ancient Dunmer should be long gone," annoyed Alef threw the comment out. Bill, however, just went in the direction the foreman had come from. "Oh, what now? You're wasting your time, you know. Wizards..."

 

The last word was spoken under her breath. If it mattered that he heard her, she had no idea. Bill was always one of those odd people in this profession one couldn't get a good read on. Never spoke, never seemed to need to be given orders. He just did what Samuel wanted, like it was instinct.

 

Or maybe he is Samuel's Thrall, a thought said in the back of her mind. Possible, but unlikely. Vampiric Thralls had never struck her as being connected to their masters that way. But, then again, one never knew what the Blood of the Dual Masters were capable of. Maybe a bargain had been struck regarding Bill a long time ago. "Hey, Bragash, think we should follow him?"

 

"It's like you read my mind," Bragash said, pointing a rough finger in their direction. "Anything is better than collecting dust like some ancient statue." Bragash didn't give much thought on the nature of Bill, other than the fact that she never needed to give him an order, which she liked. If only more people were like that. Especially Alef.

 

You're simplistic mind isn't hard to read, Alef thought to herself. Warriors. So proud, so predictable.

 

An explosion and a flash of intense light caught her attention before she or Bragash could make good on their intentions to follow Bill, coming from the direction the Breton had gone. Instinct took over, making them run to see what it was, weapons drawn. If they were lucky, that was not an old magical trap being set off.

 

The diggers seemed to be shaken, but nothing else seemed amiss. The door was broken down, but the scorch marks from the fireblast weren't on them. Instead, they were further away, and in the middle of them there were the bodies of ash hoppers, burned to crisps. Why on Nirn Bill would use fire against the buggers was beyond her, but maybe he just wanted to show that he wasn't scared by the innate resistances some creatures and people had.

 

Bragash smiled, seeing nothing more than the fact that the door was open, and no one was hurt. "Diggers, stay put! I'm going to investigate. Alef, Bill, lets go inside."

 

***

 

The insides were nothing like Alef had expected. No ash, save for what had come in when the door was smashed open. The dark stone and wood the place was built with seemed to hold up well, probably sealed off pretty well by the ashes. A thick layer of dust had gathered on the floor, occasionally showing signs of very old footprints in them. Nordic boots, from the looks of it. The light kind, and not the heavy warstompers they snow-monkeys usually brought everywhere. But there was a long time since they had been made, and none of them seemed recent.

 

The first thing that was noted about the layout itself was that it split into two path immediately; left and right. The hallways didn't go far in either direction before they ended in turns.

 

"Which was should we-"

 

Alef was interrupted by Bill, who took it upon himself to ignore the others completely and take the path to the right. So much for thinking this through, she thought as he summoned a small orb of light. The hallway turned to the left twice, before they were met with a door not unlike the one on the outside. It gave in at the slightest touch from Bill's hand, sliding elegantly open. It opened a staircase to them, which led down to another door. It was shattered, looking like it had become the practice doll for a very large axe. Alef found herself getting a tad nervous, but told herself that this was common in old ruins like this. No one was around, they were long dead. Had to be, these ruins had been sealed for two centuries.

 

Bragash would normally be worried about traps, but it was clear that whoever was here before them hadn't encountered any, and these weren't Dwemer or Nordic ruins. If it were, she'd be analyzing every inch they took, lest they end up like so many a would-be treasure hunter. She did keep her blade in hand, however. You never knew with ancient burrows. You never knew.

 

At least she had some meat between her and whatever laid ahead. That was another thing she liked about Bill.

 

"So, Alef. You're the greyskin. See anything familiar yet about this place? Read about it in a book or something?" Bragash asked. She didn't really care about the history of the place, but she wanted an idea of what they might find and what they were looking for.

 

"Well, I was told something interesting about these ruins by Samuel, but it is a long time ago. A Nord warrior used to make this place his home, before the Red Year. Alfhedil Elf-Hewer. Supposedly the greatest wielder of the axe Tamriel has ever seen."

 

They continued down the stairs on the other side of the door as she spoke, entering a larger room. Under all the dust, there were old bones and skulls laying about. But none of them looked liked they had been damaged. A scamp's body lay by one of the two pillars in the room. It looked like it had been introduced to the same fate as the door. Strange how well preserved it seemed, but then again, it was a daedra's body. The only way ahead was to to the left of the entrance to the room. Trough the doorway, they could see another scamp's body, just as dead as this one.

 

Bragash kicked at the creature and wrinkled her snout-like nose. She hadn't seen a summoned scamp in a while. Older magic. The creatures smelled like sulfur and smoke. Or just plain ass.

 

"The Nords would say that title belongs to their Ysgramor. Never heard of this guy, but then, all the greatest warriors dwell in obscurity. Hence why we Orcs go unnoticed in history. Any reason why the northman stayed here? He clearly wasn't the only Nord to find interest in this place. That's rather odd."

 

"The Nords say a lot of things," Alef sighed. "But I've read of Alfhedil Elf-Hewer. He lived in the days of Uriel Septim, so we can know a little bit about him. More than myths, anyway. He was unmatched in his skill with the axe. Supposedly better than any Orc axeman no mater how great."

 

She added the last line just to annoy Bragash. Racial pride. Who gave a shit? "Why do the Nords do anything? To get away from the damned cold, of course. Heh. No, seriously, I have no idea. But the tracks and layers of dust makes me think this might be the handiwork of Alfhedil himself, if he really stayed here. This place should have been sealed since the Red Year..."

 

A long pause followed on her part. She hadn't really thought about it, but had they been sent to find the remnants of the old Nord warrior? Or, another part of her mind added, perhaps he heard rumors of the living dead here somehow and needed someone he trusts to investigate. 

 

"You're with me if I say that there are probably no old necromantic magic at work here, right?" with shivers going down her spine, Alef looked at Bragash. Now that the thought had crossed her mind, the idea of an undead Alfhedil made her uneasy and she couldn't seem to shake the thought from her mind. This was precisely why she had worked to get the informant roles. And yet, now she was out here like Samuel's hired muscle. Everything had started to get weird ever since he involved himself personally in the Skyrim business, but this was not only weird; it was incoherent. Why send a talker to a fighters' assignment?

 

Bragash smelled fear and felt a little ticklish twitch in her hand any time she felt a tinge of delight. With the same expression she always had, she said, "Ask yourself, why is my sword drawn? I'd keep your wits about you if I were you. There's rumors that necromancers use their talents to violate women in the afterlife. Pretty women. Since living in tombs is so lonely. The actual journals of such a necromancer was published a few years back."

 

"I've read them..."

 

Ugh, why did Samuel have to employ such people? Bragash was a good warrior, great even, but couldn't he have enlisted a Breton knight or something instead? Sure, they were often pompous, but someone schooled in the arts of chivalry would be a pleasant change.

 

Bill moved into the next room, which was separated by a corridor. In the corridor, there was another staircase going down, leading to another door. The Breton, however, continued forward and took to the right in the room ahead. It was a dead end, with a long dead body in the center. Another victim of the Elf-Hewer, from the look of the tears in the robes and the bone splinters. With the others on his tail, he turned back and went down the stairs instead. Besides their own footsteps, there wasn't any sounds to be heard.

 

At the bottom of these stair, another room with bones met them, but instead of the scamps they had encountered previously, a far greater creature laid slain on the floor. It was larger than any Nord or Orc Alef had ever seen, and she had seen many, and dressed in a black and red armor. It's face was hidden, but the armor left no doubt of what this thing was; a dremora. What else had access to daedric armor, save for the richest of nobles? The people here hadn't been simple hedge wizards, they had been proper conjurers. A spear of the same metal laid by the body. She wanted to touch it, but she knew such items often held curses. The last thing she wanted was to see if Bragash was good enough to beat a dremora. She'd rather just believe she was.

 

Bragash was of the same thought, whether she knew what Alef was thinking or not. "Perhaps the rumor are true, then. With all these magic users and their dead conjured beasts, beasts that actually stay behind in death instead of vanishing, whoever killed them is very skilled indeed. These mages weren't pushovers.

 

Bragash wasn't about to touch the items on the daedra, but she did want to take a closer look at its wounds. Stepping over the corpse and squatting over it, she peered closely at the armor itself. "Amazingly, I can see dents in this dark armor, despite how jagged it is. A large weapon obviously did this. There seems to be some strands of... hair, or fur maybe. Odd." Bragash then noticed a thicker lock of it caught in between a slanting spike. "I don't know for sure, but I think the son of a bitch was wearing nothing but furs when he killed this thing."

 

"Sounds like many of the wandering northmen warriors. No one in their right mind would come in furs to Vvardenfell," the Dunmer replied, but was distracted as Bill started to move again, through another door. So many doors.

 

"What are you- who are you people!?" a voice shouted at them. Female. Alef ran after Bill, seeing an older Altmer woman holding some sort of barrier in front of Bill, who just stood in front of it. She was dressed in visibly old garments that would have been of excellent make at some time.

 

"Wait, who are you?" Alef replied, more than a little surprised to see someone alive down here. If the lack of tracks were an indication, she hadn't visited the upper levels of the ruin for a very long time.

 

"Viraninde. I survived the onslaught of that brutish Nord and the cowardly vampires; I'll survive you too!"

 

Bragash came up last behind the others, but in time to hear the last part. "You mean to tell me you've been alive down here this whole time? By yourself? Why haven't you left, butterskin?"

 

"I- I made a deal, to survive. With Clavicus Vile. So now I can't leave. Now, who are you?"

 

"My name is Alefea. I work for a man named Samuel. These are my companions, Bragash and Bill."

 

"And what are you doing here?" Viraninde asked, still maintaining her barrier. She made a deal with a daedra lord? Alef could only imagine the delight Clavicus Vile must have gotten from a deal like this, and what sort of horrors that would drive this woman to choose that over death.

 

"What sort of deal, and how in the hell did you contact a Daedra?" Bragash asked. "Show us your teeth, and be quick about it."

 

"He'd shield me from- from the prying eyes of the invaders, but I had to remain here. We were a coven of witches here, we've contacted daedra before. That was before the northman started fighting those vampires, and drove them down into the lower levels."

 

She lowered her barrier. As it dissipated, Alef saw that she was breathing heavily and walked very slowly. As she approached Bragash, she fell to her hands and knees out of sheer exhaustion. "I'm sorry, I'm so hungry. The bodies of the dead invaders... they only lasted so long... do you have any food to spare? I'll tell you everything you want to know for a little food..."

 

Bragash stepped on her back and drew her blade. "You'll tell us now or die. I don't trust witches any more than an ant can throw them. Tell us everything first, and perhaps we can spare a nibble or two. Try anything, and you'll end up like those daedra below."

 

"I- okay... okay," she looked up. Even a mere commoner would be able to see that she had been infected with vampirism from the color of her eyes. Alef theorized it was because she had eaten the bodies of dead vampires and gotten infected that way. "We used to worship Mehrunes Dagon here, but he wouldn't lend us aid against the invaders. So I reached out to another patron."

 

"Who attacked you? Who was this northman?"

 

"We had set up a mutually beneficial arrangement with him earlier, when he first came. We didn't bother him and left his room alone, and he didn't go on a one-man massacre in the lower parts of the ruins. When he first came, we summoned daedra to stop him, but he just cut them down. He seemed... amused at the prospect of fighting. Later he asked us if we could summon more of the creatures so he could fight them. He kept asking for stronger and stronger opponents. We did it to keep him happy. It was certainly better than if he had taken... other interests."

 

"What was his name?"

 

"When he introduced himself I thought we were done for. Elf-Hewer, he called himself."

 

Alef gave a meaningful look to Bragash. What sort of an arrangement was that? Loving the fight was one thing, but convincing conjurers to summon stronger and stronger daedra to test yourself against was nothing short of pure folly.

 

Bragash said, "That's rather convenient. You can fight with skilled opponents without having to stroll over all of Tamriel to find them like I had to. Say, what happened to 'Elf-Hewer' anyway? And where's that axe..."

 

"I- I dunno! He just walked back upstairs after he dealt with the vampires, laughing. I couldn't leave these few chambers after that, so I don't know what happened after that. I'm sure he eventually left."

 

"And who were these vampires he fought?" Alef shook her head at Bragash with a smile to herself. Maybe she could be useful for more than skull bashing after all, if she understood the way Alfhedil thought about this. "Quarra? Berne? Aundae?"

 

"Cyrodilic..."

 

Alef felt her mouth fall open for a moment, before she could close it again. Cyrodilic vampires, here? Leading an attack of some sort? Just what in Oblivion had Samuel expected them to find here?

 

"Hmm, Cyrodiilic vampires coming to attack some dusty ass dungeon, filled with witches that worship Mehrunes, one of which contacted Clavicus to shield from them... yea I've got nothin. There's got to be a reason they came here. Something they were searching for." Bragash put the blade tip at the woman's neck.

 

"Here's the deal. You're hiding something. For one, you're infected with vampirism and you said nothing, which means despite all your worshiping, you belong to Bal now. So, I'm going to ask you this once only, or you go to the King of Rape early. What's so fascinating about this place? What do you have in here?"

 

"It was abandoned and a long way from the Dunmer theocracy's Ordinators! I swear that is why my sisters and I came here! I don't know why the northman or the vampires came here!"

 

Bragash said, "Well then, that makes you useless to me, doesn't it? And a threat, due to your unique predicament." Bragash pushed her blade in a bit more so that it poked the flesh.

 

Bill did something neither of them had seen him do before; he reached out and pulled back Bragash's hand, shaking his head at her. His expression told her very clearly to not go there.

 

Bragash snatched her hand away and growled out at him. "Back off, Bill. Unless you got some knowledge I don't, I need to be very thorough. Failure isn't an option with me. If she doesn't know anything, I need to be sure of it."

 

He rolled his eyes, before making a gesture in the Orc's direction. She froze in her tracks, paralyzed. With little more than a push, he made her fall over. Once he was sure the Orc wasn't going to be a problem, he turned his attention to Viraninde. A similar gesture was made and her eyes fell out of focus.

 

"Oh, I get it..." Alef mumbled to herself. This was much simpler than trying such outdated ways of interrogation. "Erhm. Now, Viraninde, please tell us what you know of these ruins."

 

"Of course!" she seemed happy to answer her. "One of my sisters told me that she had heard about this place were we could go, so we didn't have to hide in the ashlands as much. Said this was an abandoned place, and she was right. We set up a nice little coven here, with an arrangement with some non-Dunmer traders."

 

"Nothing special comes to mind?"

 

"No, not really. Maybe except the strange chamber with the runic pillars. I think they might have been used as portals when this place was still occupied, but we never got them to work. You would need a special key for it, I think, but we never found one here."

 

"Is it true that you can't leave these rooms without dying?"

 

"Yes, I am afraid so."

 

"I believe her," Alef said to Bragash, who started to regain her mobility. She hid a laughter. "I don't think Bill would ever do a spell poorly."

 

Bragash stood and dusted herself off, seeming to be uncaring of Bill's actions before a large green fist impacted him in the groin. "Next time, try SPEAKING, you creepy mute!" Bragash pushed him and the vampire forward and shouted, "Get moving then, and show us these pillars."

 

"But I can't leave! We'd need to go outside, and across the plateau. It is its own, separated chamber," Bill's spell seemed to have dissipated, and she was getting frantic as they neared the door, trying to get around them to get back down.

 

Bragash sighed, growing increasingly frustrated with all of this. Taking a moment to calm herself, knowing she was still angry from Bill's transgression, she said, "Fine. You obviously aren't going anywhere. Stay. As for food, unless one of you two wish to give her blood, we can't give the kind of food you need. Volunteers?"

 

"I don't offer my blood to anyone but Samuel," Alef said in reply. Bill just continued going up the stairs, not even looking like he heard the question.

 

"Samuel? I remember one of the vampires saying that name!" Viraninde stopped, looking at them. 

 

Bragash said, "Cyrodiilic vampires in a place Samuel was interested in. Probably should have mentioned him in the first place, but it's hard to remember he's been around so long. Well, out with it then."

 

"Well, it was only that. Someone said that name, then they got a date with the Elf-Hewer's axeblade. Just thought you'd want to know, since you apparently know a Samuel."

 

"I wonder if he was among the vampires here," Bragash said. She looked around behind her shoulder, as if she heard something. Samuel said he'd meet up with them. Perhaps he already did. "Lets go already. I'm itching to see what's had Samuel interested in this place for so long."

 

**

 

As the two reached the entrance, they found Bill waiting for them. He held out a note for Alef to take. It read:

 

Alef and Bragash,

 

Take the left part from the entrance and meet me in the Elf-Hewer's old room. Bill has his own duties to fulfill.

 

S

 

As soon as he had handed it over, he walked out the door, leaving the two women for themselves. Alef raised an eyebrow. She hadn't heard that Samuel would be coming here, not before Bragash mentioned it. If he was going to come here anyway, why? Ugh, it drove her mad! His actions didn't make any sense!

 

Bragash shared a look with Alef that said she was of the same mind, and annoyed. But this was Samuel's way, and she was just glad to have it almost finished. At least it was interesting, if nothing else. "We go left, then Alef. Lets go and be done with this. All these games are making me hungry for grilled Nech."

 

The hallway took a right turn, shortly followed by the entrance to a room. The door was open, and they could see a set of footprints in the dust that implied that someone had been pacing across the floor for some time. Samuel had probably taken a seat in a corner or something.

 

Alef led the way, into the room. It looked empty. More theatricality? Then she heard Bragash make a sound behind her. She couldn't quite place what it was, but it sounded like a struggle of some kind. It went silent as fast as it had come. She tried to turn around, but someone kicked in behind her knee, making her fell forward. His left arm was placed around her throat and the other used to apply pressure. She kicked wildly as she struggled to breathe, but never seemed to make contact. He was so strong, too strong for her to break his grip. The last thing she remembered before it went black was that she swore she would find a way to inform Samuel of this treachery. Someone had double crossed them.

 

**

 

When Alef came to, she felt she was stripped and bound to a table or something similar. Do I even want to open my eyes?she asked herself. No, she didn't. Whatever had happened, it was their fault. Hers and Bragash's.

 

"Just kill me! I don't even want to know who you are."

 

"Just kill you?" a familiar voice said. Too familiar. Nonono, there was no way this was happening. Her eyes shot open. She was indeed bound on a table. It looked like the Elf-Hewer's room, but it wasn't at all like it had been before she passed out. A statue of Hermaeus Mora was placed near her, and the walls had tapestry with his likeness. Around the table there was several candles lit, in formation. "Just killing you wouldn't gain me anything."

 

Samuel was dressed in chitin armor, holding a daedric dagger. His arms were covered in blood. Behind him, Alef could see Bragash laying on the floor; her throat had been slit and she had died in a pool of her own blood. With a shaking voice she spoke. "What are you going to do to me?"

 

He just smiled back and walked over to the table. He positioned himself at her left side, pointing the dagger right above her heart. He lifted it high above him.

 

"Hermeaus Mora, hear me and accept this Vessel of Knowledge! In return for all she is, grant me the knowledge of how to evade Darius Bathory!"

 

The light of the candles grew as he plunged the dagger down. Alef didn't even feel the pain. It just went black. The last thing she did was to ask herself if this is what Samuel had had planned for her all along.

[TheCzarsHussar]

Marcurio
Goldenglow Mansion
Day 1 after the battle, late evening

"You don't think it's at least worth a try? It has to be done eventually! Why not sooner rather than later?"
The Breton thief was far less agreeable than Marcurio had expected. Just yesterday, he had heard the man boasting of how he had singlehandedly broken Boldir out of Mistveil prison, and then how he'd managed to save his life from guards at Honorhall Orphanage. Marcurio wasn't so sure that he believed the second part, but he knew the first to be true. This one is capable. he had thought. He is willing to take risks, and if his money is where his mouth is, he can handle the job. He didn't bother to hide his disappointment when Cynric immediately refused to help in his plan.

"We're doing just fine with what we have." Cynric said. "And I'm not going to be the one to go behind Boldir's back on this. If he refused when you went to him first, he won't be happy to see that we went and did it anyway."

"You know that we can't go on like we are forever." Just that morning, Marcurio'd had to scare away a ship approaching from the city. Eventually, the people down there would wisen up, and he had a feeling it wouldn't be long before they realized that Goldenglow was held by barely over half a dozen men. He and Boldir were capable, no doubt, and Cynric seemed decent with a bow, but that wouldn't be enough if Maven were to convince the Jarl to send her entire guardforce. "Boldir will come around once it's been done, and I'll cover for you while you're gone. No one even has to know you were involved... unless it turns out to be a great move, in which case, I'll give you full credit."

"Not happening, Sellsword. It's too risky a plan."

"Alright, fine. I'll drop it."

"Good. See that you do." the thief looked relieved at the news.

Don't tell me this man was actually afraid... Maybe he was a poor choice afterall.
Marcurio watched Cynric slink off to whatever it was he'd been heading to do before being stopped in the mansion hallway. Just as he turned to go on his own way, he found himself nearly face-to-face with yet another thief. This one was the larger one, the Redguard. "Hello there," Marcurio said, still annoyed by Cynric's refusal. "You're Runar, right?"

The Redguard scowled and shook his head. "Kosta."

"Right. Do you mind scooting over, Kosta? You see, that spot you're standing in is exactly where I need to step in order to leave this hall."

Arms folded, the Redguard didn't budge. "I heard what you said to Cynric. You want to treat with the bandits at Faldar's Tooth and Treva's Watch, and Boldir already refused the plan when you took it to him."

"And let me guess, you, being such a smart thief, want me to buy your silence, is that correct?" Marcurio brought a few sparks to his fingers, he could turn them into powerful bolts of lightning on a moment's notice. "I don't think you'll like the currency I pay with." He watched the sparks' reflections dance across the Redguard's widening dark eyes, and the thief finally took half a step back. "That's a good start, keep doing that until I can get through."

After taking a moment to collect himself, Kosta did exactly the opposite and returned his foot to where it'd been, which, Marcurio had to admit, took balls, but in his experience, those weren't particularly useful to a man whose brain was being fried. Kosta was putting on a fake look of confidence that'd fool most people, but no one was better at being cocky than Marcurio, and he knew how to tell apart those who lived up to the image they set, and those who set an image to hide some sort of weakness. Kosta was the latter. Still, the Redguard didn't budge, and Marcurio had no reason not to play along and see what the man was up to. If the thief tried anything, he could always kill him. Sighing, he said, "I suppose you have more to say."

Kosta nodded, seemingly thinking that he now had control over the situation, like a fool. "I don't want to turn you in or blackmail you. I want to help. You're right, we do need allies, and Boldir won't trust bandits to be here unless he ends up having no choice. The man doesn't even trust us. I used to be a bandit. Operated out of Mistwatch. We were bad enough that the Stormcloaks' most brutal general was sent to deal with us personally, and when he saw how bad we were, the man pissed himself. Said he'd rather excuse any past crimes than fight us, and even offered most of the boys top positions in the army. Last I heard, they were off fighting in the Reach. I stayed because the army life ain't for me."

"Well aren't you something." Marcurio said sarcastically. "I'm sure your mother would be proud."

"Piss off. It's all true. So are you gonna let me help you or not?"

Marcurio took several moments to appear in contemplation. "Fine. What I need help with is contacting them. You're better suited for this than I. If you want to help, go to Faldar's Tooth. They're practically next door, and I'd like to get their opinions on the lot currently living in Treva's Watch. Bandits tend to hate other bandits, but perhaps if we can give them a common goal..."

"That goal being sharing in Riften's plunder."

"Exactly. We can turn this into something a lot bigger than it is now. It'll be messy, but that's the only way we're going to get truly rich off of this. Maybe such a prize will be enough motivation to bring them all to our side. I need you to go and convince them that it is both possible and a good idea."

"And what about you, mage? What's your part in this plan of yours?"

"Coming up with the plan. My absence will be noticed the moment another ship approaches and a mage is needed to deal with it. Yours will not."

"Fine."

Marcurio had half expected the Redguard to make an attempt at some witty retort, but they both knew the truth of his statement.
"You should go tonight, as soon as you're able to slip away. This needs to be done as soon as possible. I'll cover for you if someone does end up wondering where you are."

Kosta nodded and finally turned down the hall and got out of Marcurio's way. Once the Redguard had disappeared, he cast a detect life spell. Walls suddenly stopped mattering as every living person on the island became visible to him in the form of a dim blue glow. Marcurio saw a figure below, stretched out and unmoving. It was the Black-Briar girl. Above him was Boldir, exactly where he'd been when they'd last spoken: at a desk in the main bedroom. Aerin and his fisherman friend were together at the docks, as they often were, but Cynric and Kosta were all that Marcurio cared about. He needed to know they weren't going to rat him out. As it turned out, Cynric had gone to the basement, and Kosta was heading outside. Neither were in any rush to tell Boldir what he'd planned. Marcurio wasn't afraid of the man, but he rather liked Boldir. He payed in promises sure, but so far they'd been kept, and the man was a useful ally, if somewhat shortsighted, and it was thanks to him that this opportunity had arisen. He won't be any trouble if it comes down to blows, though. He had heard the news of how Boldir had been burned. It had been the same mage who'd blown up that house a few days ago, apparently in some botched assassination attempt. If someone so sloppy could do that to him, he was certain that he could defeat the Nord in seconds, if it came down to it.

As he turned to leave, Marcurio felt a little odd. It was rare for him to consider having to betray an employer. And never had he gone behind one's back making plans. Forget it. The initial job is already done. He isn't my employer anymore, he's my partner. I can't make a habit of working for promises. This was all about the money, and Boldir knew that, but because the man wouldn't be capable of paying if he kept on waiting for nothing, Marcurio had to take matters into his own hands. He couldn't just be a sellsword this time. He had to act on his own. And if his plan worked, this could become a conflict to remember, and once the Black-Briars are gone and he has sucked their coffers dry, he can retire a rich man. It was something most sellswords only dreamt of. He'd had those dreams as well, and Marcurio was tired of them. He would make them a reality.

 

***

Boldir

Goldenglow Mansion
Day 2 after battle, evening

"Falmer." said Marcurio. "Definitely Falmer." He took a quick swig of his Black-Briar mead, frowned at the drink, and muttered something under his breath. A thin layer of frost crept around the mage's mug. He smiled and took another drink.

"My ass! If you've seen a Falmer, I'm a bloody Nightingale!" Cynric shook his head and took a moment to sip from his own mug. Glancing over to Aerin and Runar, he said, "Don't believe a word from this one. Say what you want about us thieves, but sellswords are liars as well, and braggarts besides."

The truest thing that's been said tonight. Boldir thought. Aerin and Runar had been mostly quiet, and he was too busy writing to engage in conversation with his little band of outlaws. The letter he was working on could determine whether or not his family could leave Riften unharmed. Even with Goldenglow and Ingun in his hands, the Black-Briars still had the upper hand if things came down to further conflict. If he could convince them to make the trade, his family for theirs, and Goldenglow besides, everyone could go on their way, and this could end without further bloodshed. Of course, blood was exactly what Maven wanted. And many of the thieves who helped him. The thieves would just have to get over it or do this without him. As for Maven... Surely she'll let it go with her granddaughter on the line.
Unfortunately for Maven, but not so much the thieves, it was not Boldir's blood being spilled. A ship approached the morning after he and his new allies had cleared Goldenglow. A few of Marcurio's ice spikes thudding into its hull was enough to get it to turn right back around. Next came five sellswords not unlike those who'd been guarding the estate. They had approached the gate with their weapons sheathed and asked to speak with him on behalf of Hemming Black-Briar. Though Boldir had never gotten to so much as see them. After Runar had left the gate to fetch him, the Redguard, Kosta, shot and killed two of them, and Ollus a third. Those remaining decided not to wait around for him to arrive. Kosta insisted that one had tried to sneak in. And Ollus swore that he was only there because he'd heard shouting. He wasn't so sure that he believed them, but what was he to do?

"The man asked which creatures I've fought were the toughest to kill, and I told him." said the mage. "I may be boastful, but I've no need to brag falsely. Falmer are worse than Dragons because if there's one, there's a hundred more with it. And their mages are no pushovers."

"I'll believe in Snow Elves when I see one breathing in front of me." muttered Cynric. Looking over at Runar, he asked, "And what about you? There's that big spear you always carry around. What've you killed with it?"

"With my spear?" Runar shrugged. "Killed a twenty pound slaughterfish once. But it was with a three-pronged wooden spear I'd made. The one I've got now hasn't hurt nothing."

"So you've always been a fisherman, then?" asked Cynric.

"Yeah. I'm originally from Falkreath, see. The water there was shallower. And the fish more daring. I could wade into the water there with my spear and leave with enough to feed myself and plenty of friends."

"You're from Falkreath?" Boldir looked up from his letter when he heard the news. "Do you have family there?"

"Had." Runar said. "My Pa lived there long after I left. Just until just this last year, actually, when the southerners invaded. He was no soldier, but he didn't like the invaders any more than the next guy. When the General put together a militia, he signed up."

Boldir remembered all too well. In the end, the militia hadn't seen much use. Only the most hotheaded and battle-eager among them had managed to slip into the fray. Runar's father must've been among those. "So your father died fighting the Thalmor. That's as honorable way to go as there is."

Runar almost laughed at that. "I wish that were true. My father didn't last long enough to fight even one elf. No, Pa was walking down a street when he got hit by a fireball from an Imperial catapult. Got blasted to more pieces than they could find a good while before the day of the famous battle."

"Damn." muttered Cynric.

"Yeah, damn. That's how they told me it happened, anyway. You'd think they'd at least make up some story about how he died in battle, taking half a dozen elves with him, but no. 'You deserve to know the truth.' they said." He finished his own mug and sat it aside. "It's about right, how it happened, actually. Pa's father was struck by bloody lightening! And I hear his own father was in Winterhold when it decided to quit standing."

Marcurio looked at the boatman curiously. "Is it safe for us to have you here?"

Aerin chuckled slightly. "He's no more cursed than the rest of us. If you haven't garnered it already, we aren't exactly swimming in jewels and home free. But maybe our luck will change soon now that we have Ingun." He shrugged. "Or maybe not. At this point, who knows what will happen. All I hope is Maven bites the dust before all is settled."

There were few things Boldir would rather see than Maven Black-Briar dead at his feet, but if his plan worked, nobody else would die. He would gladly give up killing her if it meant the safe return of his family. Though Aerin had seen her as an enemy for years. He understood why his brother-in-law was seeing this situation as an opportunity to deal with her. 

"I can agree on Maven," mused Marcurio, "but you should speak for yourself on the luck and wealth. I for one, feel a good deal less cursed than the fisherman." Marcurio had certainly fared better than the rest of them. His demand for double Boldir's weight in plunder had payed off well. Especially considering jewelry did not weigh much, and that was the first thing we went after. Once he had claimed a small fortune in the mansion's necklaces and rings, Marcurio had chosen a nice chest to store them all in, then a few sets of silver mugs and plates. Feeling generous, he told Boldir that he was content with that much, for now.

"Well we can't all get first pick of the spoils." complained Cynric. For him, and most of the others, coming out of this with any sort of considerable wealth was unlikely. The only currency they were likely to be payed in was red, liquid, and considerably less shiny than gold.

They'll be lucky to get out of this with their heads. Boldir could not understand how people like Marcurio and Kosta could be in this for money alone. There must've been far safer ways for them to find wealth, if that was all they cared for. At least most of the others wanted revenge for their friends. And what didn't help was his intentions with this letter. The thieves thought his plan was to keep Ingun as collateral. They had no idea that he intended to make a trade, nor were they aware that he would soon be abandoning them, if all went right. Despite what they were, Boldir still felt slightly guilty about that, but he knew he'd be over it when Carlotta and Mila were safe.

"You'll get your turn." said Marcurio. Looking at Runar, he said, "So Boatman, you said you never killed so much as a fish with that spear you carry now. How's someone like you got a weapon like that? Do you know how to use it?"

"Hardly." Runar chuckled. "I know that the sharp part is dangerous. I got it from my uncle, a sea trader from Windhelm. He's also the reason a western fisherman like me got a boat like mine."

"Yeah, and how'd he die?" asked Cynric. "Did a passing Dragon decide to pick him up?"

"He's still alive and well, actually. I didn't inherit nothin'. He just liked the idea of his favorite nephew doing well for himself, so he made an investment. The spear's a gift. One of those oddities a merchant picks up every now and then on his runs to places like Morrowind."

"So Aerin's right and you're not all cursed." said Marcurio. "That's a relief." He sounded sarcastic.

Distracted, Boldir neatly rolled up his nearly-finished letter and stood to leave. "Where you going, Boss?" asked Cynric. All of the thieves had all taken to calling him 'Boss', but Boldir knew it was more as a joke than a show of respect. Only Ollus the Odd, as some of the others had taken to calling him in whisper, seemed to mean it.

Boldir didn't want to tell them he needed some privacy for the letter. Cynric was a skilled thief. If he got too curious about its contents, he'd have little trouble stealing it. "To pay a visit to the prisoner." he said, deciding that he would, in fact, visit Ingun. It had been close to three days since his bandages had been put on, and they were turning brown. Not to mention the dark bloodstains that inevitably covered them after the battle.

Heading downstairs, to the basement, Boldir realized how quiet the rest of the house was. Only Kosta, Rune, and Ollus were absent from the common room. The latter two of them would be nearing the end of their lookout shifts. Rune, with his healing leg, was at the gate watching the south end of the island, and keeping an eye on the lake, and Ollus was patrolling the perimeter. He wasn't really sure where Kosta was. Marcurio was right. he thought. This would feel safer with more men. He didn't completely disagree with the mage's idea for getting bandits involved. People like that were the worst sort of scum, but if it came to further conflict, they could be useful. If his letter didn't work, and Boldir had to fight, he would go back to Marcurio and tell him that he had 'changed his mind'.
He reached the heavy wooden door to Ingun's mead-cellar quarters. Lacking a key, they'd had no choice but to leave it unlocked. Fortunately, the ship that was already docked here contained several sets of chains. It had only taken a few minutes to bolt them to the wall. They were just long enough that she couldn't reach the door.
Ingun was asleep when he arrived. Cynric had dragged a spare mattress down for her, which was more than some of the others thought she deserved. Boldir figured that it would make dealing with her easier, so he didn't object. The chains both went back to the same wall, across from her bed, so she had to sleep on her side.
"Up." he said, giving one of the chains a shake.
Her eyes opened instantly after the rattle, then narrowed when they saw him, and promptly closed again.

Boldir frowned and gave the upper chain a quick tug, lifting her right hand and dropping it back onto her face.

"Hey!" her eyes opened for good this time. "This damned cuff could've knocked my teeth out!"

"It didn't." he answered.

"Good morning to you too." she grumbled as she sat up. "Or evening, or whatever it is. It'd be nice if you'd let me go outside every once in a while."

"So you can slit my throat? No thanks."

"Who do you think I am, my brother?" Ingun shook her head. "I'm not stupid enough to try to kill you. And besides, I'm the only one in my family who isn't guilty of murder. You really know how to attack the weak link, I'll give you that."

Attacking the weak link had more or less been the plan. Ingun was the easiest target of the family by far, and that was why they went after her. Still, the way she said it made him sound cowardly. Like an army recruit who only pairs up with Bretons in training. "Is this candlelight sufficient for you to work in?" he asked, deciding to to ignore the jab.

"Is this candlelight sufficient... for me to work in? As a prisoner? I suppose it's suitable, but the sun would be a spell... better...." Her eyes widened a bit, as they locked on his left arm, which was the most heavily bandaged. A smug, knowing smile crept to her lips. "You need my help, don't you?"

He scowled. If the bandages were bad enough that she could tell what he wanted, then the answer had to be 'yes'. "I need you to change these out with clean bandages."

"And what about the burns underneath? I suppose you want me to have a look at how they're coming along as well?"

"The burns are fine. I just want you to change the damned things."

"All right, all right. Give me some bandages and I'll do my best." she looked skeptical, but didn't comment as Boldir left to find some cloth. "What's that?" she asked, just as he reached the door. "That paper you've got rolled up."

"It's nothing." he said, stuffing the unfinished letter into his pocket. He turned and shut the door behind him.
It was twenty minutes later when he returned with a roll of fresh bandages that Aerin had found for him, as well as a wooden stool for himself. "Here." he said, tossing the wraps down to Ingun. He sat the stool down in the middle of the room and took off his tunic. Underneath, half his upper chest was wrapped in dirty cloth to match that on his arms, as was his lower stomach. Ingun picked up her chains and walked around the stool to get a better look at him under the light of a wall sconce.
"Try anything, and I'll open your head on the wall, Black-Briar."

"And I was just about to lay a curse on you, too." she said, rolling her eyes at him. Ingun first removed the bandages around his stomach, exposing a scabbed wound near his ribs. He took the scabbing as a good sign. It was the same when she removed the cloth from his chest, he couldn't see around his back, but Ingun didn't give any indication that she saw anything wrong. But when she got to his left arm, the one most damaged, Ingun let out an anxious breath.
"Ohh, for a second there I thought it was infected."

He looked down. His forearm was still wrapped, but from the elbow up, most of his skin was an ugly dark grayish color. In one spot, just above his inner elbow, Boldir saw where his skin had opened up. Strangely enough, he couldn't feel a thing. "But it's not?" he asked wearily.

"No. But honestly, it looks bad, and with it opened up like that, and the bloody rags you had over it, it should be. You're a lucky man, Boldir." That almost made him chuckle. Those were some of the last words Boldir would use to describe himself.
She worked in silence for the next few minutes, unwrapping his forearm, and then his left one, before beginning to cover it all back up again. It wasn't until his arms were covered, and she was awkwardly maneuvering her chains to wrap the fresh cloth around his torso, that she spoke again. "It's almost funny how our roles have been reversed. A few days ago, I was doing this exact same thing, but you were the prisoner. I'd swear you are even grimmer now."

The concept had not gone unnoticed by him. "My family was free then."

That was enough to shut her up for nearly a minute before she spoke yet again. "What are they like? I don't even think I'd go through half this much trouble for anyone in my family."

"That's because you haven't got the faintest clue what a real family is. Don't ask about mine again, Black-Briar. You have no right to know."
She didn't respond to that, and went on to finish covering the last of his burns, the only sound in the room coming from her rattling chains. When she was finally finished, Boldir left without a word, slamming the door shut behind him.

"A useful one, isn't she?"

Startled, Boldir spun around at the strange, Argonian-like voice. It's owner was leaning on a stone wall just a few feet from Ingun's door. Opposite from the direction of the stairs back up, where Boldir had been headed.
"What the hell are you doing down here, Ollus?"

"Waiting." the sewer-dweller replied. He came forward, walking with an exaggerated swagger to go along with the ridiculous gray and gold noble's clothes he'd found upstairs. Whether this was done mockingly in light of the clothes, or seriously in an attempt to appear regal, Boldir could never tell, not with him. "I'd spent the last twenty minutes looking for you, only to find that you were down here discussing family matters. I didn't want to interrupt."

"So you were eavesdropping, then?"

"No no no. Nothing of the sort, Boss. I only heard what I couldn't not here."

Boldir scowled, but there was nothing to gain from making this an issue. "Well? You needed me for a reason, I presume? Out with it."

"Oh yes!" Ollus's eyes were always shifty, but now, as he reached into one large pocket and procured a rolled up paper, it was more apparent than ever. "I found this... Upstairs, in the kitchen. I think you may have dropped it."

Shit! Boldir's hand went straight to his own pocket and found it empty. He must've dropped it while looking for the bandages. Dropped it, or the sewer-dweller had stolen it. "Give it here, now."

"Of course." He handed it over. "Fortunate that it was loyal, trustworthy Ollus who found this, and not one of the greedy ones."

Boldir didn't feel fortunate at all. Aerin would understand, and maybe but he wouldn't have anyone else here know of his plan, and while Ollus didn't seem angered, that ultimately meant very little, considering the man was strange enough to make even the criminals he aligned with nervous. If he was angered by this, he would've shown the others, not brought it to you.
"So?" Boldir folded his arms. "What are your thoughts on it?"

"It makes me sad that you want to leave us, Boss. But I won't stop you. To be honest, when I first read the letter, I was... disheartened, but then I saw in it something of an opportunity."

"And what opportunity is that?"

Ollus's teeth were ugly and yellow, but he was all too happy to show them. "I had a dream last night." He flicked his tongue. "A pleasant one that I would very much like to share with a friend back in Riften. But approaching Riften is dangerous for an outlaw. If you allow me to deliver your letter, I will have a nice shield for the trip."

"A dream?" Boldir wasn't sure if this was a very poor lie, or if Ollus was truly mad. " You want to go to Riften... just to tell your friend about a dream?"

He nodded vigorously. "A good one!" His tongue flicked again and looked Boldir in the eyes. His own were a piercing blue, so light, they almost looked silver. "You know the kind."

All Boldir could think of were his dreams of Carlotta, back when he'd been at war. They'd been so vivid, as if he was reliving the actual events. Of course, Ollus wouldn't know anything about those.
Forget the dreams. If I don't let him do this, there's no telling what he will do, and to send anyone else would mean another person having to know.
"You must return with a written and sealed reply." Boldir finally said. The man was already nodding his head in agreement. "I want to proof that they got my message, and that you aren't using me."

"I would never." He promised.

"Good." Boldir looked back at the stairs beyond Ingun's 'cell'. Hopefully, nobody even knew that he and Ollus were down here together. Now was not the time to raise suspicions. "I'll go finish the letter. Be ready to leave before dawn."

Ollus's smile remained steady. "You can count on me."

 

***
Mila

It had been over a day, it must've been, but there was no real way to be certain. It could have been two or three for all she could tell. Mila found this to be the second worst thing about being a captive. The first: Not knowing a thing of what was going on anywhere else.
After that monster, Maul, had knocked her out, with Boldir's helmet, she thought, not missing the irony, she had awakened outside, confused and disoriented. Her head had hurt much too badly for her to register what was going on at the time, but looking back now, she remembered seeing corpses being pulled in a wagon behind whoever was carrying her. The corpse on top had belonged to the thief, Molgrom, and while those below him were impossible to make out, Mila did not kid herself. She knew that her aunt Vex was almost certainly among them. She remembered feeling sick and losing her last meal all over her carrier's back, but everything after that was fuzzy.
The next time she awakened, it was in this very room. It was small, like her little bedroom back home, but with dark, damp brick walls and lacking any sort of window. There was no furniture, just a little makeshift bed on the floor consisting of one dirty sheet and a thin pile of hay. Just beside it, the wooden floor sported dark stains, the origins of which she could only guess.

The entire room smelled of flowers. It was not the sweet, springtime fragrance that she would find sniffing lavender growing outside her house, but instead an overwhelmingly powerful scent that seemed to take every flower Mila had ever known and crammed their smells together. The aroma was so strong and in such a small space that it felt almost suffocating. Despite this, she could swear that their was another scent hidden beneath it. It was as if the disgustingly pungent smell was there to cover up something else just to the point where it was unrecognizable. It did the job, but after what was already starting to feel like days of living in this one room, she was almost certain that whatever was being covered up would be preferable to these accursed flowers.

Stupid flowers! she thought. And stupid Maul! Wherever the large Nord in stolen armor had brought her, it was very secluded from pretty much everything. Besides her itchy hay pile, the foul-smelling room was empty, and everything but the clothes on her back had been taken, even the lockpick she'd managed to hold on to ever since they'd escaped Vex's house. The only interaction she had had with anyone was when some dumb-looking Nord with a fat bald head and missing some teeth brought her a bowl of horker stew, which was oddly good, for something meant for a prisoner. In the brief moments he had been in her room, she had asked the Nord where her mother was, but he didn't answer. She had also asked about Boldir, and then just for his own name, but the man didn't utter a word. She later decided to call him 'Noduff', after a Whiterun guard who also didn't say much.
A frustrated Mila had screamed and flung her empty wooden bowl at the door that first time, and like an obedient dog, Noduff had opened the door and picked it up. When she tried to get past him, he simply shoved her to the ground and closed the door again, locking it from the outside. During the attempt, Mila had managed a glance into the room the Nord came from, but only spotted a larger, windowless room that was lit by candles and had no real memorable features. Since then, Noduff had returned several times to bring her food, and no matter how hard she tried to get him to, he never spoke. It infuriated her more and more each time. Why can't he just tell me? I wouldn't tell anyone that he did! Explaining this to him on the forth visit got her nowhere.

The long hours of boredom and worry dragged on and on, and because her captors were bastards, she had nothing to do but shout or cry, but even that had subsided after a fairly short time. It only served to make her tired, and sleep rarely came with all of the questions buzzing around in her head. Where was her mother? Was there a plan for them? Had Boldir made it out? Would he be back? Did he even know what had happened? Nothing was more frustrating than having all of these questions on her mind and have no power whatsoever to find an answers.
With nothing else to do, Mila resorted to playing little fantasies in her head. One involved Boldir breaking in the door with her mother and freeing her. In another, she had kept her lockpick, and managed to escape on her own, finding her mother in a separate room she imagined to be like hers, and sneaking out. Her favorite was the one where she hid under the sheets and tricked Noduff into thinking she was gone, and then sneaking past him. Her dagger was always outside the cell in the room, on a convenient table with the rest of her belongings. She never escaped without it. Remembering the way her mom had killed the man in the Ratway, she promised herself that the next fantasy would make her stronger. She would use the dagger to do the same thing to the still-faceless Maul.

Between the fantasies, and all other thoughts whirling through her head, Mila had gotten very little sleep. The anger and frustration alone generated enough of these to make sure of that. Now, as she laid awake on her dirty sheet, Mila's mind wandered from her own fictions to more practical thoughts. Boldir had been free when last she'd heard. That was a fact, unless Aunt Vex had lied. What else? Something had gone badly wrong in the escape. The guards had been waiting outside, meaning somehow, they knew they'd be there. Someone could have told them. she thought. And that means someone could have told on Boldir as well. 
She was dwelling on this awful thought when someone suddenly shouted outside her door. Sitting up, Mila instinctively reached for the dagger that was no longer at her side. The voice did not sound angry, despite the yelling, just harsh.

The door swung open, and in walked a tall, finely-dressed Nordic man who had more hair in his chin than his head. He was scowling, but it looked like more of a natural scowl than a forced one. There was a long black sheath at his hip, containing a sword that Mila figured to be exquisite from the jewel-encrusted silver cross guard. The man didn't even look at her at first. He just took a sniff and wrinkled his nose. "You know," he said, finally looking her way as he closed the door behind him. "If walls could talk, this room could tell you more stories than the damned castle, but if they could smell too, it'd be begging us to tear it down."

Mila wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. Why would walls ever talk? They were walls. Instead of inquiring on the strange man's comment, she settled for asking him the first question she'd asked Noduff. "Where is my mother?" She didn't try to hide the anger in her voice. Why should she for the people who'd killed Aunt Vex?

It was hard to tell what he was thinking, but the man seemed unbothered by her tone. He just adjusted his scowl into an obviously fake smile and approached before squatting down so that he could look at her closer to eye-level where she sat. "Your mother is safe, for now." She didn't like his voice, even if the words it formed were a comfort. It was hard to place why. "She is currently sleeping in a room not unlike your own, though I admit, it is the better of the two, if only for the fact that this wretched smell is confined to this one. Now, hopefully you will speak civilly with me, now that I have answered a question for you, despite having no obligation to do so at all."

Mila scowled at the man. She knew where Boldir was. That must be what he wanted from her. "I'll be civil..."

"Good." he said, his grin growing wider.

"...If you take out that sword and shove it up your ass." Mila paused, and added, "Milk-Drinker." It felt satisfying.

The man's fake smile instantly subsided, and was replaced by the far more natural-looking scowl. "Let me tell you a story... I was betrothed once. I can't say I ever truly loved her, but damn if that woman didn't have all the right parts. We did Dibella's dance quite often, and of the many women I've bedded, she was easily one of the best..." He paused and looked at Mila, seemingly concerned. "Wait. You do know what I mean by that, right kid?"

"Yes." she lied.

"Of course you do. So as I was saying, this woman, my fiancée who brought me great pleasure, eventually made the mistake of pissing me off. Now, her brother is dead and she is buried alone in some ash dune in Morrowind. I was going to marry this woman. Was going to let her stay in my big home, even-" his scowl hardened. "-even let her be the mother of my children! Now, she is dead. I don't even know you, kid. So don't push your luck... Now, Maul says that you were carrying this."
He reached behind his back, and there was a very familiar smooth, metallic sound as Mila's lunar dagger slid from its sheath. "How old are you? Twelve? Thirteen? It doesn't matter. First off, this is one of the nicest daggers I've ever seen. And second, you're just a child, and we found godsdamned bloodstains on this thing!"

Mila had never killed anyone. She'd wounded two guards from behind in the ambush at the Ratway, and she'd stabbed that crazy man in the arm, but the Black-Briars didn't know that. She realized that they may intend to punish her for killing their men. He's going to kill me and bury me in Morrowind! "No!" she started, "I didn't-"

"Shut up." he said plainly. His scowl was lifting, but this time, it wasn't fake. "You don't need to lie to me. Maul saw you with it, plain enough, and your mother had a bloody dagger of her own. I haven't even told anyone else in the family, not that they'd care if our little prisoner was a killer. You're just bait to them. Though, I find you interesting. Even I hadn't killed my first until I had a good couple of years on you. And now you add in you taunting me in my own home, as a prisoner, like you're some sort of threat to me, it's... fascinating, if not somewhat adorable. I feel like killing you is wasteful. Do you follow me?"
Once again, Mila was unsure what the man meant. He thought she'd killed his people, and that fascinated him? She tried to come up with a suitable response, but it was hard. Insulting him could get her killed, but at the moment, angry words were all she could conjure up in her head.
The man may have realized this, as he shook his head and sighed. "I suppose you don't. It's easy to forget that a child like you only has... what, twelve years of polishing your comprehension skills?"

I'm not a child! Mila thought, I'm thirteen. Not twelve! She remained silent though. It wasn't worth it.
He was twirling the little dagger now, spinning it by the thin hilt between each of his fingers in turn, not at all concerned about the possibility of slipping up and cutting himself. Mila watched it twirl, wondering if she could grab it before he had time to pull back.

"...Though that may not be a bad thing, in this case. In fact, I'd say it's the opposite. Tell me, do you expect to live through all of this?"

"Yes." The word came to Mila without hesitation. These people were thugs and Boldir was a war hero. She had never once heard a story in which a Nordic hero lost to someone like this. And that was assuming she couldn't escape on her own.

"Huh," he didn't look angry, just surprised. "You answered that quick. Care to tell me what makes you so certain?"

Mila didn't. In fact, she didn't want to say any more to this man than she had to. Thankfully, there was a knock on the door that gave her exactly the chance she wanted. As the man turned his head, his eyes left her for just a second. It was long enough. Mila shot forward like an arrow from a bow, wrenching the dagger from the man's hand mid-twirl. A startled look overtook his face, and his free hand went for the fancy hilt at his hip, but he didn't have time to pull it out before all of her weight sent him to his back. Both of them were screaming as she pushed her dagger down towards his chest. Somehow he'd managed to grab her wrist and hold it back, but she used both hands and all her weight, and could feel the tip of the blade prick through his vest.
"You..." he now sounded furious, "little- arrrgh... Bitch! MAUL! FRONIER!"

The door swung open and Mila immediately felt what must have been a troll collide with her and launch her into the wall. The twinkling in her vision faded just in time to see Noduff's large, dumb form wrenching the dagger from her grasp. The other man was sitting up now, rubbing his chest and scowling. Noduff offered him a hand, but he slapped it away and stood on his own. Strangely, most of his anger was directed at the bald Nord. "If you value your life, you will not speak a word of this to anyone." he said, snatching back the dagger. "Now what was so important that you had to nearly get me killed?"

"Messenger upstairs." Noduff responded. His voice sounded about how Mila had imagined: Slow and deep, as if he wasn't very good at speaking.

"It had better be important." Turning back to Mila, the man said, "Don't think that you're off the hook for this."

And then he left. Noduff, or Fronier, or whatever his name was, looked at Mila, blinked, and then followed his master, locking the door behind him.

 

***

 

Maul

Black-Briar Manor, Riften

Morning

 

The air around Maven's estate was uneasy. Everyone was wondering what mood she'd be in. On one hand, Maul successfully captured her enemy's wife and child. On the other hand, the main target not only escaped, but they're sure he was the one who took over the Goldenglow Estate. "For all of Maven's influence, it seems that her power was limited by the amount of idiots that surround her."

 

Maul tried to keep his anxiety at bay by reading a book titled simply "Beggar", one of four in a series. The sight of the big bully reading would have probably thrown most off, but he had to keep his mind sharp to properly fulfill some of the tasks that Maven put him up to. Unfortunately, not all of it was as enjoyable as the last job was. Such as preparing the guards so that they'd be ready to storm the Goldenglow Estate if need be, though Maven didn't request it. Still, Maul wanted to be ready for any possibility, and he wasn't sure just how far Maven would go to get her revenge. Sacrificing Ingun wouldn't be surprising to him in the slightest.

Unconcerned with who was approaching him now, he said while still looking at his book, "Yes, what is it? Better be good news, whatever it is."

 

"There's a man at the door." said one of the family's newer henchmen. He was one of ten mercenaries that'd been hired to guard the manor in the last three days. They were hard men and could fight well, but half of the idiots had to turn to him for everything as simple as answering the door for fear of it being a trick. "He's got a letter and says he wants you to deliver it to Maven."

 

Maul closed his book and walked towards the door without acknowledging the merc and took out Grimsever, just in case. By the time he got there, the messenger was already inside, next to Hemming. Maul knew this man. The last time he'd seen him, he was being brutally pummeled in his manhood by Maul's order.

"You've got a lot of balls coming here. For someone who took a beating like you did, that is. I'm surprised you can even walk. Hemming? You let this scum in?"

 

When Hemming Black-Briar turned to him, the noble's face looked ten years older than to had a week ago. The typically youthful man was finally starting to resemble his actual age. Having one's daughter taken would do that you you, it seemed.
"This scum claims to have Ingun." he said wearily. "We were right about her and Goldenglow. Boldir too. They're all there."

As he said this, Maul took in the sewer dweller behind him. The man, despite his recent injuries, practically glowed with what seemed to be excitement. On top of that, his silvery blue eyes were locked on Maul.

 

"You better be here to tell us that you're here to help us get Ingun back. Because 'don't hurt the messenger' isn't a philosophy I'm a fan of. Get me?"

 

"You aren't to hurt him, Maul." said Hemming with poorly suppressed anger. Not at Maul, but at the messenger himself.

" 'You aren't to hurt him, Maul' is right." echoed the man. He continued over to a table by the wall and fidgeted with a nightshade petal that extended from a larger plant growing in a silver vase. "We won't kill the girl unless we have to, but if I'm not back by a certain time, unharmed, we'll gladly send you some of her fingers. I'll do it myself, and I won't use a knife. Oh, and no. That's not why I'm here. I'm Ollus, by the way, and you can ask this one why-"

"What is this ugly creature?" Sibbi Black-Briar suddenly interrupted, appearing from the hallway leading to the basement, his slow-witted bodyguard in tow. He rubbed his chest for a moment as if it were sore, and then noticed Grimsever. "You gonna kill this one?" he asked with a hint of a smile.

 

Maul didn't say anything at first, rubbing his jaw. "You seem pretty confident of your position here, sewer rat. But I think you've made a mistake."

 

Ollus's tongue flicked like some lizard. "And what mistake would that be, Killer?"

 

"We have Boldir's wife and child. He has a Black-Briar. If you didn't turn up, maybe he'd be forced to act. Maybe. But something tells me he's not going to be removing any fingers when I can personally do the same to his child. And so much more to his sweet wife." Maul charged at Ollus then, trapping his fingers between Grimsever and the wall, so if he moved even slightly, his fingers would pay the price.

"With that in mind, what's to stop me from removing some of your fingers, hmm? Or all of them? You really think this Boldir guy gives half a shit about you?" Maul shook his head and said, "No... no... something tells me I can do whatever I want to you, and you can't do a damn thing about it. Anything that your lot does to Ingun, we'll do to his family tenfold. He knows that. You're the only dumb **** that doesn't. So while you're here, you'll be on your best behavior. Or I'm gonna start carving. Is that clear?"

 

The sewer rat didn't respond for a moment, and then he said, "What makes you think we all care about the girls?" His eyes darted to Hemming. "Boldir is one of many men at Goldenglow, and the only one there who cares what happens to his family. You're a fool if you believe he's controlling the lot of us. Hurt me, and Ingun will be hurt. It's as simple as that."

"Maul!" Hemming raised his voice, trying to mimic his mother in giving off an authoritative tone. He wasn't there yet, but the anger in his voice gave way to more passion than he typically let off. "Release him! He is a messenger and there is no need for this to come to blows! I will not risk my daughter's safety on a gamble to prove a point to some lackey!"

 

Grimsever by then had started to dig into his hand beneath Maul's strength. Maul brought his lips to Ollus' ears to whisper. "You scare the papa, but I'm smarter than you think. I know you have no pull. You know you have no pull. You were sent because you are expendable shit. I'm not above proving a point to a lackey because I am one. No one disrespects me or the Black-Briars in Maven's estate. I'll leave you in the gutter choking on your own sack glass eyed if you try it. Remember that." Finally Maul did as he was told and released Ollus, throwing him to the floor. "You're a messenger boy, so give us the message. Every minute you waste is one that could be your last."

 

Ollus stood and dusted himself off, and then noticed the light blood trail left on his hand by Grimsever. "It would almost be worth you killing me," he replied, eyes trailing up and down Maul. "to know what your punishment would be, when you find out that you were wrong."

"Get on with it!" Hemming demanded. "You will not be hurt, but do not think that you are in a position to act as you please. Ingun will be back eventually, and you won't have her to shield you then."

Ollus flicked his tongue again. "Fine. I have two messages. But the first is for Maven-"

"You will tell us." Sibbi said coldly from the corner. He seemed to be in a particularly testy mood.

Ollus looked over to him, and then of course, back to Maul. He licked the blood off his fingers before speaking again. "As it so happens, the one person at Goldenglow who cares about the girls you've 'oh so nobly' apprehended, asked me to bring you this, while I was in the city." He handed Hemming the letter without looking his way.

Hemming stood there reading the letter for several moments, and then looked up, his scowl somewhat lifted. "Boldir wants to make a trade. His family for Ingun."

"Is there anyone in her who couldn't have called that?" inquired Sibbi. "What else is there?"

"He claims to have no interest in a conflict, and will leave the Rift for good once the exchange has been made. He wants the little girl delivered first, this afternoon, in good faith. And the exchange for his wife will be made afterwards." He looked up at Ollus. "We accept."

"No we don't!" Sibbi interjected. "Tell him 'no deal'.

"What!?" At that moment, Hemming looked like he could strangle Sibbi. Maul had never seen the man show so much anger. "You are my son, and you will not argue with my decisions! Have you forgotten that this is your sister they have?"

"Maul's right. They won't do a damn thing to her. She's too important, and if she does lose a few fingers, so what?" He smiled coldly. "I wouldn't mind returning the favor on the wife."

"You're an idiot! We don't know if Boldir is even in charge-"

"He did send me in secret." Ollus interrupted, grinning. "The others wouldn't approve of this at all."

"You see?! We can't take the risk! And Ingun isn't losing anything! We can just go back to how things were so easily. When Boldir and his are gone, and Ingun is back, we can wipe out all of those fools."

"I don't give a damn about any of the others. And neither does Maven. Hell, she should be the one making this decision anyway."

"It is not her daughter on the line." Hemming growled. Turning back to Ollus, he said, "You have a deal. What was the second message?"

"What deal does he have, exactly?" Maul didn't need to turn to know the owner of that voice. Maven strode past him, stopping just a few feet from her son. "I wasn't aware that I was in the ground, yet."

"They've got-"

"Ingun. Of course they do, fool. And they shall continue to hold her, for now." she looked at Ollus's thin, scraggly form, not at all matching up with the fancy, overlarge black and gold trimmed fur robe he wore, and narrowed her eyes. "Whatever trade Boldir wishes to make, tell him it isn't happening. And tell him that if he hasn't both turned himself in, and returned Ingun by... say, noon tomorrow, we will kill his wife. That is no hollow threat. It is a promise."

 

It was Maul's turn to smile, then. "Maven, this messenger boy here seems to think himself important enough that if he was hurt, then they'd hurt Ingun. So if you send that message back to Boldir with nothing to back it, they may think you're simply stalling or fishing for a better deal. But, if I send this messenger boy with a message of my own, they'll know you mean business."

 

"The messenger claims that Boldir doesn't control them." said Hemming. "He says that Boldir is but one of many, and Ingun will be harmed whether he wants her to be or not."

 

"It's true." agreed Ollus. "No one at Goldenglow will allow for it, save Boldir. They are criminals worse than the Killer here, and won't let you make them look weak by cutting up their friend."

 

"I don't care about this one." Maven said plainly, looking at Ollus with mild disinterest. "And I have spelled out a set time. He would be a fool not to believe me, but if he turns out to be just that, so be it. The woman will die at noon regardless if he does not comply. Are you capable of remembering all of this?"

 

Ollus blinked and flicked his tongue. "Boldir wanted it in writing."

 

"I have no quill and am not about to fetch one. Can you remember?"

 

Ollus smiled. "Boldir and Ingun. Or the wife dies tomorrow at noon."

 

"Good." She looked at Maul. "There is no gain in harming this one yet. We will prove our point tomorrow, one way or another. But there is no need to chance inciting violence against Ingun if it can be avoided. Understood?"

 

"Understood, Maven. In the end, you always get what you want. As long as that continues to hold true, I'm happy." To Ollus, he said, "You're lucky. You get to keep your fingers for today. But remember this. I'm Maven's guard dog, and I've got your scent. Once I do, you're on my shitlist for life. Which for you won't be very long, I promise you. I always find my man."

 

Ollus's smile didn't waver. "Of that I have no doubt. Oh, and I still have my second message."

 

"Out with it." said Sibbi.

 

"It has nothing to do with you!" Ollus shot back. He looked back to Maul. "I had a dream the other night. You were actually in it. But you didn't have the armor or the sword, and-"

 

"No one here gives a shit about your dreams." Sibbi shot, annoyed by the way he'd been spoken to. "Get on out of here."

 

As the young noble moved toward Ollus, the sewer rat backed away through the door. "Fine, fine! But I wouldn't advise Killer to be taking off that armor any time soon."

 

"I'll be sure to remove it before shitting on your corpse, meat."

 

Sibbi snickered as he slammed the door shut behind Ollus. "You shitting on that one is an unpleasant image, but I'd pay good money to watch." He looked Maven's way. "So do you think little Sis is going to be short several fingers tomorrow? Or are they bluffing?"

 

"SIBBI!" Hemming's face was burning red. "Killing his wife?" He shouted, glaring at Maven, "Why don't we just go ahead and send someone to kill her ourselves?! We could've accepted and just ended things today!"

 

"Hemming, go upstairs." Maven wasn't phased by his attitude. "You too Sibbi."

 

Hemming looked ready to strike his own mother, not that Maul ever would've allowed that to happen. But after a few tense seconds, he complied. Sibbi followed him without complaint. 

Watching them leave, Maven said, "I have need of you again, Maul. You have spent a lot of time in the Ratway lately, I presume you know the... inhabitants of that dusty tavern down there well enough?"

 

Back to the sewers again, it seems. "I know them like the unpleasant itch on my groin. All too damn well. What is it that you require of me?"

 

"I need you to find someone. Someone who will be key in us claiming a swift victory..."

 

Maul smiled for the second time that day as Maven relayed the name. "This will be worth yet another trip to the sewers. Don't worry. I always find my man."

 

***

Boldir, Marcurio

"You wouldn't happen to know where that weird sewer rat got off to? Ollus? I don't like not being able to see that one."

"No." Boldir lied. "And what about Kosta. He's been missing too. Did he say anything to you?"

"Not a word." Marcurio lied. "Maybe they went off somewhere together... I'll pray for Kosta."

The sellsword mage chuckled at his own joke, but Boldir remained silent. He knew well enough that the two of them weren't together, and he wasn't sure which made him more nervous: The missing thief, or the possibly deranged man he'd allowed to act as his courier. It was going on evening now, and if he was still alive, Ollus ought to have been making his way back to the island by now.
Marcurio himself wasn't nearly as bothered. Ollus the Odd could've gone for a swim and drowned for all he cared, but Kosta had been gone for days now, and while people were finally noticing, he'd known from the beginning that the Redguard thief would most likely take longer than intended. He was growing anxious. If Kosta hadn't managed to get himself killed, he should be wrapping things up at Faldar's Tooth by now.

"Let me know if you see either of them." Boldir said, before passing by Marcurio and heading upstairs. He felt tired. This entire situation was beginning to drain him, and he was certain that a big factor in that was how little he'd slept these last few days. Lay down for an hour. Just one. You're just waiting for Ollus to turn up anyway.
He nodded in agreement with his own thoughts and opened the door of the main bedroom.

"BOO!"

Boldir took an impulsive swing in the direction of the shout, and found nothing but air. Ollus the Odd cackled as he dodged out of range. "Scared you!"

"And almost got a broken nose for it." He grimaced and closed the door behind him. "How long have you been back?"

"Just got here. Saw you talking to the mage and decided to slip on past."

Boldir had no idea how the slender Nord managed to sneak upstairs without either him or Marcurio noticing from the common room, but he didn't much care. There were more important things to worry about. "What did Maven say? Where is her response letter?"

"About that..." Ollus shuffled his feet like a child. "She wouldn't give me one. Said she didn't have time. But she did give me a message!" He began muttering under his breath, trying to recollect it all. Boldir caught the words "Ingun" and "noon" before Ollus blinked and smiled. "Oh yes! I don't know why I had to think on that. It's really simple. Maven says that you are to return Ingun and turn yourself in by noon tomorrow. If you don't, that is when they will kill your wife." He paused. "That's a little grim for you, now that I think on it."

For a moment, the room was completely silent and the whole world seemed to stand still. Boldir was speechless. Maven was bluffing, right? She had to be. I have Ingun! That was the whole point! She can't hurt them so long as I have her!
Even as he thought it, Boldir's confidence in the plan wavered. Maven was not like him. She may be willing to sacrifice her own blood for no other reason than to win.
He briefly tried to keep his composure in front of Ollus, but it was no use. His breathing was the first thing to betray him as it resorted to staggering like that of one soon to freeze to death. And he could feel his clenched fists shake uncontrollably. Don't go. You have to stay here. Go and you'll all die! Mila too! The thoughts came to him in Baldur's voice. He'd grown accustomed to hearing voices, but it had been a long while since the last time one had been so distinctive and real that it made him briefly glance around.

 

"I have to." His voice was choked.

"Have to what?" came Ollus's voice. It sounded so far away. Boldir paid it no mind.

She could be bluffing. You're right, you have Ingun. What are the chances that she'll spare anyone if you go to her?

"I can't take the chance with Carlotta. Not with her."

"Boss?"

You will be giving Maven what she wants. She will win, and there won't be anybody to save you this time.

"Not with Carlotta."

Just as he reached the door, it swung open to reveal Marcurio on the other side, wearing an actual concerned expression. "I heard everything." the mage said as Boldir wordlessly shoved past him. "Don't do anything stupid, Boldir. She's not just your prisoner to throw away. We NEED her."

Boldir continued on past, much to Marcurio's annoyance. The Nord was going to throw away their greatest advantage! "Boldir!" He ran out in front of him and stopped. "Boldir, listen to me!"
The Nord easily pushed Marcurio out of the way.
"Okay, yeah, I get it." the mage exclaimed, growing annoyed at the lack of reason. "You love your wife. That's fine! But there's nothing to gain by giving up now. They'll kill all of you anyway!" he shouted at the Nord, finally causing him to stop. 

 

"You would have me sit here and do nothing." Boldir said without turning around. "Sit here idle while they kill my wife? No." He glanced back, only enough that Marcurio could make out the burns below his left eye. "If you want to try and even the odds, then come with me. I'm sure that your magic would help in forcing a negotiation... Something. But if not, then stay out of my way. I'll do it myself."

 

"We don't know they'll kill her!" Marcurio insisted. "We have Ingun! It's probably a bluff!"

 

"And if it isn't?" Boldir shook his head and continued on down the hall and downstairs.

 

Marcurio looked back at the room they'd left. Ollus was still in there, standing where he'd been with a contemplative expression. How could that bastard feed Boldir this information when it obviously would only create problems? He'd have some words with the man later. 

He followed Boldir down, and further still, to the basement. The Nord didn't seem to take any notice of him until they were right in front of the door to Ingun's room, when he gave one final shout. "BOLDIR!"
This time, the Nord stopped and turned all the way around. His expression was almost pitifully sad, but that changed quickly enough when his eyes fell on Marcurio's hands, and the glowing green spell that was prepared in them.
The murderous look Boldir gave him was enough to remove any hesitation from what Marcurio had to do. Before the Nord could so much as lift a finger, he released the paralysis spell.

***

I have to move again so I can convince him! If I can get into Riften with Ingun, I can negotiate. I can find a way to save Carlotta! We can win this without Ingun. I'll agree to use the bandits!

But you can't move, can you? Even if you could, he won't trust you not to break his neck the moment you're freed.

Boldir indeed couldn't move. He could only lay on the floor of his damp new cell while the mage slapped iron cuffs around his wrists. Marcurio had apologized a dozen times while he'd used his spells to move him down through the hidden trap door and into the sewer tunnels beneath the estate. Every time, he'd exclaimed that he had no choice.
"You'll be able to move again in a few minutes." Marcurio said. "No one will hear you down here, so don't bother to yell. Please Boldir, think about my situation while you're down here. I don't want you dead, but if it comes to that, it'll happen."
With that, he locked the cell door.

Marcurio reflected over the previous half hour as he made his way out of the sewers and back up to the island. He had cast a detect life spell the moment he'd finished speaking with Boldir about Kosta and Ollus. To his surprise, he'd found the sewer rat more easily than expected. The scrawny Nord had been upstairs in the quarters Boldir had claimed, and the two looked to be meeting. It was a good thing that he'd followed Boldir to listen in on whatever the two were hiding, or he wouldn't have discovered how close their "leader" had been to throwing everything away.
Once back in the mansion, he found Ollus sleeping in a small bedroom. He was shirtless, with many thin pink scars adorning his chest. Oddly enough, his lips were twisted into a grin, as if his dreams contained some hilarious joke. Even asleep, the man gave Marcurio the chills.
He thought about waking him, to scold him on delivering the message for Boldir, but decided that it could wait. Ollus may have been long without sleep, and that was not a state he wanted to deal with the man in. Besides, if he'd been in full support of Boldir's decision, he'd have gone with them to the basement to make sure that Marcurio didn't do exactly what he'd ended up doing. As it was, it seemed that the strange man didn't much care, and probably helped Boldir for reasons other than agreeing with the plan. He turned to leave.

"Mage."

Very few things caught Marcurio off-guard, but Ollus had just managed to. When he looked back, the Nord's eyes were open and focused on him. The smile was gone. "You and I are the only people who know. Best if you keep it that way."

"Know what, exactly?"

"What he almost did. And what you did." Ollus's tongue flicked, and his eyes closed again. He turned over, seemingly drifting back to sleep.

What in Oblivion... Marcurio frowned and went off to his own quarters. Casting his mind from Ollus, he thought about the future. It would be a lot of work covering up what he'd done if Boldir wasn't willing to come around. The others would wonder where he'd went. But none of that would matter if the bandits showed up. I won't need any of these thieves and crazies if that lot is cooperative enough. He touched a charm scroll he'd been keeping in his pack. Just need a meeting with the chieftain.

It was growing dark, and he was almost finished reading "Chance's Folly" when there was a knock on Marcurio's door. It had already been slightly ajar, and Cynric Endell didn't wait for an answer before entering. "You haven't seen Boldir, have you?"

"First Kosta and now Boldir..." said Marcurio with faked humor. "I'm beginning to think that boatman really is cursing us."

"Funny. But honestly, I can't find him and we need to talk."

"About what?" Marcurio asked, closing his book just short of the last page and setting it aside on a nightstand. "I can't think of anything you can say to him that the rest of us shouldn't know."

"It's nothing like that." the thief said, scowling. "I just wanted to let him know that I was going to make a run into the city. To check out how things have settled, and snatch us some supplies while I'm there. I'll be back before morning."

Marcurio didn't see anything wrong with that. "Just keep out of trouble and I don't see the issue. Boldir isn't our leader, so there's no need to report to him for every little thing you want to do."

The thief seemed to find that amusing, which for some reason, annoyed Marcurio. "I'll keep that in mind. Just tell him I left if you see him."

"Will do." He regarded the thief for a moment as he turned and left. It was odd that the man came to him, but perhaps it made sense. Marcurio had shown his power when he practically took the island for them. He really and truly hoped that he could release Boldir, but the Nord's attitude and lack of reason was worrying. He figured he'd sleep on it. But not yet. Picking up his book again, Marcurio continued reading, eager to find out what folly could possibly keep the clever Chance from reaching her prize.

 

[TheCzarsHussar]

Aerin

 

Aerin monotonously worked his fingers on the rope, until a finger got caught in the knot he was tying. After several exasperated yanks, it came free, but so did the knot. He looked at Runar, who was exacting little effort in his tying, hardly even looking at his hands as did.
"Runar, I'm going to go get some mead and pork. Want any?" the Imperial asked his friend, looking for any excuse to stop mending fishing nets.

The fisherman looked up and nodded. "I'm not hungry, but I could use a mead."

Aerin walked into Goldenglow, leaving Runar behind at the water's edge. Inside, the basement held an enchanted room, which used frost magic to keep the mead cold. They were beginning to run low of the Black-Briar mead, but Aerin had his a few away, and fished them out of their hiding spot behind a few crates.

"What's going on behind the crates?"

Aerin jumped, juggling the two bottles in an effort to not drop them. He succeeded, but barely, one of the glass bottles landing on his boots before rolling off on to the cold stone. He turned around, to see Ollus, the creepy Nord that had joined.
"Fetching some mead," he told the Argonian voiced pale man.

"Fetching some mead, fetching some mead." Ollus's head was bobbing up and down, "That's... that's one solution, I suppose. Not what I expected from you, though."

Aerin's forehead scrunched together. "What do you mean, 'that's one solution?' Solution to what?"

"Haven't you heard?" Ollus looked confused now, though Aerin could swear that his look also contained a tinge of amusement. Like a child who knew some secret. "I thought for certain that someone would have told you. The boss's wife, your sister, is scheduled to be executed at noon today."

Aerin's mouth dropped open, and he slowly set the bottles on the crate. "I have to go. Tell Boldir where I went, and that I'll be back," he said, rushing past the weird Nord.
He climbed out of the basement at a jog, grabbing his scabbard, sword, and belt from his room. He strapped them on, along with a hooded cloak. No doubt Maul would still be on the lookout for him. Runar was still were he left him outside, so Aerin came up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.
"I need you to take me into Riften," he said with his voice low.

"Funny," Judging from the fisherman's apologetic expression, he didn't find it funny at all. "I could've sworn you were with me last time we went to Riften. When we killed somebody and kidnapped another." He shook his head. "I can't go back there now. Neither can you, for that matter."

Aerin gazed at him uncharacteristically hard, his eyes narrowed and cold. "My sister is being executed, I can't just sit around here and tie knots. I have to do something."

"Your sister?" If Runar wasn't truly concerned, he certainly did a good job of making it seem that he was. "Damnit Aerin, come on. The two of us can't sail this thing into the city, but we can take the jetty."

"I'm not asking you stay Runar, just drop me off," Aerin said as the pair walked toward the smaller boat. "We need all the men we can get, and if both of us were to get captured it could unravel this whole thing. Just tell Boldir where I went, if you find him."

His friend just nodded at he situated himself at the oars. "I'd have thought he'd want to deal with this himself."

"For all I know, he's already in the city. But when you come back, if you'll look for him, I'd appreciate it," Aerin said, eyeing the wooden city that they approached, then turning to his friend.
"I've never had the chance to thank you for all this Runar. You didn't have to help, but you did. You're one of the few good people left in Riften, it seems. Thank you."

All he got in response was a nod and "Mhmm." and they rowed the rest of the way in silence. Runar rowed steady, but it felt slow-going regardless. And by the time they were within shouting distance of the canal gates, Aerin could tell by the sun that noon was close.
"Now, you'll have to do some swimmin' this time." said the fisherman, breaking the silence. "I'm not going through that gate. But you can go right under it, yourself." He smiled weakly. "Best of luck."

Aerin nodded, wadding up his cloak and tossing it over the high gate. It made no splash, so he assumed it landed on a walkway, and tossed his boots over as well. He turned and smiled faintly at Runar, before diving in the dirty, cold water. It was too cloudy to see very far, but it was a quick swim beneath the gate and sight wasn't necessary.
He surfaced, looking around to see if there were any guards. He saw none, and figured they were probably at the execution. Aerin climbed on the walkway where his cloak and boots sat, quickly lacing the latter up as he threw the formed's good over his wet, stringy hair. Runar's paddles slapped the water as he rowed back to the island, and Aerin sighed. He was alone now, with no help other than the shortsword at his side.
Climbing the nearest staircase, he made his way towards the keep, where executions were normally held. No doubt Maven would have made a large spectacle of this one. Before he could ever see the crowd, he heard them, the shuffling of boots and quiet murmuring that accompanied a beheading.

The crowd stretched as far back as the edge of the market district, some standing on rails, barrels, and crates to get a better look. A large wooden platform had been erected in the gate of the keep, where a kneeling Carlotta looked out over the crowd. Tears filled her eyes, as they glistened even from this distance.
Lalia Law-Giver's housecarl stood beside her, holding a scroll that no doubt held her 'charges.' On the other side, a Nord in rags knelt, and a guard stood with an executioner's axe, holding it for the housecarl. Behind them stood a dozen guardsmen. Around the perimeter of the crowd, another two dozen guardsmen watched, no doubt more nearby in case they were needed. It seemed that, even though Maven nor any Black-Briar was here, they would take no chances.
Aerin's heart was heavy as he saw his sister sobbing, and he was frozen with dread while Unmid, the housecarl, began speaking. It fell on deaf ears at first, Aerin much to sad, angry, fearful to listen, but he forced himself to focus on the words, if only for a small distraction.

"-have found you guilty of the crimes of treason and conspiracy against the city of Riften." The Nord's deep voice boomed out over the crowd, making it impossible to distinguish the nervous whispers. "As our King Ulfric Stormcloak has made clear, the only correct response for treason in Skyrim, is death..."

Aerin found himself pushing deeper into the crowd, if only to get a closer last look at his beloved sister. His heart pained with the knowledge that Mila would grow up without her mother to teach and nurture her. He was near the front now, ignoring the grumbles of those he pushed aside. The executioner continued, his words heavy with the foreboding air that they carried.

"...We will start with the lesser offender."
Unmid took the large axe from the guard. The rugged-looking Nord prisoner sported multiple bruises on his face and arms. He did not seem afraid of what came next. He only seemed angry. "May the gods judge you fairly." Unmid said, then the Housecarl lifted his axe high, and swiftly brought it back down again.
Blood spurted from the wound, nearly hitting the first row of onlookers, but the platform was large enough that it fell short. The cascade slowed, until the crimson life force of the man slowly dripped out, while Unmid moved over to Carlotta's side.

Aerin acted without thinking, climbing onto the executioner's stand and drawing his shortsword. He swung it in a wide arc at the approaching guardsmen, his hood flying off as he did. It revealed a face many in the crowd recognized. The guards stood back, unsure if they wanted to meet the tip of the drawn sword while so many people looked on.
"These men are acting on orders of a corrupt and honor-less political system, taking orders from the Black-Briars. This woman is my sister," he glanced of his shoulder at Carlotta, who smiled beneath the tears. "And she has done nothing wrong! Her crimes are nonexistent, and if asked I guarantee that this housecarl could find no crimes against her, besides his false ones."

"These crimes are not false." Unmid was scowling now, and he held the axe at the ready. The man was bulky, even by Nordic standards, and the golden elven armor he donned reflected the sun into Aerin's eyes. "The blood of multiple guards and at least one citizen is on her hands. We have witnesses in the Ratway who have already said as much."

A quick glance back told Aerin what he's hoped for. The crowd was skeptical, for certain. Many of the faces, he knew, and the looks they gave him were not of disgust, but instead were of worry, agreement... anger.
Aerin laughed in spite of the situation, the collective agreement of the crowd spurring him on, giving him courage he normally wouldn't have.
"So she single handedly took out a squadron of your men, and murdered a citizen? The same sister I recall saving stray kittens when we were little? My my, seems your men are among the least skilled guards in all of Skyrim."

As if to try and disprove Aerin's point, a Nord lunged forward with his sword aimed at the Imperial's midsection. Aerin slid to the side, and swatted the man's hand with the flat of his blade, knocking it to the ground. The unarmed guardsman reeled back at the blow while the Housecarl snarled. "These are my men you're talking about! And I have seen the corpses myself."

There was a shout in the crowd, followed by the sound of weapons being drawn.
"Prove that she did it!" Aerin heard one man cry out.
"The only word we have heard is from your men!" screamed another. "Maven's men!"
More metal rang as the guards down below worked to stabilize the crowd.
Unmid frowned at Aerin. "This is your last chance, Imperial. Her guilt is proven. Drop your weapon and get down, or you will be tried yourself."

"The corruption in Riften must end! Too long have our merchants paid the Thieves Guild for protection, too long have the guards bullied the citizens of this town, Black-Briar gold clinking in their pockets. I will not move until she is proven to be what you say, Nord," Aerin turned away from the crowd, sword pointed at Unmid as he prepared for their arrest attempt.

Behind him, the crowd yelled out cries of "Justice!" and "Down with the Theives Guild!", bringing a timid smile to the Imperial's face.

"She has already been found guilty by our Jarl, and the witness guards have already said their piece." Unmid remained where he stood, axe held up at the ready.
"And now you wish to join her. Very well. Arrest him."
Several guards converged on Aerin, weapons drawn. Two approached from the stairs leading up to the makeshift stage, and two more who had been waiting up here with him all along.

Aerin swung at the two guards on the platform already, pushing them backwards as they dodged the swinging blade. He threw his cloak at one on the staircase, using the momentary blindness and the wide arch of his swing to run at Unmid. The Nord was strong like and ox and nearly as big, but Aering lowered his shoulder into his gut, ducking under the shaft of the large axe as he tackled the man.

Gloved hands pulled him off, as the housecarl punched him in the face, Aerin's blood mixing with that of the rag wearing, beheaded Nordic prisoner. Once he was carried off the stage, the guards pummeled him, boots breaking ribs and fingers, his face growing swollen and bruised from their fists.

The crowd was growing even more unruly now, as items began to fly at the executioner and the guards. A shoe was the first projectile, followed by apples and pears, bottles and mugs and rocks. The mob yelled for real justice, not that of Maven's pet Jarl.
Aerin looked back as he was dragged up the steps of the keep and towards the dungeon, the crowd yelling and screaming, and finally a chant of "Free her" rising up. It was all for naught, as soon two dozen more guards moved in with those already in place, shields raised as the pushed the people back from the platform, where a few had started to push and pull on, so that it shook and swayed. Those were Aerin's last sights, as a large gloved hand smashed into his already bloodied and broken nose, his head hitting stone as his vision faded to black.

 

***

Carlotta

There was nothing Carlotta could do as her brother was beaten and dragged away. She hadn't believed it was him at first. Surely not Aerin, the meek and kindly boy she'd grown up with. But even from her position, she knew her brother when she saw him. It was stupid and foolish of him to do that, he had to know he couldn't save her on his own. She'd had to avert her eyes when the first punch landed, but she looked on again when she heard the effect of her brother's actions. The men and women of the crowd were chanting and shouting, throwing things at the stage and demanding over the shields of Riften guards that this woman she be freed.

The Jarl's Housecarl was having none of it, though. She saw his axe go up and closed her eyes, praying.
It came back down in a single powerful, and sickening slice.

Fresh blood dripped off of the headsman's axe as Unmid lifted it back up in full view of the shocked crowd. The anger was greater now than before. The vast majority weren't even sure if they knew of this woman. But they knew Aerin, and they believed him. A man shoved to the front of the rioters and swung a club at one of the guards' heads, breaking the blunt weapon in two over his helmet. That was when the gates of Oblivion themselves seemed to open in Riften. The assaulting man was quickly cut down, and once the first person was killed, more followed. Many of the front line of people, too stubborn or too slow to get away from the frightened and enraged guards, were cut down on the spot. Some continued throwing, and even a foolish few attacked with weapons of their own. Everyone who seemed remotely a threat was killed or apprehended, and the crowd quickly dispersed in fear. Within five minutes, there was not a living citizen of Riften in the streets. Just guards and the dead.

Carlotta turned away from the scene in disgust. Looking back at her captor with a renewed hatred. "Was this worth your message?!"

Sibbi Black-Briar shrugged and motioned for to step away from the window. "As far as I'm concerned, we just got a bonus. We'd been looking for that guy for a while. I didn't know he was your brother though. That's interesting."

Even as a captive in Black-Briar Manor, Carlotta's outrage was as strong as her fear. Or perhaps the shock of what had just transpired in the city below affected her enough to cloud her thoughts. "I was talking about the massacre!"

"A necessary and completely legal response was made. Those imbeciles shouldn't have attacked city guardsmen. I'm sure everything will be cleared up. We'll just have to devote some time to it. This won't become a big story, so you don't have to worry about that pretty face of yours being in some paper down in Cyrodiil."

Her head hurt. Carlotta still wasn't used to death, and that... that had been unlike anything she'd ever seen. And it had been over her. They had thought the woman was her. Why wouldn't they? She had been a perfect mirror copy. Even Aerin had been fooled. "Who was she?" Carlotta asked, noticing for the firsts time that her voice was shaky."

"Her name was Constance Michel." answered Sibbi Black-Briar with a sneer. "She ran the orphanage your husband had been hiding in."

"And so you killed her? How do you even know she knew who he was?"

"That is not why we chose her." Sibbi said, turning to the room's other occupant: A Bosmer women in a dirty white and red robe. She'd been counting money in a chest for the last twenty minutes. But now looked to be finished. "Satisfied?"

"Very." she replied. "I will be in Riften for another week, at least. Find me if another job comes up that requires my expertise."

"Will do." Sibbi replied as the woman hefted the chest and exited the room. "Face sculptor." he explained. "Damn good too, as it turns out. It wasn't hard for Maul to locate her. She had made a name for herself. Now that she has helped the Black-Briars, she will never have to work in a sewer again." He crossed the room, over to a chair, where he sat, rolling a coin between his knuckles.

"Now, back to why we killed Constance. Like I said, it wasn't because she was a threat. No, she was killed because once your dear sweat husband escaped, she became a liability. She is not on our payroll, but after that night, she knew things that half of my own men don't even know. Namely, the identity of a friend of mine. One who was and still is trying very hard to maintain a certain appearance. Of course, it could've been done in many ways, but this way will be heard even in Goldenglow, where your loving husband apparently decided to remain rather than come to the rescue. Oh yes, he knew this was going to happen."

"Maybe he's smarter than you." Carlotta shot back with words sounding braver than she truly felt. "Had he come, you'd have everything you want. This way, he at least knows he can still save Mila."

That drew a laugh from Sibbi. "Colder than we thought, maybe. To let you die without lifting a finger to stop it. I've got to say, the way he mulled over you in the prison had me convinced that he'd fall for this one. Not that it matters. It will end the same regardless. Now that he thinks you dead, the kid is all he has. He will not stand by if we do this again with her. And when he is drawn out, revealing that we still have you should be enough to stop him in his tracks... Assuming he still cares about you at all, that is."

His words didn't have the intended effect on Carlotta. She wasn't fool enough to think Boldir had abandoned her. She never would have married him if he hadn't shown love for Mila as well, and she was certain that if he had intentionally stayed his hand, which she wasn't entirely, then it would've been because of Mila. "So now you'll stage an execution for her as well? What child are you going to murder in her place?"

"Oh, I don't make the plans when Maven is around. I follow them. But I highly doubt the next death will be a phony. We only need to fake one to make this work."

"If you hurt my daughter, I swear, I'll-"

"Do what? Refuse to act as bait? Kill yourself? We have plans to deal with these possibilities as well." Sibbi smiled. "Between you and me, I like your daughter. And actually hope that I'm wrong. But that is irrelevant." He turned to the door. "Fronier! Take the prisoner back to her cell."

The door opened and Sibbi's muscle walked in, ushering her over. Carlotta reluctantly came. She'd been kept ignorant these past few days, and now she wished that it had continued. But that was why Sibbi had brought her up, shown her the execution, and told her these things. They wanted her scared. She was, but that couldn't show. If it did, then they were winning. Boldir wouldn't let anything happen to them if he could help it, but he was probably as powerless as she was right now. For Mila's sake, and her own, Carlotta needed to stay composed. There had to still be a way out of this. She just needed to find it.

 

***
Marcurio

The mage cursed as he realized he had run out of mead. He tossed the bottle through the open window behind the desk, only for it to hit the open shutter and shatter. Damned Nord!
He'd visited the sewers twice since he'd locked Boldir down there. The first time had been yesterday. He'd approached the man's cell only to hear threats shouted his way through the darkness. The next time was this morning, this time with a muffle spell to conceal the sound of his approach. The Nord was near the far wall. To Marcurio's surprise, one of the two chains latching him to the wall was now broken, and he could see that Boldir was busy trying to rip the second from the wall itself. The Nord had never seen him, but he felt the effects when Marcurio used a drain fatigue spell. After only a couple of minutes, Boldir had knocked himself out from exhaustion. Marcurio had felt somewhat weakened himself from it, but only because of the hit to his magicka. A minute was a long time to keep a strong drain spell going. This told Marcurio that Boldir was as strong as he was persistant. While the Nord was out, Marcurio placed a frost rune on the bars of the door, so even if Boldir did awaken and break the remaining chain links, he'd just injure himself if he tried to break the door bars.

And now, besides having attacked and locked up a good man, he was also at least partially responsible for the death of that man's wife, at least that's how it would be viewed in Boldir's eyes. Marcurio had hoped against hope that it could go another way, but he wasn't an idiot. He knew that there would be no reconciling things between him and Boldir. Why couldn't he just see how ridiculous his plan was from the start?! Was he just going to walk into the city? Give them our hostage and himself along with her?
And now, Marcurio would be the bad guy because he had seen the ruin Boldir would bring on them for nothing.

He cursed again. Boldir was such a useful ally, and one of the only respectable men here. Still, the chances of things working out between them were slim to none. It was an hour past noon, and the wife would be dead by now. Maven Black-Briar makes all sorts of threats, but none of them are hollow. He frowned, wishing he had more drink in him, and then stood, pushing the chair back and turning to head downstairs. He'd give Boldir one more chance, to see if the Nord would come to reason. But Marcurio rather doubted that would happen. If he was right, he'd have no choice but to kill the Nord. I need to stop being such a milk-drinker. I'll have bandits soon. I don't need Boldir. Even so, Marcurio couldn't help feeling somewhat guilty.

"Hey, Mage." It was Cynric. The thief entered the room carrying a blue bottle of Black-Briar reserve. Maven's most expensive brew. Marcurio hadn't been aware that any of the stuff had remained, or he'd have claimed it himself.
Cynric crossed over to the desk and sat the bottle down. His expression was grim. "I don't suppose you heard the news?"

"News?" Marcurio felt a stirring in his gut. Whatever this news was, he had a feeling he knew more than Cynric.

"Yeah," the thief produced two mugs and sat them on the desk. "You may want to sit down."

He really didn't, but Marcurio felt it would be better to play the part Cynric was expecting him to play. He took a seat. "So what is it?"

"Boldir's wife was killed just an hour ago. Rune and I can't find the man anywhere, or his brother and his boatman friend. Kosta is still missing too. I think he might've left us, but the others... I think they might've gone to the city... Got themselves caught by Maven most likely."
The thief filled both the mugs and then took a long drink. "Seems you were right. All this is coming apart, and now even Boldir is lost. We need the bandits."

Marcurio regarded the thief for a moment as he took a swig of Maven's finest. The sweet honeyed reserve flowed down his gullet like liquid gold, and tasted far sweeter than the usual swill she produced. "It is a shame." he said, meaning it though not entirely. "I understand why you felt loyalty to the man. Your friend, Vex was it? She put faith in him, so I understand why you would as well. But move on we must."
The reserve was strong, and set in quickly. It was exactly what he'd been wanting when he'd run out of mead before. "Cynric, I have something I ought to tell you, now that we are in agreement." Might as well. If I'm going to be in charge, I need their trust.

"What would that be?" asked the thief, his eyes betraying no emotion.

"Kosta didn't leave us for no reason. I sent him to treat with the bandits days ago. We'll have our allies sooner than you'd think."

Cynric's eyebrows shot up. "I should've expected that... any idea when they'll get here?"

"Soon. Today probably. But I can't know for certain. Hopefully, they didn't just kill the dumb Redguard on sight."

"Cynric nodded and took another sip. "I suppose you'd had no choice but to lie about this... Maybe things will work out for the best after all."

***
Boldir

He heard the footsteps long before they reached him. They were swift and quiet, but when the alternative was silence, any sound was easy to pick up.
Come on, then! He pulled himself to his feet and gathered the chains around his fists. I can move this time, cur!

Marcurio wasn't getting off for this. He hadn't kept track of time. It had been impossible with the amount of time he'd ended up spending asleep, which was no doubt the result of the damned mage's wicked magics. Even so, it was obvious that by now, Carlotta's execution would be over. He'd screamed and cried out for hours. He'd broken one chain, and uprooted the other, but it made no matter. The sellsword had trapped the door, and when he'd tried to break through, he'd been blasted by winter itself, and unconsciouness found him once again. It wasn't until the footsteps began that he realized he had awakened, and gathered himself to the door. Armed with chains. His bandages were all but ripped to shreds by the ice, and foul smells oozed from the burns on his arm and chest. He felt sluggish, slow, and every movement hurt. But that didn't matter. Boldir had only one thing on his mind now, and it was killing the mage.

The footsteps drew nearer, seemingly making less and less effort to hide their approach. And then Boldir heard something he didn't expect. Humming. It was scratchy and the tune was all off, but he recognized it in spite of this.
​He can't play a lute, swing a sword, sail the seas, but no one would ever turn down Mogo's mead...

There was a clicking noise, and then Ollus appeared in front of Boldir's cell, twirling a key in one hand and holding Boldir's own axe in the other. "If I'd known you were a sewer person, I'd have taken you to see mine." He inserted the key into the lock and pushed the door open, then handed Boldir his axe.

"Where's Marcurio?"

"No 'thank you Ollus?' No questions as to how I found you or got the key? Hmph!" Ollus's eyes met Boldir's for barely a second before he averted them and flicked his tongue. "He's topside and on up. Enjoying a mead at your desk. Like Mogo's good friends!"

Boldir pushed past him and made his way out of the sewers. The first thing he looked to was the sun. Noon was most certainly past. Not that he'd expected differently. The island seemed quiet as he walked through the faded grass and sand, but this was not half so chilling as the city of Riften, which stared at him over the lake with the most terrible silence he had ever experienced. In a way, Riften was like him. It had taken many lives, it had been burned, and emerged weakened but not yet ready to die. Now though, his mirror of a city mocked him like it never had before. For it had taken his wife and now looked at him, refusing to so much as acknowledge the fact. As if she was nothing to it but just another life. One of its thieves, or sewer dwellers.
Boldir blinked at a soreness in his eyes, and turned away from the wretched city. He would see everyone involved in this burn. But first, the mage.

Goldenglow Mansion seemed as empty on the inside as the grounds were. His hide boots scuffed against the wooden floors as he gradually made his way through the dim halls, axe at his side. The pain in his arm was as bad as the day he'd been burned, and the smell so bad it made his nose wrinkle, but he ignored it and ascended the long staircase. The only sound in the house besides his own steps was that of faint voices above. Two stairs remained, then one. Then the empty hallway upstairs that gave way to the sound of conversation as he approached the final door.
Sunlight filled the room he walked into, and before him, at the large desk sat Marcurio and Cynric with a nearly empty bottle of mead between them.

The mage looked up first. His usually so arrogant expression briefly turned nervous, Boldir saw that much before the crafty sellsword managed to hide his true feelings behind that smug mask of his. "Boldir." The mage stood and backed towards the window, clenching his fists to summon whatever spells he planned to use, but Boldir didn't care.

She's dead! You could have saved her.
He's a mage. He could have helped. Instead, he stopped you.
Now, Black-Briar will dump her body into the lake.

No spells touched Boldir as he quickly strode across the room. No lights formed around Marcurio's hands, and it seemed that no power on Nirn was going to stand between Boldir and this man. The desk between them, Marcurio's only defense, was flipped aside, and the only words the now-visibly terrified mage could utter before Boldir reached him involved the very thing that let him down. "My magic..."

Boldir could hear Cynric saying something behind him, but couldn't make out the words. His axe was discarded, and his hands were wrapped around the sellsword's neck. He lifted Marcurio from the ground, bringing the Imperial's face level to his own, and then slammed the whole of him against the wall. Boldir heard a few pops as bones shattered, but he didn't let go, his large hands enveloping the Marcurio's neck. There was kicking and clawing, but the sellsword's strength was not of the physical sort, and Boldir ignored the struggle. The mage's eyes were bulging now. His face was a deep purple, but it wasn't enough. Boldir pushed his fingers into the skin of his neck until he felt warm liquid run over them, and Boldir didn't let go. The frightened, bulging eyes glazed over, and small red lines ran from them. Hot blood soaked his hands now, enough that no man could still be alive, but Boldir still didn't let go.

SHE'S DEAD! BECAUSE OF HIM!!!
He felt something solid and hard under his fingers, but Boldir only pressed harder. So hard that it was torture for his own hands. He leaned closer and looked the mage in the glassy eyes, locking gaze for several seconds with the dead man. And then there was a loud *snap* and whatever his hands grasped suddenly came apart. Marcurio's head rolled from it's neck, and Boldir felt the body slip from his grasp. The mage's body slide down the wall, leaving a bloody trail behind.
Moments later, the sound of conversation broke out behind him. A voice spoke, seemingly unfamiliar. But to Boldir, it felt a thousand miles away. Right now, two things mattered. He would save Mila, and he would kill Maven Black-Briar.

[TheCzarsHussar]

Gracchus Ceno

Imperial City

Morning

 

Gracchus’ left shoulder ached, and he could hardly move his arm at all. It had been a little over a week since the assassination attempt, and the High General was still feeling it’s effects. Small burns covered his arms from the burning shack, his left arm was numb more often than not, and to top it all off, he caught a cold from the torrential rain. But he was alive, his foes were dead, and that was all that mattered.

 

A search of the area around the shack revealed nothing besides the charred remains of the Thalmor mages. No documents, no weapons, not even a hideout where the presumably stayed. It was discouraging, but not unexpected. If the Thalmor were anything, it was careful. Even the battle had been meticulously planned, that much Gracchus could tell as he relived it every time he slept since. Though in his dreams, the icy spear caught him full on in the chest, or it was Catia or Lyra that were fighting the Thalmor. Those two dreams were the worst, but the ones that haunted him the most were the ones where the fight played out exactly as it happened.

 

He relived the horror and anger and hate, all mixing together into a horrible cocktail of fear. Gracchus could taste his own fear, like a rotten onion that couldn’t be washed down. It had been luck he won, he decided. Had the barrels not been two thick on the stack, he would’ve been blasted to pieces before he could cast the fire storm spell. Had his blade not sliced them both, even though the wounds were only superficial, he would have surely had his magic drained from the lightning.

 

Yet here he walked, stood, lived, while they slept in Lake Rumare, fish nibbling their seared skin. He thought maybe the gods had some plan for him, but he had never been a overly pious one and chalked it up to dumb luck. Next time he wouldn’t have the luxury of luck, however. They would send three assassins, or catch him asleep. That much he realized, so he began posting some of his battlemages at his house. They welcomed the respite from training, and he slept better knowing his house was guarded.

 

It wouldn’t be enough, though, so he continued the training that waned during the first few weeks he held the office of High General. Destruction, of course, but he renewed his focus on wards, which had proved invaluable in the fight. He learned new techniques, coupling his sword with his wards, spell and steel intertwined to allow him to get in close. That’s where the elves were weak, he’d learned. The shocked expression on their faces when he sliced them with his saber told him as much. Masters of the arcane, but novices of the blade, close quarters combat would be their undoing.

 

With his left arm still semi-lame, the method of ward and sword allowed him to continue practicing even though it hadn’t fully healed. He used his battlemages as sparring dummies, defending himself against two or three or four of them at a time. They were no assassins, nor master mages, and didn’t coordinate their attacks as the elves had, but it was better than nothing, and the confidence that he gained was almost as invaluable as the practice itself.

 

All that would be for naught if he allowed traitors to stay in the midst of the legion, so he walked the streets of the capital city flanked by four of his battlemages, intending to question Baron Dielle’s staff. Legate Arius Lex had the command of the battlemages now, with Gracchus still retaining official control, but he relegated much of the every day duties to his second. Lex was a veteran of the original Skyrim Civil War, as well as part of the crew that sunk the Harpy, and a survivor of Falkreath. He had been the third in command, behind Pilus. Gracchus longed for his friend, if only to have someone to talk to. Catia was always there, but there are some things only a soldier can truly understand. Even though he liked Legate Arius, their relationship was never more than commander and subordinate.

 

Baron Dielle, formerly of the Elder Council, lived in the Talos Plaza District, that is when he still lived. Since the attempted assassination, all lands and titles were stripped from the Dielle family, and the family members question thoroughly. They knew nothing, or else were trained in torture resistance, so Gracchus turned to the house staff. Most of them proved just as ignorant, save the steward, who told the High General that the good Baron was frequenting a Legion tavern known as the Dragon’s Gullet, in the half year leading to his death.

 

That was where Gracchus headed, intent on getting to the bottom of this conspiracy and purging this weed from his legion. He wore his golden Imperial general’s armor, the red dragon wrought in the middle, and behind him flowed a crimson cape, with a black dragon in it’s middle. He noticed a great many people looking and whispering about him, no doubt about the rumors of his falsified legion transcripts. They were only rumors, though this traitor had seen to it that every man, woman and child within sight of the White-Gold knew them.

 

Gracchus ignored them, knowing that once this mess was cleaned up, they would praise him as a hero for purging the Thalmor scum from the legion ranks. Until then, he could suffer their suspicious and wary looks. The Dragon’s Gullet loomed ahead, a stout building of three stories, the bottom most white quartz, while the upper two were stone brick. A wooden shingled roof covered the top, out of which cropped four large chimneys. The sign was black iron, a dragon pouring a mug of something into its gaping mouth, and the door lay inside a stone-carved dragon’s maw, so that when someone entered they appeared to be eaten.

 

Upon entering, a hushed silence filled the room, while the soldiers rose and saluted, standing at attention. The barkeep didn’t salute, as he was the only non-legionnaire in the room. Gracchus returned their salute, then said “At ease†to which they all returned to their drinking and conversation, albeit in much quieter tones. Gracchus sought the barkeep, who was busy scrubbing an empty iron mug behind the counter.

 

“General,†he said, nodding his head in greeting.

 

“Do you recall a Baron by the name of Dielle frequenting here this past half year?†Gracchus asked.

 

The barman continued his scrubbing as he thought, though he seemed to be more interest in cleaning the cup then answering the question. Just as Gracchus was about to ask if he’d heard him, the bald Imperial said, “I believe so. Sat over there,†he pointed with the mug, “and talked to some legate all the time. Just the two.â€

 

Gracchus nodded grimly. “What did the legate look like, and did you catch a name perchance?â€

 

“Don’t suppose I did, no. I can tell you he had short black hair, and a black beard. Oh, and he’s stationed here in the city.†The bartender had put the mug away, and was now scrubbing the counter in small circles.

 

Gracchus thanked the man and quickly left. A legate with black hair and a black beard didn’t exactly narrow things down, but it was a start. The High General and his guard headed for the stables, to search first the legion camped outside the city. It was Gracchus’ own men, the Sixth Legion. That there could be a spy in his own men twisted his stomach into knots.

 

The walk from the bar to the stables allowed him time to go over the letter that reignited this investigation. The family and household were questioned as soon as Gracchus reported the assassination attempt, but that turned up nothing. It wasn’t until the general received the letter from Wraith that he started anew, and it was only then the steward confessed his knowledge of his master’s clandestine meetings at the Gullet.

 

Written in the margins was,

 

My master sends his regards. Be careful

-Wraith

 

While the main letter read,

Your request for more payment has been meet with approval from the regional commanding officer. I'm hereby ordered to give you the 400 hundred septims. Your information, and "actions" have helped our caused greatly, Legate. Because of your plan to frame the High General, his reputation has taken a large hit, and the rumors you spread around the legion Garrison and officers in the Imperial City will be remembered, regardless if the General proves his innocence. You'll need to deal with the underlings who squealed to the High General though, even if they know little, they might say something they shouldn’t. The Justicars agree, that it wasn't your fault, but the failings of the assassins, that the general survived the ambush we planned. We'll need to move the location of these dead drops soon, and we expect we'll have another use for your soon, until then, were content with you supplying us information on the legions activities. I've also entrusted a small bonus for you, for your continuing loyalty to the new order.

-With regards, IXI.

 

The note also included a purse holding five hundred septims, but it was inconsequential next to the knowledge the conspiracy was larger than expected. Even though he disliked and mistrusted Lorgar and his cohorts, the information was enough to look into it further. And so far they were right.

 

The ride from the stables to the outlying legion camp was a short one, even without Gracchus and Lil Ceno setting a brisk pace. There Gracchus visited each black haired, bearded legate in turn. Surprisingly, there were several matching the description, but all of them produced concrete alibis. Only two more legates remained, Legates Platorius and Vinipter. The former’s head was scarcely covered by much more than a few strands of black hair, but his beard was prodigiously large. He they questioned first.

 

“Have you ever been to the Dragon’s Gullet, Legate?†Gracchus was standing before the man’s desk, behind which the legate sat, drumming his fingers on his meaty thigh.

 

“Yes sir,†he answered, scratching his throat while his neck’s apple bobbed up and down.

 

“And do you know anyone by the name of Baron Dielle?†Gracchus studied the man’s face, noting his jaw was clenched tighter than a mudcrab’s claw, and a bead of sweat trickles down his cheek.

 

“No sir.â€

 

“Is everything alright, Legate? You seem nervous.â€

 

“No sir, I mean yes sir. Everything is all right.â€

 

Gracchus glared at him for a few moments, his deep green eyes narrowed on the man’s twitchy face and restless limbs. What decision he made next would no doubt make him look the hero or the fool, depending on what his men found.

 

“Legate Arius, search the tent please.â€

 

The nervous glance at the chest near the foot of the cot told Gracchus everything he needed to know.

 

“Start with the chest first, Legate.â€

 

All Platorius could do was watch hopelessly, all the color drained from his face and his mouth dropping slightly open to reveal a set of brown and rotting teeth, his mouth ulcerous and scarred. Gracchus raised an eyebrow when he saw that, wondering what could cause such malnourishment. It wasn’t long before he found out, as Arius produced not only several Thalmor dossiers and encryption codes, but three bottles of Skooma as well.

 

“That explains your want of a raise,†Gracchus said, placing his hands behind his back, while his lips twisted into a frown. “You betray your country, you brothers and your friends, all for what? The next high and a few more coins clinking in your pockets? Treasonous scum like you are the worst of men and beasts alike.â€

 

“Sir, the s-skooma’s mine, I swear it on the gods, but I’m no traitor. Just-you have to believe me, I swear on Mara and Talos and all of them I’m no Thalmor bitch.†The man was frantic, shaking as his eyes drowned.

 

“Take him out of my sight, and see he has a cell in solitary to think on his betrayal.†Gracchus watched as two battlemages hauled the weeping man from the tent.

 

Warmth spread in Gracchus belly where formerly there had been a knot. If there was one person he despised above all, it was the traitor. A man who would sell his country and men away from a few gold coins was more accursed than anything else on Nirn. A faint smile replaced the frown, and he turned to find Arius shared a similar look.

 

“One less traitor, Legate. One less monster we have to deal with.â€

 

“Aye sir. What shall I do with the evidence?†The legate still held the bottles and dossiers.

 

“Take the dossiers to my office, and the skooma to the Imperial prison. Tell them I want a confession by tomorrow, and if he confesses then he is to be imprisoned for life, and not executed.â€

 

“That’s kinder than he deserves, sir, if you don’t mind me saying.â€

 

Gracchus nodded, slowly churning the idea of executing the man straight away. “It is. But all men make mistakes, even those like General Tullius and Lorgar. Let the gods judge him, not me.â€

 

If the gods were just, Platorius would join Molag Bal in Coldharbour for all eternity, to suffer the wrath of the Daedric rape king.

 

[TheCzarsHussar]

Samuel, Bevadar

Morrowind, Blacklight

5 days after leaving Falensarano

 

Two bony, charcoal colored fingers massaged the right temple of Bevadar Dren. He told himself, over and over, that he should stop drinking, but his resolve always failed once he caught sight of the fine sujamma. The burning tendrils of drink as it slid down his throat warmed in a way nothing else could, and helped him bear the brusque words and curt looks he received. Bevadar could tell he wasn’t wanted at the parties, yet they seemed to invite him still, probably in the memory of Duke Vedram Dren, and hoping he wouldn’t show. The members of House Redoran had no cause to love either him or his uncle, yet the name Vedram Dren still commanded some ounces of respect, no matter how small.

 

So they invited Dren, grudgingly as it might be. He was more than happy to accept, though, and made sure to drink as much sujamma and flin as he could bear to hold. It made up for matze he was forced to drink with his meals, back in his hovel. Bevadar wasn’t poor by any means, but he longed for the days when Dren ruled House Hlaalu, and his family had more wealth than a witch has warts. Now he was barely even considered wealthy, if it could be believed.

 

His foul mood only increased the headache, and because of that he didn’t immediately notice that he wasn’t alone. Bevadar’s tossed his purple and gold robe towards the rack, where it landed on the floor with a thud, but he knew one of his servants would pick it up. He only had two of them, but at least he had that many.

 

When he first caught site of the man sitting on his coach, he thought it was only Arver, until his eyes adjusted and he realized the man was a pale Colovian, reading a book, and no one he recognized. Bevadar jumped backwards, stumbling over his discarded robe and into a table, knocking a Dwemer vase into his stomach. The air was knocked out of him, and when he finally regained his composure, and breath, he cursed loudly.

 

“Filthy n’wah!†It was then Dren grapsed that the book the stranger had was one of his own, a Bathory novel, which he thought he’d hidden. “Put that down before you wrinkle the pages!â€

 

"You better sit down; you're drunk," the man said absentmindedly, as he flipped the page over. Maggie was a skilled author, though he preferred something more... stimulating than this. Intellectually, that was. Magdela Bathory had never been one to lack the ability to stimulate certain other parts of the human mind. Debate transcripts from the Mages Guild in their time, or collected military logs and reports would be better entertainment. Something for his mind to bite into, but getting hold of that was out of the question for the time being. He reached the end of the chapter, closing the book and looking at Dren with a sympathetic smile. "Why do you bother with those parties? I know that it only makes you feel worse about the past."

 

Dren looked warily at the Imperial, but his head was throbbing, and it wasn't until he tried to walk that he realized he was leaning against the wall. 

Gods, I really am drunk.

He moved to sit down across from the pale man, finding his favorite plush chair before sinking down into it. He sighed audibly, the chair seeming to take the pain from his head away. So much so he almost forgot about the man's question, until he opened his eyes and saw him sitting there. 

"Free drink and food of course. Why else."

 

"Haha, of course. Fine food and strong drink makes anything worth it to some. Me, I prefer brandy. Speaking of which..." the Colovian pointed to a bottle he had left on the table. "For you, for being such a gracious host."

 

Bevadar narrowed his red eyes at the bottle. "Host? I haven't hosted any parties in years. And I'm not about to host one. Too bloody expensive."

 

"Ah, I think we better deal with this after you've slept off the drink. Please, go to your room and get some sleep. I'll just be minding my own business until you do, and then we can talk more."

 

Samuel made a few gestures, charming the drunken fool. He could probably have convinced him without it, but this was faster and the book had taken an interesting turn. He found himself anticipating the next chapter, as irrelevant as he knew the experience would be. Hopefully there was something else to read in this library; he hadn't had time to check properly.

 

Evidently the charm wasn't altogether successful, as Bevador only got halfway to his bedroom before falling in a heap on the floor. His snoring brought the two servants, Arver and Fonari, out, and together they hauled him off to his room.

 

**

 

As the sun rose, Samuel had finished the book, and a couple more romanticizing historical events for good measure, and was in the middle of a book he hadn't read in quite a while. It was just titled "The Great War" in its printed formal, but the official title of the document was "A Concise Account of the Great War Between the Empire and the Aldmeri Dominion". Interesting read. Legate Justianus Quintius was certainly no scholar, but he wasn't an idiot.

 

"Ah, thank you," one of the Dren servants came up to him with a cup of tea. He had given... whatever his name was... some gold to go buy it at the market. Probably did the old coot a favor too, having his servant seen buying something respectable for a change.

 

"Umm, why a-"

 

"Erhem, I am a guest of your master. Please maintain proper etiquette and consult him should there be a problem. I'd hate to have to spread the word of the Dren family employing, frankly, brazen servants without knowledge of their place."

 

Bevadar wandered out of his room soon enough, and impatiently snapped at Arver for his own cup of tea. He slouched back down the his favorite chair, glaring at the pale man who sat across from him. 

"Why haven't you left yet?"

 

"Because you invited me to stay here."

 

"When did I-" Bevadar started, but was interrupted by the return of Arver with his tea. He sipped it, trying to recall the events of last night. It was a drunken blur, and he only faintly recalled the man being here. 

"I don't seem to remember inviting you anywhere. I don't even know who you are, and I don't abide strangers."

 

"You were that drunk, huh?" Samuel laughed at him, putting down the book. He ignored the tea for the time being. Odd preference, but he wanted it cold rather than warm. "We met at the party and shared a few words. You said I should stay here for a few days, while I get some lodging of my own. Quite gracious offer too, just like a true Hlaalu nobleman. I'm glad your House hasn't lost its courtesy."

 

He leaned forward, folding his hands and resting his elbows on his knees. "As for who I am; My... great grandfather was a friend of Duke Vedram Dren and helped him secure a few good Imperial Contracts, back when that meant something in Morrowind."

 

The Dunmer puffed out his chest a little, his lips toying with a smile. "I'm nothing if not a true nobleman, and some have even suggested I'm my uncle reborn. It will be my pleasure to entertain you here, uh... I do not recall your name, as it is."

 

"Vanus Varo, at your service. Now, are you feeling like eating? I took the liberty to have your servants buy some food for me, and I've cooked a bit before you got up. Colovian fare, since that is all I can cook, but it should be a nice change from the local food. Mutton and wheat bread, with cheese and Surille Brothers. Or maybe you rather save the Surille and we have milk instead?"

 

"Mr. Varo, you shouldn't have. I have Fonari for that very reason. I hat fixing my own food. No proper nobleman should ever do his own chores, lest they begin thinking like the sla-servants that serve them," Bevadar seemed to regain some of his confidence now that he 'knew' the man, and his annoying, condescending tone was cropping up. 

"But I suppose we must have the Surille Brothers. You never know which meal might be your last, and I would rather go out with a stout wine in my stomach than milk."

 

"Ah, but you mistake me, Mr. Dren. I am no nobleman, just a wealthy one."

 

"Oh, well then I suppose these rules don't apply to you. Shall we breakfast here, or in the dining room?" Bevadar asked.

 

"I'd like to use the dining room. It is not proper to risk the books while eating something as rustic as Colovian fare," Samuel laughed. This was turning out to be much more pleasant than he expected. Bevadar couldn't be quite sober yet, or he was far more easily flattered than he remembered him being. Then again, it was some time since Dren had been an important name. Maybe he should include them in his future efforts? They certainly had a friendly history to the Imperials, and they could be useful, if they were given a little more incentive. So many who dealt in politics and information overlooked the usefulness of having influence with social pariahs. They could often get certain kinds of... dirty work done, and be happy to get the chance to better their standing.

 

"Quite so. If you'll follow me," Dren rose and led Varnus to the dining room, which was right off the kitchen. The walls were covered in several old tapestries of the Dren family, although they were a bit ratty and moth eaten. Still, their elegance could not be denied. 

"Please be seated, sir. Arver, we'll have our food now," Bevadad added with two quick claps.

 

Arver set down the plates. It was grilled mutton on freshly baked wheat bread, hearty and oaten, with a sharp slice of cheese, and then the flagon of Surille brothers and two silver goblets. He poured them each a glass, before melting into the corner of the room, waiting should they need him. 

Bevadar raised his glass. "To new friends, and honorable ancestors."

They toasted and drank, eating in silence for a few moments before the Dark Elf spoke up. 

"So, Varnus, what brings you-"

 

"Hey, do you want to go Nix hunting?" Samuel hadn't paid attention to what was said, but could see he had interrupted the man. "My apologies, the idea just hit me. Seems like a good way to get to know each other, a hunting trip."

 

Bevadar didn't hide his emotions well, so it was obvious he was interested, although before that flashed a brief bit of astonishment when he was interrupted, he didn't mention Varnus' rudeness. 

"Why not! Though, I must confess, I'm not much of a hunter, and wouldn't know the first thing about if, but it sounds good fun."

 

"Then, shall we say we leave at noon? It'd be good to walk of this meal first, I think. A bit heavy in the stomach, as delicious as it can be in the morning,"

 

He took another bit. It was slightly larger than he expected, so he had some trouble chewing and swallowing it. When done, he had to wipe his mouth, pretending to be a little embarrassed. Then he continued with a wink. "And its Vanus, by the way, not Varnus. Common mistake, so don't worry about it."

 

Bevadad smiled and ate his food, savoring the tasteful Colovian fare. "How does one hunt a nix, exactly?"

 

"Much like you hunt wovlves," Samuel was focused on his food. He had spent considerable time in Morrowind in the past, though most of that was before the Red Year. Nix behaved a lot like the wolves of the west. He had read a few accounts hypothesizing that this, along with them being more adapted to Morrowind's climate, had enabled them to out compete the wolves, who were more suited for the temperate climates. And vise versa. Nix Hounds seemed to be poorly suited to the cold, for instance.

 

It was entertaining, really, to see the change that the fall of the Septim Dynasty had caused. Here he was, in the house of a man that would be at the very top of political influence two centuries ago. Now he was a drunken man, barely invited to the fancy parties because Vedram Dren had been a respected ruler in his day. On the other hand, House Redoran, who had barely avoided collapse thanks to Bolyn Venim before the Oblivion Crisis, was now the ones to host the parties and effectively rule the Council. The "Age of Warriors" seemed to have arrived. He laughed silently to himself. What a poor way to phrase it. But it had a certain truth. First Redoran, then Hammerfell and now Skyrim had gained their independence at the expense of the Cyrodilic Empire. Then there was the Aldmeri Dominion. Far too powerful in his mind. It wouldn't be so bad, if the Thalmor had remained a minority in the political sphere, but they were and they didn't allow for neutrality. Samuel was human, and therefor he was ultimately the enemy. If not that day, one day in the future. He couldn't do extended business with the likes of them.

 

The Dunmer floundered a bit, his mouth hanging slightly open as he considered how to phrase his question. "And, uh, how do you hunt wolves? In truth I've never hunted before, only read about it."

Bevadar liked books. They didn't curse him for a drunk, or laugh at him when he stumbled home and tripped over his furniture. They took him to far away places, places he could easily afford to visit but without the expense of travel. His library was his home, his books his friends.

 

"I'll teach you as we go. If you can be quiet on your feet, or reasonably so, it shouldn't be a problem. You should probably put on something a little more sturdy than those though," he pointed to Bevadar's clothes. "Leather would be nice. Sturdy enough to keep you alive, light and flexible enough to not be a hindrance when hunting. Netch leather is better than Chitin today, I think."

 

It wouldn't be a problem even if he couldn't be quiet on his feet. Samuel would be more than capable of maintaining a muffle spell on them for the course of this. What would matter is if he could use a bow. If he couldn't, that be something he could be sure wouldn't get around. If he could, he'd get to take credit for the catch. No fuss, no muss. It was a vacation, of sorts, so why not use his talents to put a foundation for future work? Gods, he noticed he hadn't had vacations in a very long time. Even his procrastination was about his work. But it was relaxing to do stuff like this.

 

"Perfect. I have a set of armor I needed an excuse to try out! It just so happens to be Netch leather, so it works out perfectly. To hunting!" Bevadar toasted again, draining his goblet before motioning for Arver to refill it. 

"We'll use a bow, correct? I believe my weapons closet has at least one bow in it."

 

"Quite so, I checked. And I brought my own. Good weapon to have, when travelling the land."

 

"I don't venture outside Blackreach much, so I'll take your word for it. Are you an archer?" Bevadar took another bite of the mutton, and tore off some of the bread as well.

 

"Swordsman, actually, but I've spent some time getting to know how to use a bow properly. I'm by no means a great archer though."

 

"Quite so. I prefer my magics to steel. Conjuration, specifically. Why do the fighting when someone else can do it for me?" Bevadar already are the slice of cheese on the mutton, so he carved off another from a platter on the table. It was sharp and stinky, just how he liked his cheese.

 

"True, true. I've always been careful to trust mages' ability to control daedra though. No offense, of course, but there are many stories about conjurers losing control. I'd rather rely on men and mer to fight for me," Samuel nodded as Bevedar mentioned his magics. "Not today though. Today we'll hunt and see if we get something nice to brag about."

 

Bevadar nodded enthusiastically, finishing up the mutton and another slice of bread. Arver took the plate away from the table, and Bevadar gulped some more wine down.

 

***

 

"Shh," Samuel held a finger in front of his mouth, looking at Bevadar. They had gone over a small hill and were now hidden behind a rock just short of Samuel's standing height. He had seen a couple of the Nix on the other side, nibbling at the corpse of an Alit. He signaled to Bevadar where the prey was and drew a shortsword. Bevadar was the one to get the first shot of the day, and Samuel would just make sure there were no injuries should one of the Nix get over to them.

 

Bevadar nodded slowly, afraid that even too quick a movement would startle the beast. His heart thumped loudly in his chest, as he raised the old Elven bow up. The head on the arrow point right at the nix, right behind the front shoulder just as he'd read in many a book. When he let the arrow fly, however, it strayed from the target, hitting instead the back leg of the beast. It leapt in the air and turned it's head right and left, searching for Bevadar and Vanus. 

"What now?" the Dunmer asked, sliding down to hide behind the rock.

 

Samuel smiled, looking at his blade and kicked a stone into some bushes, to be sure that the Nix would find them. The second Nix came running almost immediately. Almost as soon as the beast came around the stone, the blade sunk into its neck. The hound Bevadar had wounded came a bit slower, but stopped when it saw what Samuel did to its companion. The Colovian stepped out of the hiding spot and looked right into its eyes; for maybe ten seconds they measured one another, before the Nix started to back away and eventually turned to run.

 

"You can still get him. He's gonna be slow," he said to Bevadar. "Aim just above his head."

 

Bevadar fumbled with the arrow, eventually getting it notched. He rose worried the creature would be too far away, but found it hadn't traveled to far with its gimpy leg. The dark elf took one deep breath, steadied the bow, aiming just above the head, and let loose. The arrow whistled through the air like a bird of prey, sinking it's claws into the front haunch of the nix. Bevadar gave off a little cheer, throwing his hands into the air in celebration. 

"Woo! Two arrows isn't too bad. I'll have to mount it in my house, of course. Maybe above the fireplace."

 

**

 

Samuel opened his eyes. In the entrance of the cave they had found for the day, he could see S'Rava keep an eye out. H'Reni had left for the north a couple of days before, after their visit to Lorgar had ended. He smiled. The memory of his time with Bevadar were nice; something not related to work for a change. Not really, anyway. Looking at the sun, there was at least a few more hours before they should set out for their next destination, so he closed his eyes again.

 

The city gates of Skingrad slammed behind him. He had modeled this place after how Skingrad had been in his youth, except it had had to be expanded many times. The only thing that would seem out of the ordinary was that the unmistakable tendrils of Hermeaus Mora could be seen in the sun. An optional detail, but one he had left in to remind himself, every time he visited this place, exactly what he had to be careful about. A single misstep with the Demon of Knowledge and he would be a Seeker forever.

 

Ah, the City of Memories. A mental construct he had forged for himself. Every house in this version of Skingrad was dedicated to a specific topic, sorted after region, era, century and so on. Each house contained countless floors with countless doors, each one being a specific memory.

 

He walked two houses down, to the house he once grew up in and entered. When inside, he took the third door to the right and stepped through. He could see the first time he had taken up a sword: it was a cold morning and his father had been on a trip to the Imperial City. A thief had broken in, thinking it would be abandoned for the time being, only to find that the son of the merchant was still around. The younger Samuel had forgotten to put away one of the Legion styled blades that had become so popular as Tiber Septim reforged the idea of a new Cyrodilic dynasty from hopes and fears into reality. The thief had been armed with a knife, but hadn't been very skilled.

 

Samuel watched himself fight the thief: Amateurish moves, on both parts, but the length of his swords ultimately won out and it sunk into the gullet of the intruder. He blinked, making the scene stop, and walked to examine the memory just as the burglar realized he had been stabbed. The shock and disbelief in his eyes, the untimely loss of grip on his own knife because of this, the specs of blood that had landed on his own hands before the blood started to flow. Six pearls of sweat on his own forehead, 5 on the intruders. He blinked again and the scene continued as if nothing had happened. The burglar fell to the floor and his younger self ran for the door, calling the guards. He had been questioned for just under an hour before the guard captain had decided that he was telling the truth.

 

Blinking once more, the scene shifted: His father had returned now, holding the sword he had used to kill the thief with out so that his younger self could take it. He had said that Samuel must have been meant to have it, with a proud smile, and that it was a fitting gift. Now that he knew Samuel couldn't only run the store, but also protect it, he'd have more opportunity for business trips. The day after Samuel had started to use parts of his savings for sword lessons at the Fighters Guild Hall.

 

As quickly as he had entered this memory, he left it. He was back in the cave. Almost no time had passed at all, if the shadows were an indication. He had spent a long time becoming as efficient at this as he was and it had served him well. In the matter of hours he could prepare for a new meeting, as long as he took the time needed to properly integrate new knowledge into the City of Memories. And he always made sure to properly integrate new knowledge into the City of Memories.

 

[TheCzarsHussar]

Rebec, Baldur

Kyne's Watch

 

Rebec was out inspecting the beginnings of the shipbuilding yard near the fort when she saw two figures walking towards her from the landward side, a dark haired woman and a young girl.

“Your Majesty! Welcome back. This is Sofie? Gods, girl, you’re growing faster than a mushroom on a dungpile.â€

Smiling, Veleda greeted Rebec. “She insisted on coming to see the new town. And please, Admiral, when we’re alone, just call me Veleda, or Vel. I can’t stand all the formality. I think Nords should dispense with it, but Ulfric says it helps keep order.â€

“Whatever you say. You come in on your magic rune?â€

“We did. I’m ready to start tuning the warning beacons. I’ve sent Menel to Solitude to coordinate with Sybille Stentor, but he’ll be along later.†They had set up a permanent recall station in the torture room at the fort. It was already being kept under lock and key, no one much wanted to go there, and it was the only room that wasn’t being used.

Sofie stepped forward, looking at Rebec’s middle. “When are you going to have your baby?â€

“Soon. In the next month or so. Go ahead, touch it.†Rebec could tell the girl wanted to. For some reason people always wanted to rub her belly. The crazy imperial women could get stuffed, and it was creepy when men looked at her that way, but the girl's curiosity was harmless.

Sofie put her hands on the round rise, and got rewarded with a kick. Giggling, the girl stepped back to her mother, who put an arm around her shoulders. Seeing her with Veleda and reacting to the baby, Rebec had a strange pang. Jala would be about Sofie's age. Rebec had felt something similar back when she'd seen Baldur hugging Mila, who was also around the same age. The girls would all have been friends.

 

Veleda brought her out of those melancholy thoughts. “Well, it's good to see you well, Rebec. We’ll go attend to our beacon so that it’s ready to test by nightfall. I’ll catch up with you later.â€

That afternoon, Rebec found Veleda in the command center of the fort, and said, “Sofie’s learning how to make mead from Baldur. She’s already suggested a few ways to improve the chemical composition.â€

The queen laughed. “No doubt. She’s a sharp one. Sit, Rebec. I wanted to ask you if you would like either Menel or I to attend your birth. I understand Ysana will help you, but in the event...†She paused.

Rebec looked over sharply. “Yeah. In the event.†She didn’t like depending on magical healing, but for Baldur’s sake and for the baby’s, the answer was obvious. “Sure, I'd appreciate that. You sure that Menel's the right one for the job?â€

Veleda laughed. “He’s actually done it before, which is more than I can say. I’ll try to come, however. You and Baldur are important to Ulfric and me. To all of us.â€

“How’s Uflric doing?â€

“Vexed at this Forsworn problem. I’ve asked Markarth to provide you with more support, but the Silver Bloods are dragging their heels. They’re unhappy with our land grant program, and say you’ll draw off High Rock trade from the overland routes."

“I actually meant... you know. You two.â€

Veleda colored. “Oh. Well.†She smiled a little and glanced at Rebec. “I guess Baldur probably told you about the talk he had with Ulfric, when you reported in from Hammerfell. About the fact that we hadn’t yet...â€

“He didn’t tell me, actually, but I guessed. You seemed awfully tense, and Ulfric was staring at your ass like Menel would look at a roast someone hung just out of his reach.â€

The queen burst into laughter. “You’re not serious.â€

“Been looking at men a long time. I can tell when one needs to drain so bad that gourds start looking like teats. Baldur could sympathize now, what with me pregnant and all.â€

“But surely you two still...?â€

“Don’t look so surprised. I know people think we go at it like rabbits...  Alright, we do usually go at it like rabbits. But it doesn’t always work out like that. Sometimes your sweetroll wants it but your head says no, or the other way around.â€

"Sweetroll?" Veleda laughed, then considered what Rebec was saying. “I suppose that was my problem. It’s like you have to be a different woman. I wasn’t used to being that woman.â€

Rebec’s brow knit. “Different woman?â€

“You know. To be... sexual. In most of your daily affairs, you’re one kind of person, but in the bedroom it’s like you have to be someone else. I wasn’t used to being that kind of woman. I wasn't sure I could do it right. It’s intimidating.â€

The admiral still appeared puzzled. She was pretty much always a woman who liked being rolled, and didn't have any trouble showing enthusiasm when she was in the event. Putting Baldur off for so long had been torture. “I guess. Maybe that was my problem, too. Being pregnant makes you feel like a different person, too. Anyway, you two are figuring it out now?â€

“We’re working on it. I doubt we’ll ever be like you and Baldur. It will probably take longer for me to get pregnant, too. But I think you’ll find Ulfric is a bit more relaxed around me than when you last saw him.â€

“Good. That gourd thing is bound to be messy.â€

Veleda laughed. "I suppose it's one less thing for him to worry about, at least."

 

Rebec thought about Baldur's dream, and how he sometimes shed tears when they were close. She had heard Galmar say that Ulfric wept sometimes. She couldn't imagine that at all, which was the point. "I'm sure it's not just that. I see it with Baldur. They take care of their troops, but someone's got to care about them. You give him a safe place to let down his guard. Anyway, the poor man spent years in prison and was married to Elisif, which amounts to the same thing. Even if it's only now and again, some healthy Nord poon has got to be a good thing."

 

Smiling, Veleda said, "I've grown fond of him. It's easy to do when you admire someone so much. I still wonder about things I hear, from his past..." Both women glanced over as a small globe sitting on a stand nearby turned from blue to red. “Ah, Menel got my signal.â€

“What’s that?â€

“Come outside and see.† Veleda took the globe with her. On the roof, a round structure like a fountain was giving off a red glow that rose up into the sky. When it turned blue, so did the globe in the queen’s hands. Sofie came running up the ladder behind them, having seen the beacon come on from over in the village.

“This is your lighthouse beacon, if anyone asks,†Veleda said. “But it’s more than that. I had to get some help from Drevis Neloren at the College to set it up. That glow is magical energy drawn from Aetherius. It’s not unlike the much stronger effect White Gold Tower has, or used to have, and the founts at the College. Your battlemages should find that their mana lasts a little longer than before, and I’ve trained the apprentices stationed here on how to change the tuning. If the fort is under attack, they'll turn the beacon red, and this globe that sits in my study will turn red as well. Sybille Stentor has one, too."

“If Mama’s away, I’ll see it, “ Sofie added, pleased at her role.

Rebec was less enthused. “You think we can trust Sybille? She’s Elisif’s toady.â€

Veleda hesitated and glanced at Sofie. She had realized something a while back when she cast detect life, a habit she'd picked up to scan for assassins. After a heated discussion with Wuunferth, she had decided not to act on her knowledge, or to tell Ulfric about it- yet. “I believe she is loyal to her position,†she answered Rebec carefully. “Sybille was fond of Torygg, but has little respect for Elisif. And she has no interest in the Thalmor taking us by surprise.â€

 

"If you say so."

 

***

 

"What's this, more fan letters?" said Baldur, eyes glued to the ones he'd gotten already.

 

Daric looked at the sealed parchment and the little wooden box in his hands. "I'm not sure, have any sent you any gifts?" That got Baldur's attention, and made him put aside the fanmail for Daric's delivery. First thing he noticed was the parchment's seal opened immediately after his first finger made contact...

 

"Son of a whore, what the hell do you want..."

 

Daric didn't notice this, taking the time to steal a glance at the fanmail Baldur was reading.

 

Dear Mr. Redsnow,

 

I hope you get this letter. I just wanted to thank you for saving my marriage. My wife and I haven't had sex in months. She just wasn't interested in me anymore, said I didn't look at her the same way, the way I did when we were first married. Don't know about that, but I have been secretly reading smutty books on the side, like the Lusty Argonian Maid, or the Scullery Maid's Scaly Adventures. It's made feeling excited for her a little hard, if you get my meaning. My sister recommended me Sons of Skyrim, and I couldn't get past the third chapter. Not because I didn't like it, I did. Just that I've been revisiting that particular scene repeatedly.

 

Anyway, I saw my sister reading your book as well, and I bought my wife a copy to see if maybe it could spark our romance again. Now, I read it to her all the time, and she's crazy about me again. She's even with child! She says it's going to be a girl, and if it is, I wanted you to know that I plan on naming her Rebecca, after your wife, the admiral.

 

Thank you again for writing this book,

Anito Gallus

 

"Wow, what a milk-drinker," Daric said, snickering the whole time. Those were things he thought no one should ever admit.

 

Baldur was too busy opening the little wooden box Daric brought. The parchment sat on the desk, crumbled. It said:

 

General Red-Snow,

 

It lifts my heart to hear that you and Rebec are expecting a child, and I wish I could have extended my congratulations earlier. The Red-Snow Clan, I expect, will be an important name in history. In that regard, I hope this will be a suitable gift for the coming member.

 

S

 

P.S. I added something for Daric too.

 

Baldur was now in a bad mood. Rebec's words of caution were beaming through his mind after reading the note and seeing yet another gift from the cur that almost separated them in the first damn place. Even if he somehow wanted to make reparations, what he did to him was not something he could forgive. The gift in question was an ebony amulet with ruby in its center under the engravings so that it looked like a red snowflake. Very expensive looking.

 

Expensive trash. Because that's where it's going. If he thinks this will keep me from wringing his throat when I see him, he's got another thing coming.

 

The other item which he guessed was for Daric was a fine dark ebony dagger, shaped like a spike and thin enough to be hidden in a boot or under one's clothing. More trash was the first thought that popped into his mind, but the dagger was practical. "Daric, I've got another gift for ya."

 

Daric caught the blade and hilt, unsheathing it quickly and admiring the little shard of night. "Did a fan send this to you?"

 

"Uh, yea. You can say that. And take this. Go to the market and sell it. Do what you want with the gold, I don't care," said Baldur dismissively. The quicker Samuel was out of his mind, the better.

 

Daric's mouth was agape. "They sent you this too? I'd be careful, Baldur. Keep this up and Rebec might think they're more than fans."

 

"Right, which is why I want you to get rid of it as soon as possible, and to tell her nothing about this, got it?" Last thing she needs to be thinking about is Samuel keeping tabs on our life.

 

Daric noticed Baldur seemed to be more on edge than usual, so he didn't think he was lying. He turned the amulet over, and noticed an inscription on the back. Red-Snow's Pride. Daric held it up and said, "If you don't care what happens to it, could I keep it maybe?"

 

Daric noticed the confused look on Baldur's face, and saw his mouth work to ask why, but he stopped himself and said to him, "I suppose...it's not enchanted, so it's safe... fine, just keep it out of sight. The dagger too. Don't want Rebec thinking I'm dropping coin needlessly. I'm already paying for the mead hall. Oh, uh, don't put it on yet until later when Menel can make sure there's no magic in it."

 

Daric grinned happily as he accepted the gifts, tucking the amulet into his pouch and the blade under his blue sash. "Oh, speaking of Rebec, I saw her with the Queen on my way here atop the fort. They were doing something funny with a magical orb."

 

"Say what now? Rebec messing around with magic? Hurry, lets go see what this is all about."

 

***

A sudden mournful blast of sound came from a few feet away, showing Baldur with his large battle horn in hand, and Daric close behind him with an impish smile on his face. "What's with all the colors eh? You wouldn't be summoning any daedra or anything up there, would you, ladies?" When the duo reached the walls, he said, "Rebby, throw your rope down for me!"

 

"No daedra, High General," Veleda called down. "Just Stormcloak ships from Solitude."

 

After a moment, Rebec's rope dropped down in front of them, secured to the battlement above.

 

"Mhmm..." Baldur went up first, climbing with less effort since he was no longer hindered by his typical gear. Before Daric reached the top, Baldur picked him up by his sash and placed him down next to Rebec. Hugging the Queen, Baldur said, "Sorry I didn't stop by earlier. I'm sure Sofie already mentioned why." Baldur placed his large hand over Sofie's head and said, "Your girl's too smart to have such a little head."

 

Crouching in front of her, he said with a smile, "But don't get too cocky and think yourself better than your elders. For all your brains, I can still crush your skull in with my bare hands..." Baldur poked her in the stomach and ruffled her hair to let her know he was kidding. Hearing Daric laugh behind him made Baldur grasp his head too, though considerably harder. "That goes for you too, dragonskull."

 

Rebec poked Baldur's arm. "Alright you three. The queen's got some devilry to explain."

 

Veleda gave the rundown of the beacon again. "Menel should be here soon. He was going to recall in after he tested the warning signal."

 

Baldur said, "Why don't you use your womanly ways to convince the King to pop in here with that ward sometime? I haven't spoken with Ulfric in a while. I'm starting to think he likes the silence of the palace without us. You four are gonna be here when I open up the tavern finally, right?"

 

"I tried to get him to come this time, but he refuses to use the runes. I tell him there are risks even in sea transport, but you can guess how well that goes over. He wanted to refuse me permission to take Sofie, but then he'd have to listen to Sofie complain about it." Veleda grinned.

 

The trap door leading down into the fort opened and a round head poked out. "It works. But of course it works! I set it up."

 

"Menel, you made it." Veleda went over to give the Bosmer a hand up, but he didn't take it.

 

"Why are you all standing around in the freezing cold? Not that the fort is much warmer."

 

"Pfft, milkdrinker. This isn't even cold for Kyne's Watch," said Daric, taking the words right from Baldur's mouth.

 

"Uhh, yea. Heh, what he said, milkdrinker."

 

"I happen to love milk."

 

"Get up here, elf," Rebec said. "If I can climb my fat pregnant ass up here, so can you."

 

Grumbling, the Bosmer finally took Veleda's hand and scrambled up. Seeing Rebec in profile by the light of the beacon, he said, "By Yffre, you have gotten big since I last saw you. Can I touch it?"

 

"No, gods damn it! Sorry Sofie."

 

"Oh come on." Menel came over towards Rebec, who backed away and put her hand on her axe hilt. Undeterred, the Bosmer pressed on. "One celebratory bump to celebrate our collective good health. Come on. You know you want to." He patted his round belly and stuck it out towards hers.

 

"You stay away from me, you little pervert." Rebec found herself staring at the Bosmer's belly, however, and felt a strange, almost magnetic pull... Before she knew quite what she was doing, their two middles gave a friendly little bounce.

 

Menel gave a triumphant laugh. "There you have it! I'm practically the child's uncle." He held his fist out to follow up. "Come on, admiral. No half measures."

 

Reluctantly, grumbling, Rebec gave his fist a bump with her own. "Gods help my poor child." She grinned a little, however.

 

Baldur was busy holding his sides, trying to stop his snickering. "I'm sorry Menel, but the uncle spot is taken by someone else, I'm afraid. Hey, do the bump thing again, will ya? Go on, Rebec. I'm definitely writing about this later..."

 

Rebec's expression made it clear that that wasn't going to happen.

 

"Just think of the possibilities," Menel went on. "If the Forsworn attacked now, you could bump them off their feet and then hack their skulls."

 

"Admiral Rebec can Fus them off their feet," Sofie said. "Can't you?"

 

"Uh, well... sometimes." Her thu'um had suffered from her lack of concentration, too, but she could occasionally produce something. "How is your Disarm shout coming, Veleda?"

 

"I think Sofie will get it before I do."

 

Baldur said, "Surely you've gotten at least something, Veleda? I figured you would before any of us, being a mage. Well, now that the three of us are here, we could all practice together. Rebec can spare more time now, if she chooses to. We can shout out at the sea on the beach, or on practice dummies."

 

"Mama can do it. She's being modest. I can't because a child's vocal cords aren't well developed enough to project force."

 

"There you have it." Veleda didn't say any more, even though she had eventually confessed to Sofie about the telekinesis trick she'd used early on.

 

Rebec said, "We'll meet on the beach tomorrow morning. Menel, you can come too, to do your little motivational training speech. Maybe you'll pick up a shout, too."

 

The Bosmer waved his hands. "Ohhh no. I have no desire to use your primitive Nord belching. I'll be in the background casting silence spells on the Thalmor so your shouts can actually work on them."

 

"Why wouldn't they work?" said Baldur. "Think your magic wards are quick enough to catch it? I only have to utter one word to turn you into roasted Mer ham. Mmm. You'd make great ham, too. By the way, Veleda, I'd like to show you something when we do. You may find it interesting, and hopefully you can help explain it to me as well."

 

"Wormy ham," Rebec muttered.

 

Enthusiastically Menel said, "You could roast my balls for gravy. Giblets, they call it in Valenwood."

 

"Right. There goes my appetite for a year."

 

"I'll cheer you up." The Bosmer bumped her belly, then ducked behind Veleda in time to avoid a swat.

 

The next morning Sofie and Veleda were out on the beach first, the girl coaching her mother. They were using a practice dummy now, since they'd found the first time Veleda produced a real thu'um that the dagger ripped from Sofie's hands so violently her palm was chafed, but it was the mental reaction it produced that was worse. It was more like an illusion spell than telekinesis, Veleda had eventually realized. There was an alteration component or the effect wouldn't work on a dummy, but it was more powerful on a living opponent. You forced the opponent to throw their own weapon away. It compelled them for a moment to despair so violently that they believed the battle lost, at least at the level of their involuntary reactions. The realization had made Menel more interested than he let on. They had talked late into the night about it when he returned to Windhelm.

 

Rebec and Baldur arrived later, since Baldur had trouble getting Rebec up out of bed at this hour. He eventually got her out with a few bottles of his mead in a bucket filled with snow, then another bucket of fresh fish and shrimp for everyone, all ready to be grilled. Daric tagged along, carrying four candles with him.

 

"Here we are, sorry for being late. The admiral takes a fortnight to get dressed, lately. Menel's bringing the sausages, right? If he doesn't, he's not getting any fish."

 

"He's probably making the sausages," Veleda answered. "What's all this?"

 

"This here's a fresh batch of my mead, aged almost half a year, and this is shrimp and fish. I let them stay stored outside in the cold to keep them fresh."

 

Daric piped up and said, "And these are candles Baldur's been using during meditation. I suggested a little trick he learned back when he was thinking of ways to get Rebec t-"

 

Baldur cleared his throat loudly. "Ehem! No more mead for you. Anyway, I'll show you that later. Lets see what you and Rebec can do first."

 

Veleda said, "I'll go first, because I think mine would be anti-climactic compared to fire and wind. High General, would you like to be my practice dummy? It really works better with a live subject."

 

"Said the randy wizard to the naughty priestess." Menel had appeared, a picnic basket overflowing with sausage and smoked loins in his hand.

 

"Ah, he did bring the food! Goodmorning, my merry Mer friend. I see you come bearing gifts. Uh, you'll have to forgive me Queen, but I have to inspect the food first. Daric, you're up."

 

Daric gave him a look that showed exactly what he thought of Baldur volunteering him.

 

"What? Inspecting the food that we're about to give the Queen of Skyrim is serious business, boy. Would you rather I get thu'umed into the next world for killing Ulfric's wife instead?"

 

"Yes." Daric sighed as he reluctantly walked over by the dummies. He knew Baldur just didn't want to be seen having his weapons disarmed, and decided to have him be humiliated instead.

 

"Oh, I don't think..."

 

"Don't worry, your majesty, Daric's a Breton but he's got Nord balls," Rebec said. She picked up Stuhnir, who was sniffing around Menel's basket, and stood back with him to watch.

 

Veleda said, "I see. Well then." She shouted over for Daric to draw his weapon, then stood still, preparing herself. After a moment she leaned toward Daric and called out, "ZUN haal!"

 

Daric didn't hear the exchange, but he acted as if he did, swinging his blades in an artsy display before slashing a line in the snow as he crouched. "Come on!" He said, waiting for the Queen's best shot. Daric's hands were clenched white knuckle tight when the wave of energy hit him, and for a second, he thought he managed to resist the effect. But only for a second, as a moment later, to his eyes, his swords were sent flying from his hands, which was made all the more painful from his resisting. One of the blades wound up in the dummy to his left behind him.

 

To the others watching though, it appeared that Daric actually flung the swords out of his hands behind him as if in frustration. Though the weapon's force and distance was a little much for a simple backwards toss.

 

Baldur's eyebrows raised and he was glad he decided to send Daric in his stead. "Wow, that's almost unfair, Veleda. Imagine someone who didn't know you had that ability."

 

"She can get the second word, too, sometimes," Sofie said proudly, hugging Veleda.

 

The queen smiled. "Honestly I wasn't sure whether this was worth my time since a spell could do more damage, but one thing I've learned as battlemage is there is value in training in different schools and not relying on just one bag of tricks."

 

"And besides, if you ever ran out of magicka, you could disarm your opponent still, and kill him the good old fashioned way," Baldur said.

 

Daric wandered back over, rubbing his hands as he walked past the others to the mead. He didn't even open the bottle he had. He just used the cold to soothe his sore hands. "No more."

 

Grinning, Baldur said, "Alright, then milkdrinker. I suppose I'll be the next test subject. Rebec? Think you can stop an axe?"

 

Menel's sausage stopped halfway to his mouth. "You're going to throw an axe at your pregnant wife?"

 

"Nope. I'm gonna throw my enchanted axe at you, and she's gonna stop it with her thu'um. Up for it?"

 

"Oh no. I'm not a Nord. My sense of self-preservation is quite intact, thank you."

 

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, elf," Rebec said, grinning. She let Stuhnir down, who promptly grabbed a sausage out of Menel's basket and dashed off to a snowbank to enjoy it. "You told me a telekinesis spell was better anyway. So prove it."

 

The Bosmer chewed a moment, then shook his head. "Ugh. I can't believe I'm agreeing to this."

 

Veleda spoke up. "Rebec, are you sure you should be shouting in your... you know, condition?"

 

"Absolutely. Our baby's going to have a leg up on all of us. She'll know these shouts like no one else has in Skyrim for hundreds of years."

 

Baldur smiled at that and promptly agreed. "Imperials think listening to lectures in the womb make their kids more intelligent. Our baby will come out the womb able to knock them back to Cyrodiil. Oh, and by the way, I was kidding about the axe. I was just gonna throw a snowball at Rebec, actually. But I'll do it if you're still up for it, elf."

 

"Let's do a snowball," Veleda said. "I don't feel like healing a split gut. Especially not with a pregnant woman around."

 

"Heh, I knew it. One snowball coming up," said Baldur. Though in truth, Baldur had something else in mind. Baldur stood in front of the test dummies this time, his back facing the others as he prepared two snowballs, the second of which he'd toss after Rebec's first shout to see how well she performed on the spot.

 

When she shuffled over finally, Baldur waited a bit longer for her to prepare herself, turning the ball in his hands with the three fingers he held it in and huffing on it so that it'd melt. Just a little, so it would be more packed together, and not break apart. Finally, he let the first one fly, waiting for the right moment to toss the second.

 

Rebec flubbed the first time, having to sidestep the snowball, which she couldn't do with her swollen belly. The snowball hit her shoulder, then ricocheted and bounced off Menel's head. Both of them hollered, and this time Rebec was mad, so when the second came towards her she shouted "FUS!" and sent it flying back towards Baldur.

 

Unprepared for such an outcome and with his arm still outstretched, the so-called untouchable Unkindled took the hardened snowball, now more like a piece of solid hale directly between his eyes, dazing him and making his vision dark, just before the actual forcewave smacked into him and knocked him flat.

 

Daric broke the silence afterwards with his laughter, but stopped after Baldur didn't get up.

 

Rebec's face went white and she ran- or rather, waddled- up to where the Nord lay sprawled. "Baldur! Gods. Veleda, do something."  Soon they were all gathered around looking down at him.

 

Daric broke the silence again and said, "Hold on, I got this." Popping the cork on the mead bottle he held, Daric squeezed Baldur's cheeks, making his lips pucker open before dumping the Baldurbrau over his face and down his throat. Baldur coughed his way back to life, taking the mead bottle from Daric as he sat back up.

 

Eventually after his swig, Baldur said, "Well, congratulations, horker breath. You managed to do what none of the Necro Nords could. You knocked me out cold, and I think I saw Sovngarde all over again. Hope you're proud of yourself."

 

Rebec sat back, relieved. Now that she wasn't worried about him dying, she flicked snow in his face. "You asked for it, you big oaf. Good thing it wasn't an axe. Somebody help me up here." Menel stood around, bland-faced, until Sofie finally stepped forward and helped Rebec to her feet. Then she did the same for Baldur.

 

"Thank you, girl. At least someone's useful around here..." Baldur's gaze was aimed right at Menel when he said this. Going right through the mead bottle resting against his light developing bruise. He walked up and hugged Rebec apologetically, rubbing at her shoulder to make sure he hadn't hurt her in turn. "You alright?"

 

She leaned up to kiss him. "I'm glad you've got a hard head."

 

"Anyway bravo and well done," the queen said. "Ulfric will be very pleased. It's your turn, Baldur. Can't let a stray snowball stop you."

 

"Right, well. Like Daric's big mouth said, I was gonna show Rebec this in private, but considering the risk of burning the house, I decided not to." Daric ignored the jab, still quietly pleased about the whole ordeal with the snowball. He quickly placed the four candles around the front of Baldur as he sat down, legs crossed. Two were directly to his front left and right, and the other two more off to each side, like the corners of half an octagon.

 

Eyes closed and fists pressed together with the palms facing up, he said, "I've learned how to do the first word fully, but I've also been practicing control of it, as the King asked. In doing that, I've learned to do this. Yol." Baldur said the word of power this time with a whisper, causing several little licks of flame to slither out. His head turned to each candle in one movement, and after a few seconds, each candle became lit, just like that.

 

Baldur took one of the candles then, and placed the flame under his palm. He let it sit there, the heat lingering long enough that his hand should have moved from it by now. "This part is what I wanted to show you, Veleda. Somehow, studying the thu'um has made me more resistant to fire. Enough that I can do this, even though I was born under the sign of the Lord."

 

Both women leaned in to observe, and even Menel was interested in this.

 

"And that is what is different about the thu'um," the queen said, gesturing towards Baldur but looking at Menel. Apparently they had discussed something similar. "A spell is a manipulation on the aetherial energies. It acts on something outside you. But a shout is part of you, just as inhaling and exhaling make the air part of your body."

 

Menel considered this, rubbing his head. "Yes. Well what good is that? I thought Galerion got us past the idea that magic belongs to a special class of initiates and can't be standardized."

 

Baldur stood, leaving the candles burning and said, "That was never really true, was it? Not everyone has the aptitude to be a mage. And even then, not every mage has the aptitude to perform any spell from any school. What's so different here? It's simply another category of magic not yet well understood. Probably because the idea of Nordic magic is scoffed at even still."

 

Veleda added, "If the stories of the old Tongues are true, their powers were as powerful as the greatest Mer wizards, in the lifespan of an average Nord."

 

"That's a big, fat, hairy Nord IF," Menel insisted. "Don't get me wrong, I'm happy you've got a trick or two the Thalmor won't be expecting."

 

"I wouldn't count on it staying secret. We have to figure they've got spies here, too." Rebec put an arm around Baldur's waist. "Was that supposed to be for a romantic evening?"

 

"It still can be," said Baldur, grinning with his arm over her shoulder. "The tavern's still closed, so we've got the whole place to ourselves."

 

"I'm the one that suggested it. Your welcome," said Daric, shoving Baldur.

 

"Heh, right. And Menel, I think the dragonborn pretty much confirms those old Nord stories to be true, don't you think? We now know just how powerful the thu'um can potentially be, and Ulfric told us how powerful the other greybeards are. He's never even heard the others speak, but one. Because just a whisper from them would kill him."

 

"Can we go out to that big castle?" Sofie asked, pointing.

 

Rebec shook her head. "I wouldn't do that. Weird imperial tarts pop up from that direction. Anyway, Uncle Baldur's going to roast some meat for us with his powerful thu'um."

 

"You know, Veleda and Menel would have a much easier time setting up a fire. But, this is thu'um practice after all."

 

Baldur wondered whether or not they should tell the Queen about the weird tart that came to visit them. The idea that she had Thalmor relations... real close relations, didn't sit well with him still, despite the fact that the mage had given her the all clear in just about the most conclusive way one could. But even with the mage letting her find out 'What happens when she shakes his dragon just so', Baldur still didn't like it. Though he supposed that being in Cyrodiil meant everyone of note had to bend over for the Thalmor. Some more literally than others.

 

He had to put all of it out of his mind though to set the wood gathered aflame for their fire. It took two attempts this time, as Baldur's mind was always clouded when he started worrying over Witchie and the Thalmor. While he got the fire going, Daric was sliding the shrimp and sausage chunks onto sticks for everyone to roast themselves.

 

As it happened, Rebec spoke up about the imperial woman as they were eating, telling Veleda about Baldur's book being published in Cyrodiil. "She's supposed to be daughter or wife of the count of Skingrad or something."

 

"The countess of Skingrad was here?" Veleda immediately sounded suspicious.

 

"She said she knows the owners of that castle. I figured she'd come to Windhelm eventually, looking to spend some more coin."

 

Veleda shook her head. "Not that I was aware. We haven't heard much from the new empress or her supposed consort, either. I suppose they have their own problems to attend to."

 

Baldur wasn't going to volunteer anymore information on Maggie. He was already giving Rebec the eye, since he didn't want the King and Queen getting suspicious over his publisher and causing trouble.

 

"Weren't you and Ulfric going to find an ambassador? What happened with that?"

 

"We wouldn't just trust anyone with so important a task. Ulfric wanted you to go, Baldur. I argued against it. This time, and this place, for you to build your family- it is too important. I told him that when war with the Dominion finally comes, you'll fight all the harder for having a home to protect." The queen paused. "Unless you want to go, that is."

 

Rebec opened her mouth to say something, but shut it again and looked over at Baldur.

 

He knew the others were looking at him, but he kept his eyes on the fire as his finger played at the flame. Stuhnir was watching, and Baldur could tell the curious creature was thinking of trying the same thing, until Baldur flicked him on the head and threw a piece of shrimp to the side for him.

 

"I really should. I'm the High-General, and likely to be the General of the alliance as well. But... it's as you said. I need to be able to build my life here. It's in the best interest of Skyrim as well, when their leaders have something personal to lose as well when war comes. Though I'd be lying if I said that was why I choose to stay. My child needs to know her father. It means a lot to me personally that you argued against me leaving, Veleda."

 

Looking at Veleda now, he said, "But it's not all selfish. When Cyrodiil and I communicate, I want it to be with Ulfric present and at his side, in the heart of Skyrim, it's new capital. I want Cyrodiil, Tamriel, to get the message that things have truly changed. Skyrim is no longer their lapdogs, waiting at their command. Now, they come to us. The ones who saved them by bringing them Hammerfell and making this a true alliance of human nations."

 

Veleda smiled, and nodded. "So be it. Now, let's not talk of war."

 

"Unless it's a battle poem!" Sofie piped up.

 

The queen said, "Now, love. Baldur probably gets tired of reciting songs for everyone."

 

Baldur stood and plopped down between Rebec and Veleda, arm locked around their heads. "Your Highness, you should know better than to suggest that! Come here Sofie, sit in front of me, then whisper into my ear what you'd like me to sing about. Be real quiet so it'll be a surprise to the others, got it?" Sofie giggled and leaned in, whispering.

 

Baldur smiled and said, "Wow, that's not at all what I expected to hear. Not a very proud moment in Nordic history. You've got a smart girl there, Veleda. This will be difficult... but I like a challenge. Lets see.... It was a dark bloody year for the children of Kyne's blue, a year of mourning mothers... 2E 572. The continent shrouded in mystery, sent the blood thirsty Akaviri... A foe so fierce, as they slashed and pierced, even Nords grew battle weary..."

 

Ada'Soom... Ada'Soom! We'll splash your blood on our walls!

Dir-Kamal of Kamal, curse your hide to Molag Bal!

His soldiers came to White River, unhindered by cold and shiver,

They took the Nords that day by surprise, their fighting spirit hath withered,

 

Ada'Soom... Ada'Soom! You stormed Windhelm's harbor!

Dir-Kamal, King of Kamal, we'll send you arse first to Cold Harbor!

He sacked and burned our city, Windhelm, that demon, that terrible foe,

But Sovengarde opened, and out came Shor's Ghost, riding on grey winds Kyne blowed!

 

Wulfharth, our champion, color of wind,

Answered our call and soon he rode in,

But Ada'Soom grew bored of our kin...

Setting his sights on the elves, Morrowind,

Will we just let this foe go away?

Suffer embarrassment? Our ancestors, betray?

Nay! I say nay! Tonight we slay! Now run at his back and jump in the fray!

 

Ada'Soom... Ada'Soom! Now you've met your doom!

You turned your backs on the children of Shor, and so now hear our voice boom!

Dir-Kamal, of Kamal, you've embarrassed us this day!

So we'll take your lives, sons, daughters and wives, so run, cower and pray!

 

Trapped like a rat between eastern devils, they brought Ada'Soom back down to their level,

Almalexia took to the field, as did the lizards, with spears and shields,

With Nord men and women barking at their heels, revenge their desire, their vision made real,

Steel upon steel, then steel upon flesh, blood bursting forth, so red, so fresh...

Pale men now red men and covered in gore, drenching their hair, their eyes, their pores,

Marching and stomping, they came in hordes, littering with bodies the devil elf shores,

Dying and slaying in the name of Shor... Their blood rushing rushing, theirs gushing! Want more!

These demons will pay and forever will pour! Their blood upon land 'til we've settled the score!

Shoving their blades in these scullery whores! Dealing them blows, to their very core!

MORE, GIVE US MORE, GIVE US MORE, GIVE US MOOORE! SEND THEM RIDING ON BLOOD AS THEY ENTER DEATH'S DOOR!!!!!!

 

....

 

....And soon the fierce foes from strange lands lost their heads, the elves and the Nords left them broken and dead,

 

Ada'Soom... Ada'Soom! We honor you, powerful one,

But in the end, we told you true, that we'd be the ones who won,

Dir-Kamal of Kamal, it's true that we had help,

But in the end, you met your end, and you died with a whimper, you whelp,

 

We Nords are truly mighty, but like wins, our defeats are plenty,

But all that matters is with help or no, we always kill our enemy.

 

Baldur rocked back and forth with the women still tucked under his arm, until the tempo of the song quickened. Baldur drew his axes, mimicking warriors fighting by shadow striking, then pressing Daric until he eventually had to defend himself with his swords, adding to the theatrics. Every time Baldur said Ada'Soom Dir-Kamal's name, he pointed to Menel and came after him as well, chasing him down and taking swipes at his butt as he fled. When he reached the climactic peek of the song, Baldur gave up the chase, yelling out the line to the sky rather than singing as he begged the gods to 'give us more!' His arms outstretched with weapons in hand. Stuhnir, thinking Baldur was yelling in distress howled his little heart out in confusion. The parallels of this battle and their own soon approaching fed Baldur's passion to its boiling point, and for a second he forgot where he was.

 

Finally after a long pause, Baldur walked back to the three women, the song now calm again and slowed. As he sat between them, his face grew closer to Sofie as his voice lowered, before the song finally came to an end.

 

Both Sofie and Rebec wore the same expression by the end. Awed, and with a shiver down their backs, as if the snake men had just landed on their own shore. Rebec called to Stuhnir and he climbed into Sofie's lap, yipping nervously. When Baldur sat down between them, he gave a loud bark. That set the others off and the women all clapped, Rebec giving a short whistle as well.

 

The queen said, "By Talos, you are a real battle bard. A national treasure."

 

"Fires the men up more than one of those stamina spells," Rebec agreed proudly. "The Thalmor haven't got anything like him."

 

Menel, grumpy about being chased around, flopped down in front of the fire again. "I'm sure they're bereft."

 

Baldur was trying not to smile too much from the praise as his hand locked with Rebec's. "Sorry Menel, you know I was just teasing. You'll forgive me after all the free food you'll get on the day the tavern opens up."

 

"I'm more interested in your mother's Dibella temple," the Bosmer answered. He stopped chewing, suddenly worried. "She is going to open a temple, right?"

 

"You got eyes for my mother, elf?"

 

"No! I mean..." Menel paused, remembering the sausage crate he was stuffed into before. "No. Definitely not. But if she opened a temple, there would be others. And all sorts of delights. It would be... I'm going over here." He shuffled over, out of arm's reach and ready to scamper at a moment's notice.

 

Baldur snickered and said, "I have no idea if she plans to, Menel. She said she was retired, but if more Markarth citizens come, they may ask her to start one up again for the younger Dibellan worshipers. I wouldn't mind it though. As mother showed Rebec and I, the temples aren't all about sex with the Dibellans. Isn't that right, love? Hehe..."

 

"They're torture chambers. I thought you were devoted to pleasure, Menel."

 

"Sometimes, pain can be..."

 

"Alright," Veleda cut in. "There are young ears here. Actually, should I ask Jora about sending you a Talos priest? She says recruitment is up now that the Thalmor have been rooted out of Skyrim."

 

"Hey, I'm no virgin. I just turned sixteen," Daric said.

 

"Drop it, boy, the Queen means little Sofie. Anyway, as far as the priest goes, well..." Baldur was more into Talos for scholarly and nationalistic reasons, rather than religious ones specifically. The last time he spoke to a Talos priest one on one was in Whiterun, and he and Baldur got into a long debate over what the man was saying. At least it didn't end in fisticuffs like Rebec and her priest did.

 

"I'm more into Shor myself, but I'm sure the citizens here would all appreciate one. And speaking of Ysana, when you two get the orphanage running, who's going to run it? I was thinking ma could, up until she took the unofficial job as town mayor."

 

"I wish we didn't have to have one at all. I sent to Riften for..."

 

"Can I take a ride in your boat, admiral?" Sofie said, cutting in.

 

Veleda was about to scold her for interrupting, then realized what they had been talking about, and why Sofie might not like the subject. "We should gather up our things to go home, sweet. Papa will be worried about us."

 

"It's papa now, huh? Is he nice to you, Sofie? If not, Uncle Baldur can swing by and tell the big guy to ease up a little, though the Queen probably could do that better." Baldur had a hard time seeing Ulfric as a 'papa' to anyone. He had a softer side though, but so rarely showed it. He had to be like that.

 

"He's nice to me, if he's not feeling grumpy. I don't like it when he's mad."

 

"That's almost never at you, Sofie," Veleda reminded her. To Baldur she said, "I didn't know him before, but Galmar says he's calmer now. It might be because the war is over and won, but I like to think having a family is part of it."

 

"Galmar is right, he is calmer. Which is the odd thing. He was always stressed when there was fighting going on, but when he was out there with us, it was the exact opposite. But anyway, you know how quickly he took to Rebec and I. I imagine family is what he needed, whether he knows it or not."

 

"I didn't realize how much I missed it, too." Veleda had to clear her throat, and laid an arm around Sofie's shoulder. "Come on, my lady. I can see that if we stay any longer, I'm going to have to get you your own snow fox."

 

That made Baldur think about Mila, and his stomach sank when he thought about Boldir and his family again in Riften. "We won't keep you any longer then. Menel, you staying with us, right?"

 

Getting to her feet, Veleda laughed at this. "I'm pleased you find my second so indispensable, but I need him back at Morvunskar."

 

"Oh joy. Drooling apprentices and even more snow than here," Menel said with an eyeroll.

 

Veleda gave him a friendly shove, then said to Baldur and Rebec, "We'll check in on you once in a while, especially as the big day draws near."

 

They said their farewells at the fort, then locked the "rune room" back up behind them.

[TheCzarsHussar]

Rebec, Baldur

Kyne's Watch

 

With the day still under way and some time on his hands, Baldur decided to finally assemble the book shelf that he'd been working on. He figured it was high time he did something with his stack of books besides providing a place for people to place their mugs.

 

Stuhnir sat behind him, unable to ignore the constant hammering in the longhouse, or Baldur's occasional shouting from smashing his fingers. Clearly, hitting imperial and elven skulls with his axe didn't do much to teach him how to handle a nail and hammer very well. "Blast it. Old man makes this look easy." Eventually though, the shelf started to actually look like a shelf. Even despite a few nails sticking out at odd angles.

 

When the door opened, Baldur didn't notice, as he was too busy organizing his books and tomes into alphabetical order, occasionally rereading some of them as he progressed.

 

Rebec had been occupied at the docks, as the Black Wisp put into port, though only for a check-in. She was loaded with goods which Mazoga was taking on to Hammerfell. Rebec gave her letters for Admiral Zubiri and for Vilnur and Raesa, then stood watching as the ship went back out to sea. It gave her a forlorn, trapped feeling. But then the baby woke and made herself felt, and Rebec remembered that she had a task before her that was more important than any sea voyage. She also wasn't going to let a moment with Baldur go to waste. Veleda had reminded her of that.

 

As she stepped into the house, Rebec glanced over at the bookshelf and said, "Put the elven ones in a lockbox. Can't have our baby accidentally turning elf-brained."

 

Baldur hadn't really paid much attention to what she said until a good while later. Answering her a good bit off when she might've forgotten what she said. "At least half of these are elven, Rebby. You find me a lockbox big enough, and then we'll see."

 

As he started to finish filling the case, he said, "Besides, I read most of these and turned out alright. Hey, where's that smutty book from the courtesan? Still reading it, are you? Hand it over, please. I've got one last space that needs filling, then I'll be done. Then I can rub it in the old man's face, hehehe. 'Oh, that's too many books for a case made by a novice to hold!' Shove off."

 

"Should burn it." Rebec started rooting around in piles looking for the stained tome. In the process of that, she saw something else that had been neglected.

 

From behind the privy screen, she went on, "You just wait a few years before you start filling the child's head with nonsense about the Tribunal and whatnot. Kid's got to learn to walk straight before she tries crooked. Gods, and Sofie wanted to hear about the Akaviri. What are Nord children coming to."

 

"They're coming to education, love. You should be glad that our Queen to be is so smart and curious. The last thing we need when Ulfric and Veleda are gone is a knucklehead that will undo all we've done for Skyrim when we're gone to Sovngarde. Unfortunately that's exactly what's going to happen, eventually."

 

As Baldur slid his final book in, he couldn't hide a proud grin from seeing them all standing in front of him in order and perfectly tidy. He'd have to guard it from Rebec or something, knowing she likely wouldn't care to keep the books in order, and would just stick them back wherever. "It's finished! Finally, it's finished! I.."

 

A small crack cut Baldur off for a second, but it was small enough that he almost ignored it. Until it was accompanied by a nail hitting the floor. And then another. Before more cracks had the chance to be heard, Stuhnir was already running under the bed, and the entire first row of shelves collapsed, knocking into the next and then the next, until all but the last two rows laid sprawled at Baldur's feet.

 

He stared a while, until he eventually assaulted the thing with his axe, sending woodchucks flying from his hacking before collapsing face down on the bed in frustration. The axe was still stuck in the case.

 

Rebec poked her head out at the crash, then couldn't suppress laughter at Baldur hacking the splinters. Still behind the privy screen, she said, "I think you killed a few priceless tomes of elven jibber jabber, love. Hit it with your thu'um and the whole longhouse will go up. But I think I have something to cheer you up..."

 

Slowly she stepped around the screen, wearing one of the "pregnant" gowns Ysana had made for her. It was a silky shift of dark blue, with a fancy belt that sat just above the rise of her rounded belly. There was a shawl of fine wool with it, but for the moment Rebec just held it in her hand, forcing herself not to cover up despite her self-consciousness.

 

Baldur was perfectly fine with falling asleep like that for the rest of the day, but Rebec managed to peak his curiosity. Still brooding, Baldur slowly turned over with a sigh. "After the hours I put into making this stupid thing just to have to remake the shelves all over again, what could possibly..."

 

Baldur shut his mouth, forgetting about the bookshelf for the moment. Standing up slow, as if approaching some strange creature, Baldur strolled over, hand outstretched and immediately reaching for Rebec's belly beneath the smooth fabric. It was even more rich in texture than her dress, and it made his hand naturally flow over it like water. Hand running through her hair to see her face and neck, he said, "You look phenomenal, just like I promised. What changed your mind?"

 

"You did." She still felt a bit ridiculous, but the proof was in the way he was looking at her. There was a lot she could say, but for a minute she just stroked his cheek and felt his strong hands on her waist and in her hair, enjoying the closeness. "Go on," she said finally, pushing on his arm. "Put on your fancy Breton outfit and let's go show your ma."

 

"On it," he said, needing no further encouragement. He let her watch him as he dressed, removing his casual wool clothing and jumping into his leather trousers and green long tunic, as well as all the gold jewelery it came with, and the long battlehorn. After they left, Stuhnir included, Baldur ran back inside to grab his second axe that still protruded from the book case.

 

He made sure to bring Rebec the long way to Ysana's home, loving the looks they got as they strolled through town together. From practically everyone this time, as unlike in Solitude, the people here saw them as heroes, so this was nothing short of a treat. Ysana was delighted to see her daughter-in-law enjoying the outfit she worked so hard on, but it almost came with a price. That being that she just had to take Rebec inside for a quick refurbishing with her tweezers, but this time, Baldur saved her from it, telling Ysana that the stress wasn't good for the baby.

 

After they left Ysana, leaving Stuhnir with her for a while, Baldur said, "I feel like one of those tavern wenches in this green tunic and all the jewels. But I guess that's appropriate, since I've been waiting to take you there. It's about time you saw the place, and I've been preparing for a moment like this."

 

Rebec wasn't as enamored of all the attention, and she was about ready to wrestle Ysana rather than submit to tweezers again, but she could never resist Baldur's boyish manner when he had a surprise in store. "You really shouldn't bring up tavern wenches, Red Snow," she said with mock sternness.

 

Oops. "Tavern... what? Never heard of that before, love. Sounds ugly though. Anyway, lets go in. But first..." Baldur removed his battlehorn, then blew three times in short bursts. "That should do it. Don't ask. After you..."

 

As they walked in, Baldur took a torch from inside and lit it, using the single torch to light the entire place up. A long dining table extending from one side of the room to the other sat in the center, along with a fire pit just before it, a lot like Jorrvaskr, except the banners inside had their clan sign on them. There were other tables around as well to support a sizable amount of customers. Baldur didn't have her seated yet, averting her attention to an object to their right near the staircase going underground with the tavern rooms. The object in question was shrouded in a white sheet, but it reached up almost to one's chest and seemed to be slightly rounded at the top.

 

"Go ahead. Pull the sheet," he said.

 

Rebec stared at the transformed hall. The last time she had seen it, it was bare and waiting for furnishings. "Shor's ear hair, you've been busy," she said to Baldur, taking it all in before turning her attention to the shrouded object. "If it's a statue of a buxom woman in her altogether, I'm leaving."

 

She reached up and pulled back the sheet, at first relieved that it was a ship's wheel instead of a tart. An instant later she recognized the wheel, however. it was salt-aged now, even more than it had been before, but the depressions where her own hands had gripped it for years were still there. Dead barnacles still clung to the surface. Memories of her years at the helm passed through her mind, as well as bits of memory from the night that ended it. For a long time she didn't say anything. Despite the bad associations, however, this had been a rich time for her, and the ship had ended as a Nord ship should- not rotting into obscurity or sold off, but in a war that had won Skyrim's independence. Glancing at Baldur, Rebec smiled. "I guess it'll inspire tales. Horker shit tales, most likely, but at least my ship and crew will be remembered."

 

"It'll inspire other things too. Watch this." Baldur took to the wheel momentarily and spun it hard to the left, then to the right, and to the right yet again. When he did, they heard a little click just before what sounded like stone scraping on stone, and Baldur was on the move yet again.They came to a room on the far side of the Howling Harpy, bursting through the double doors and revealing a square gap in the stone floor, evidently from a sliding stone slab pulled back. They moved down the stone steps into the darkness as Baldur used his thu'um trick again to light the torches on the wall in the hall below. He took one of them in his hands, leading Rebec to a hidden room with an enormous bed with plenty of furs and pillows, a large room mirror parallel to it, and a table with food and drink next to it.

"What do you think? I had a lot of help with this from a friend of mine. You like?"

 

Rebec's eyes widened, then she laughed at the sudden appearance of the secret boudoir. "I think it looks like more of your bard wiles. Don't tell my papa about this, or he'll do that thing with his eyebrows." She walked around, inspecting it. "How on Nirn did you get all this down here? Who's the friend?"

 

"You'll find out soon enough. This is all as you can imagine, very costly. But the place will pay for itself and then some after maybe half a year of being open. I've got one other thing to show you later, though that's more of a surprise for Boldir, and I don't have the coin or means to make it just yet. For now though, lets eat!" Baldur ran back the way he came towards the stone steps, taking Rebec's hand again and dragging her along excitedly. He pulled on one of the torches in the hallway, closing the secret passage up behind them after reaching the top level again.

 

He had her seated next to him in the middle of the large table in front of the fire and said, "Okay, tell our waiter for the evening that we're ready to be served."

 

Rebec looked at Baldur like he might have blown some brain cells shouting at candles. "Waiter? I thought that was you."

 

"Pfft, me? Hell no, I just own the place."

 

"This one's the waiter, Admiral Red-Snow," came a voice from before them. A black furred khajiit in leathers stood in front of their table with an eerie smile. His pale yellow eyes were settled on Rebec's expectantly.

 

"No, you're the cook. I'm the waiter," came another voice from beside her. A ratty looking slender Nord with stubble and brown hair to his jawline in the same leathers as the khajiit. "Good evening, miss! I've heard quite a lot about you. I am Toralf Beorold Jalrund Solun-Jard, a friend of Baldur's. I'll be helping him run the place. And this is a friend of mine from long ago, Jabreel. No one knows seafood like a khajiit."

 

"You're damn right. Jabreel loves feeesh..."

 

Rebec gave the two men a skeptical look-over. "Cook, eh? Alright then. Where do you two know my husband from?"

 

"I don't know the khajiit, actually, but Toralf said he was okay. Toralf's..." Baldur didn't want Toralf knowing he wrote about him, thinking he was dead somewhere, so he whispered and said, "He's the one that got eaten by the bug, remember? In the cave with the elves."

 

"Oh, the merc! So you can tell me about how wild Baldur was." Her eyes moved back to the Khajiit. "I thought I knew all the cats in Skyrim. You been here long?"

 

"You think all of us are caravan runners, eh? I've been here as long as the rest of them, but I gave it up for my more natural calling. The Thieves Guild, like Toralf here."

 

"Uh, he means magic tricks. The Mage's College. See?" Toralf suddenly pulled something from behind Rebec's ear. "Did you dress with your eyes closed? It's a wedding ring, not an earring!"

 

"Thieves Guild?!" Rebec looked over at Baldur as if he'd truly cracked this time. Seeing her own ring in Toralf's hand, she snatched it back and slid it back on her finger. "You get sticky palms around here and I'll relieve you of them, pal of Baldur's or not."

 

"He was with the guild," Baldur explained. "Remember? It was in the book."

 

"Book? What book?" Toralf said nervously. "You been fibbing on me?"

 

"Anyway, that's how I was able to procure the means to make that room. He knows how to make machinations for trap doors and such. Now, if that's done, could we have the food, Toralf?"

 

"Already on it, general," called Jebreel from the fire on the floor. He had pots boiling and pans sizzling before Baldur even said anything.

 

"So, can I get the lady something to drink while you wait for the kitty to finish playing with his fish? Speaking of, you're much prettier than the fish Baldur managed to catch back in the good ol' days, Admiral." Toralf gave Rebec a big yellow grin as Baldur winked and gave him a thumbs up behind her back.

 

Still dubious, Rebec watched the two characters closely enough that she didn't see Baldur's gestures. The smell of the food cooking made her stomach growl- loudly. "Can't drink anything good, unfortunately," she said. "So whatever else you got. I've heard about this 'fish.' He learned a thing or two, I guess. And so did I." She took Baldur's hand, squeezing it. Despite her reservations about the mercs, he was clearly happy and pleased with himself.

 

Toralf nodded and walked past Jabreel, who flicked him off with a claw for the kitty comment. He brought a large pitcher of honeyed water with a bowl of snowberries to the side, placing them on the table when their attention was elsewhere, then staying out of sight unless called on.

 

Jabreel laid out a spread of shrimp krill soup with chopped basil and parsley, then both grilled fish and fish stew, as well as horker loaf and horker fin with rice thick with spices and a large bottle of wasabi. To drink, they also brought pitchers of butter milk, whey and a bottle of mead. Jabreel sliced and cut the fish with his own claws, leaving nothing but the meat artfully diced on the trays in front of them, saving the fish heads and bones for himself for later.

 

"And there you have it, smoothsk- I mean... boss."

 

Toralf said, "Is this to your liking, Ms. Red-Snow? If so, we'll leave you two alone and be on our way for the day. Baldur promised we'd be out here in an hour on the first day... so. You know."

 

Food was one thing that certainly did interest Rebec these days, and she was already eating before Toralf asked his question. Covering her mouth, she said, "S'good."

 

After they were gone, she swallowed and took a drink of the milk, then wiped her mouth. "So this is what you've been working on when you spent nights away?"

 

Baldur took a sniff at the whey, eying it suspiciously. "Nights? No, not always. But this is what I've been working on sometimes when I was gone for the day. Sorry about Toralf. He thought he was being charming with the ring." Baldur sipped at the strange beige colored liquid, then eventually downed the whole cup, pleasantly surprised at the tangy, slightly sour liquid.

 

"Do you trust them? Obviously you do, if they're helping you."

 

"Toralf came all the way here from Whiterun on his own with his girlfriend because he heard about the attack on the town. He'd heard about me for some time, but only showed up now because he thought he could finally be of some use to me. So in return, I helped get him an honest job and a house for he and his woman, even though he didn't ask it. All he asked me when he showed up was how he could help me, not how I could help him. He thinks he owes me. So basically yes, I trust him. With my life, in fact."

 

She sobered, and stopped eating long enough to take his hand again. "Then so do I. I guess I'm jumpy about our little town. We're bound to attract more trouble, but if we attract friends too, then it'll even out. Thank you for this, Baldur. You've always got something up your sleeve, haven't you?"

 

"Heh, always. Comes with being a bard I guess. Ideas like this just pop in my head when I think about us. And it's nice to have a position that allows me to see them come to pass. Think about all the other husbands that wish they could do something like this. After all the hell in our lives, it's nice to see." Baldur took his dagger out and cut into the horker fin, wolfing it down. "Damn, that khajiit is amazing! Here, try the fin," he said, holding it up to her mouth on his fork."

 

She leaned in and took the bite, chewing and appraising a moment before saying, "Alright, not bad." Looking around, she said, "This isn't just for us, is it? It'll be part of the tavern? Or is this where we sneak to when we're overrun with little Red Snows?"

 

"Both, of course. I expect there to be plenty of people in need of a tavern, sailors and soldiers alike. The boat should draw in sailors from all over. We're in for some stressful times with the baby, so we need somewhere to relax every now and then. And no matter how many customers are here, we'll always have the room to ourselves to run off to. We can do whatever we want here! It's all ours. Take off your boots..." Baldur did this and threw them aside. "Chuck your axe at the walls..." Baldur drew his axe then and stuck it right next to a wall torch. "Whatever. It's all ours. And the best part? Lots and lots of mead, hehe. Wait till the baby's born and you can start drinking mead again. We'll come here at night on the day before I open the place and go in the back, drink our eyes out and have sweet drunken sex all night."

 

Laughing, Rebec said, "My kind of fun. I guess tonight is bound to be less wild." She looked around. "I can't believe this. All of it right under my nose. Your bookshelf may not have worked, love, but this is pretty amazing."

 

Baldur's smile sunk a little at the mention of the blasted bookshelf. "I'm not done with that stupid thing just yet. But anyway, I'm glad you like all this. Can't exactly get rid of it if you didn't, heh. The night may not be as wild, but stuffing ourselves and curling up in the big bed still sounds like a great night to me." He smiled and rested his hand on her knee as he ate again.

 

It did, so Rebec got back to the stuffing herself part, except that her eyes were bigger than her crowded stomach these days. After a few more bites, she stopped, put a hand on her bulging middle, and let out a loud burp. "Alright. This booty shack better have a privy because it's that time again."

 

Snickering, he said, "I like it! The Bard's Booty Shack. Or maybe, the looove pit. Or Reclusive Romping Range. Or the Hidden Hump place. Or the Furtive F.. nevermind. Get the steering wheel, Captain Rebec." Baldur took her hand and helped her up. leading her to the wheel again and letting her do the spinning this time.

 

While Baldur was trying to think up a name, Rebec was trying to get out of her chair, which was difficult even with his offered hand. Tottering to her feet and wandering towards the door, she said, "That on a secret locking mechanism too? Not a good idea, love. Could lead to accidents."

 

"Just ours, love. Don't want to use the same privy as Menel after he's done eating after all..."

 

"Ugh. Right you are." Emerging a few minutes later, she wandered around the tavern a bit, looking at its fixtures. "It'll be good when this place has got people in it. Did you mention Boldir? Have you heard from him?"

 

Baldur hopped up on a table and jumped to another before sitting on top. "Yes, but nothing really new. They're still visiting their family in Riften. I'm starting to think they'll decide to live there. If he does, I'll have to start sending Stormcloaks after him. I told him, I'll drag his ass up here if I have to. There's a space just outside in the back under a patio with outliners for him. It's where I'm going to put his forge after I get some more money from the tavern. It'll be a special forge."

 

She glanced up at Baldur and laughed at his capering. "You been hitting the mead or the giant juice? When are you going to open this place for business? Between the settlers, sailors and soldiers at the fort, it's a wonder they haven't broken in here looking for drink."

 

"Well, they all have more incentive to look forward to the child's birth, because I'm not opening the place until after. The first night will be celebrating the baby's birthday. Mead will be half priced, though food will stay the same price, as will Baldurbrau and regular Frosthoney mead, since ice-wraith teeth aren't easy to come by. Anyone that gets the baby a present gets four tankards of free Baldurbrau. Well, it wouldn't be 'free', but you get the idea. I won't tell anyone that though, or everyone will bring something just for free expensive booze. And of course, family and friends will drink and eat for free."

 

"And as for mead, no but..." Baldur stood again and cartwheeled onto his hands, which almost made him trip on his hair. Walking off on his hands still to the main mead hall table before sitting again, Baldur took a tote the size of Vigge's usual from his pouch, waving her over. "I'm thinking of having some contests too. Eating contest, brawling, that sort of thing." He was grinning from his horseplay and excitement, but he sobered a moment as she came, then said, "So, what do you think? Is this all good enough for you to settle here?"

 

Rebec was laughing again, the sight of a big Nord jumping around like a Khajiit acrobat not being a sight you see every day. She sat on his lap, though the process was more fraught than usual. Brushing back his hair, still mussed from tumbling, she said, "You know the answer to that. The only thing I need to settle anywhere is you." She gave him a long kiss for emphasis, then pulled back and said, "It's shaping up to be a good town. The sea's here, lots of ships. We should think about a wall on the landward side, what with the Forsworn crawling all over the place. I think it will be a good place for little Red Snow to grow up, though."

 

"I'm rubbing off on you..." Baldur teased. In truth, it was to keep from embarrassing himself again by getting emotional, since her words were so sweet that he felt his chest grow warmer. "I think we'll have to wait a while for the wall, after the town proves its worth to the king, but that's inevitable." Baldur lit the tote on a candle from the table and took a long hard draw until he thought he could melt on the chair. Laughing from the feeling it gave, Baldur held it out for her. "I know you prefer the smaller ones and you're pregnant, but you'll be alright just this once."

 

She hesitated, but eventually took it and puffed. "We already got more royal attention that some are jealous. The sailors said there's talk that they should've put the money the crown spent here into rebuilding Windhelm or Winterhold. Of course, Ulfric didn't spend that much, and the town will repay Skyrim in trade, but gossips don't know or care. Some will criticize whatever Ulfric does just because it's him."

 

Baldur closed his eyes, tilting his head back. "They can be jealous all they want. I hope they share their grievances with anyone that will listen. So that people will come and see this place for themselves and spend their coin here. Winterhold's only importance now is the college, and Windhelm may be rough, but that is its charm. It doesn't need to be rebuilt now. We do however need this port, and we need a place to attract others through the Reach so that more will populate the area. Giving the Forsworn less and less places here to hide. Neither Windhelm nor Winterhold can offer anymore advantage than Kyne's Watch by throwing money at them right now. The people will see that. And if not, well, I don't care. They can tell it to my fist."

 

Rebec put the cigar down on a dish, the better to have her hands free. With those she played her fingers through Baldur's beard and brushed his hair back from his face. "Whatever else you can say about our situation, we've got two strong, competent rulers. People forget history or they'd know that's rarer than an honest Breton. Now enough about all that. Your ma's dresses are nice and all, but putting them on just makes me want to take them off. Shall we try out that big bed?"

 

Smiling from the tickles along his beard, Baldur took another long drag before putting the cigar and plate aside. Blowing the candle on the table out, he said, "Why walk so far, hmm? I have another idea. Kiss me." As she did, Baldur lifted her up to the table and spread her legs before pulling her close.

 

Rebec broke off the kiss to laugh, hiking the dress up further. Ysana had had the good sense to make the skirt loose. "Your friends won't be back to serve dessert, will they?" Despite the question, Rebec didn't appear worried. She was too excited by Baldur's aggressiveness for that.

 

"They better not, because I'm not stopping. Like I said, we can do whatever the hell we want," he said as he pulled at her underclothes, holding her eyes in his. He hitched them off a little, just enough to tease her with a finger for a bit before kissing her again on her lips, then her neck. He tickled her some on her sides and her belly before his fingers found her middle again, rubbing at her surface and occasionally taking a dive briefly before coming out again as they kissed. He eventually broke away to kneel down between her thighs, undergarments behind his neck, and do something he hadn't done in a long time to her, continuing the pattern of tantalizing her with long periods of brief touch with his tongue, then short periods of intense indulgence.

 

It was hard to move as she wanted with the extra weight in her middle, but the sense of dependence had its own rewards as she could do nothing but wait for the teasing licks and touches. The hormones of pregnancy had made her skin all the more sensitive. She said Baldur's name and caressed a leg along his back, the tingling up her spine and down to her toes making her long all the more to have him inside her. One interlude of intense licking set her over the edge and she cried out softly, her mind and sight gone blank with white heat.

 

Wiping his mouth, he stood and quickly removed his long garment and dropped his trousers over his boots, not giving her time to calm down or for her vision to return. His hands sank into her hips and pulled her close once more. His attentiveness earlier made her all the easier to enter, and soon it was evident that she wasn't the only one being tortured. Her being on the table as he stood allowed him easy access even with her belly, and added more motion as well as more intensity as he moved within her. A hand stayed locked around her leg while the other cradled her head, watching her expression.

 

A part of him was still afraid she'd call him off again, but the thought didn't last long against the sensations and even the emotions; her words from earlier still fresh on his mind, and her warm juices coating his hardness more and more as they went. He soon found himself picking her up again and pushing her further on the table as he moved with her, wanting to feel himself resting on her center again, holding himself up with his arms to avoid hurting her stomach.

 

As soon as he lay on her, Rebec put her arms around his shoulders and held him close. She only lay back on the table so that she could meet Baldur's eyes once more. Her expression was tender in a way she looked at no one else. The friction and warmth of him touching her deep insides only intensified this possessive affection. She gasped once, then again. Soon the physical sensations became more powerful. Bracing on her elbows, she sat up a little and hooked one arm around Baldur's shoulder, using the leverage to rock her hips against him. It was a good, solid Skyrim oak table, fortunately. Crying out, Rebec approached the brink again.

 

The dishes rattled and shook, and the sound of a mead bottle breaking on the stone floor startled Baldur, making him try to laugh, but unable to from his heavy breaths. Rebec's cries startled him slightly as well, and her contractions increased the friction he felt deep within her, causing him to become vocal also, their voices carrying around the room and calling back at them from the walls.

 

He watched her eyes, and how his efforts effected her looks; let her honeyed voice and the sounds of their wet skin between them fill his mind until the pressure built up in him was too much and he finally let go within her. His excitement was heightened enough that this feeling lasted after his climax and his hardness stayed, making him still thrust at her until the tingles finally subsided, though still lingering like a good memory.

 

And like those memories, his desire to be closer than close to her clearly remained, as his lips soon met with hers with effort fueled by more than lust.

 

Rebec murmured into the kiss, then had to break off to catch her breath, but she kept her mouth at his ear and whispered to him, caressing a hand down his arm and back. As the pressure of her climax receded, the more subtle pleasures of their closeness took the fore, the reassuring warmth of Baldur's weight on her, the pressure of his strong hand still on her thigh, and the sound of his ragged breath as proof of how she was still able to excite him. It all made her long to get rid of the fabric that still lay between her skin and his, but she didn't hurry him.

 

Sighing in relief, he leaned up to wipe at her forehead and his. "I could definitely use that bed now," he said. He kicked his boots and trousers from his feet nonchalantly and left her shortly to unlock the door again from the wheel, returning to her side to help remove the now slightly dampened gown from around her before carrying his naked pregnant wife in his arms to their private love lair. Smiling down at her as he walked, he said, "You know, this is the second ship of yours that you've let me board you in. Bad form, Captain."

 

Curled against his shoulder comfortably, she laughed. "I hadn't thought of it like that. Welcome aboard, landlubber." Idly she nibbled and kissed at his neck, thinking how amazing it was that a man would go to such lengths to please her.

 

When they finally reached the end of the hall, Baldur laid her down atop a pillow while he took advantage of the private privy to piss. When he returned, he practically jumped in beside her, excited at the idea of sleeping in a secret bedroom almost like a child in a clubhouse. "It's going to be a lot of fun disappearing here, people wondering where we went. Though maybe I should put another crib in here too."

 

"I guess until she's weaned, we wouldn't be able to get away for long. Our lives are about to change radically, Baldur. It'll always be before and after." Rebec lay on her side, her head resting down on the pillow.

 

"Our lives are always radically changing. You'd think we'd be used to it by now. It'll be hard, but we'll both be helping out when the baby cries at night or needs changing. I'm actually excited now. Not about the changing, though... Vigge was telling me horror stories about you and little Vilnur. Gods."

 

Rebec laughed. "Big Stormcloak afraid of a smelly diaper?"

 

"Hnh, you're damned right. Out of all the things one gets used to on the battlefield, the smell of a man's exposed filth from a stomach wound, or just from dying... that's one thing no one ever really gets used to. At least then though, I didn't have to clean it from anything other than my blade. But, I'll endure. Heh, just like I did your butt thu'ums from pregnancy."

 

"Such a martyr to love," Rebec said in teasing voice. "Let's ask your ma if your diapers smelled like mountain flowers. Can you imagine we were once that little and came out of our mothers'... ugh. Never mind."

 

"At least your mother wasn't a Dibellan..." Baldur joked. "Say... do your Hrothgars get bigger every time we do this baby thing? Uh, assuming we do this again? Because I'm liking that part a lot."

 

Rebec looked down at her breasts, appraising them. "A bit, maybe. Why, you didn't like them before?"

 

Baldur curled up to her and said, "Of course I did. I'm just saying... you know. That I... that I still like them despite the change. That's all. I mean, you remember just before we went to our honeymoon island, right? Of course I liked them before. Loved them, actually." Baldur made a growling noise and playfully nipped at them, tickling her with his beard hairs to get his point across.

 

Laughing, she slapped his shoulder. "That's horker shit I smell, not diaper. You just enjoy that nibble. In a month or so, you'll be shut off and the spigots will be on for little Red Snow."

 

Baldur looked like someone told him they were all out of mead. "What?! Shut off? But, what about when you feel sore? Someone's gotta make sure the girls are in working order for the baby, right?"

 

She looked at him like he was crazy. "You think I want you mauling them when they're sore and leaking? You got strange notions about women, Red Snow."

 

"I wouldn't maul them, though. Just..." He gently kissed at one and massaged the tip with his tongue, kissing it once more before breaking off and settling in the furs with a grin. Eyes closed, he said, "I'm not worried. You'll be asking for that before too long. I'll put fifty septims on it." He was confident of this at first, though a worried eye soon peeked again at her bosom longingly before shutting again.

 

Rebec gave him a skeptical look as she brushed at his hair. "You just keep thinking that, little buddy." She settled back to sleep then, and did rest for a while, though she was soon up again and waddling to the privy. When she came back, she got in the bed backwards, her head towards Baldur's feet, slid her head under the furs, and proceeded to give him some comfort from his worries.

 

Baldur was already nodding off, but suddenly awakened from the strong tingles going up his spine. Donning a deep well contented smile as his hands slipped under the sheets over her head, Baldur's own head rolled back, eyes closed. "Oh Gods, thank you all for this blessed... blessed woman."

 

A mischievous laugh came from under the furs, then Rebec threw them back so that he could watch her and vice versa. Her hands moved across his thigh and then up to his stomach before returning to grip and stroke him. Meanwhile, she moved her mouth down to give his softer parts some attention. His gasps and moans stirred her own arousal, and she murmured encouragement. Eventually she sat up and took him in again, holding and moving on him with gentle insistence.

 

Baldur's grip on her head matched the torque of his curling toes as Rebec continued playing him like a flute. She knew just how to set him off, and she wasn't holding back on him. Baldur caught a glimpse of their reflection in the mirror and he had to laugh at how worked up he looked, though it could've also been from the butterflies that went up his pelvis when she wandered further down from his shaft. His hips took on a life of their own and began to move with her until he eventually spilled his seed so intensely that Underking accidentally slipped from her grip in the middle of it, seed falling over him.

 

Rebec paused only briefly to watch his reactions, the best reward for her efforts, before continuing her lovemaking. She nuzzled and kissed gently at his shaft, one hand massaging his abdomen. Then her kisses and licks resumed up his stomach, following the trail of his spilled fluid towards his chest. Finally she was in his arms again and kissed him deeply, the round rise of her belly resting on his hip.

 

His hands went to her hip and the back of her head affectionately, not showing any reservations in kissing her right after, and giving as much enthusiasm in it as she was. After a while, Baldur had to laugh again when in his enthusiasm he started to get tongue cramps. "You're nasty, Rebby. And I love every bit of it," he said before kissing her again.

 

Laughing in the midst of their kiss, she said, "I told you. You make me do crazy things." Finally Rebec rested her cheek on his shoulder and took his hand, weaving her fingers in with his. In what should have been a perfect moment, an image flashed through her mind of herself, screaming in agony and fear. Before she banished it, she prayed to whatever god was listening. If it comes down to her or me, please take me this time. Rebec then recalled her husband's dream, and stopped herself before she could think about that scenario any longer. She squeezed Baldur's hand and kissed his neck before settling in to try to sleep.

 

Baldur's own thoughts vaguely recalled his past worries, but Rebec's efforts made sure that sleep came quick before they could fester, being too tired now to feel nervousness for what was to come. He silently thanked her for that with a kiss on her head as he slowly drifted off to unconsciousness. In sleep, his mind wandered to other things. Sharing a drink with his wife, his baby in his arms. Another drink sat waiting in a chair next to them, along with a brilliant flute adorned with bright blazing topaz. His family continued to laugh and carry on as if nothing was amiss, but all he could think about was that whoever was supposed to sit there was going to let their mead go warm. And soon, sounds of laughter drowned out, and all he could see was the neglected tankard sitting there, waiting for its owner to come back for it.

[TheCzarsHussar]

The Brothers Horn-Hand

Undisclosed location

Late Evening

 

Gjoring watched as Jurik planted his hammer in the face of the one of the bandits, before his attention was drawn to one of its comrades. The brigand's sword clashed with his shield a couple of times, before Gjoring's axe lopped his hand off. Disbelieving, the brigand fell to his knees and was sent to Oblivion by another chop to the neck.

 

 

An alarm horn sounded and Gjoring could hear many heavy feet running their way. He looked to Jurik, who signaled that they should make a tactical retreat. They had seen a room with many paths going from it, which would force the bandits to split up to not lose them and would be easier to pick off one by one. As they began to run, another of the scum came out. He was shaking in his boots, begging for mercy. Gjoring granted him a quick, painless death.

 

 

"In here," Jurik mumbled, just loud enough for Gjoring to hear him. He had chosen the path to the right, among the five that were there. Smiling he followed his younger brother, casting a glance behind them. No one he could see saw where they went. Perfect.

 

 

"Who in Oblivion are you!?" three men looked down on them, confused and angry. They wore nordic steel plate armor, so Gjoring assumed they had accidentally walked into the leaders' chambers. Behind them they heard people run. They were trapped!

 

 

"Now!" Gjoring shouted to his brother. One of the lesser bandits had come up behind them, but didn't get far before his axe found its chest. He managed to throw a glance at his brother before another of the bandits came; clutched in Jurik's hand there was an orb of lightning that grew. If the bandit leaders couldn't dispel or silence him, the incoming fury and ferocity of Jurik would end them all.

 

 

"That's not how it happened!" Mivanu interrupted, spilling some of her mead. Gjoring found himself blushing a bit, but continued to smile. They were among travelers they had met on the way to Kynesgrove and now they shared a table at the inn. A local fella named Roggi Knot-Beard had joined them and given good recommendations on which drinks were the best within which price ranges. There were maybe ten of them, including Jurik, Gjoring and Mivanu, and the crowd roared of laughter and disappointment. They had enjoyed the story a lot so far.

 

 

"I maybe have..." Gjoring Horn-Hand started with a laughter, before he threw a glance at his brother, Jurik, who just shook his head at him. "... embellished a bit. you know, to make the story more interesting..."

 

 

"More like outright lying!" Mivanu mocked and took another sip. "Here is what actually happened..."

 

 

***

 

 

The Dunmer followed behind the Nord brothers as they neared the front of the ruined fort the bandits had taken over. Most would try to find another entrance that would let them slip in unnoticed, but this was completely unnecessary as long as they gave her the time to prepare them. Her skills as an alchemist had many uses; invisibility potions were one of them. And detect life, which allowed them to see each other. The bandits wouldn't know what hit them before it was too late.

 

 

Their footsteps made a little bit of noise. While strong and capable warriors, the Horn-Hand brothers weren't exactly skilled with stealth. However, because they were completely invisible to the naked eye, the bandits they passed dismissed it as rats or some other rodent that surely made its home in this ruin of a place they called home. It was, admittedly, more defensible than just hiding out in some cave, as pest infested as it surely was.

 

 

In the courtyard they saw a few, but not a great number of people. It was cold outside, like it often was in Skyrim and especially in forgotten ruins of Imperial forts in the mountain ranges north of Windhelm. Mivanu would've been worried about the bandits seeing their foot prints, if it wasn't for the fact that there hadn't been any new snow in a while and the ground in front of and inside the fort was littered with the footprints of the bandits.

 

 

The three of them confidently strolled up to one of the many make-shift staircases that had been built to let people get up on the walls to keep watch. The Imperials who built these forts usually made several short cuts from inside to the upper walls, something that could be exploited to get in without opening the front door, which would've drawn attention even if they were invisible.

 

 

It didn't take long before she was proven right and they dropped down a hatchet into a corridor. It would've let them pick one of two directions back in its days of glory, but now one of the passages were blocked by rubble.

 

 

Continuing into the fort proper, they were quickly met with a larger room, with maybe fifteen bandits in it, sparing and drinking. The Horn-Hand brothers stopped and turned to her. Soon the potions would stop working, so they needed another solution to the room ahead of them. They didn't want to be caught unprepared in the middle of them.

 

 

Smiling, Mivanu pulled out a few more flasks and divided them among the brothers. Gjoring was given a potion to make him stronger, and one to make him faster and more agile. That would make his swordsmanship a great deal fiercer. It would allow him to hold many of them busy until Jurik could do his thing with the lightning. To that end, Mivanu gave him a potion for his strength, as Jurik was still a warrior, and a potion that would make his lightning magic more potent, in addition to one that would let him easier maintain his magical energies.

 

 

Gjoring rushed in, cutting down two of them before they really knew what happened, before he moved over to a staircase where they couldn't surround him as easily. He refrained from trying to kill them, but just kept them occupied.

 

 

Jurik, on the other hand, was still in hiding and he was running his hand across his hammer, imbuing it with a temporary enchantment. It was more time consuming than the more simple versions he used if he had to call upon this power in combat, but it was a great deal more powerful as well. Glowing runes appeared on the hammerhead and there was a small distortion in the air. A keen eye could use this to tell where the magic was was. Once he was done with his weapon, Jurik summoned his lightning cloak spell and charged the bandits.

 

 

**

 

 

"Who's lying now?" Gjoring laughed as he interrupted Mivanu. "We didn't use invisibility potions to get into that fort, and you've never made a successful fortify strength potion in your life!"

 

 

The crowd roared again, Jurik included. This part of the evenings after a job was always the most fun one. As people got drunk and their memory hazy, it was hard to say who would remember which story and both would likely spread. And some would remember that both Gjoring and Mivanu had accused the other of lying. It was something they did. Later that evening Jurik would tell the real version of the story, to the maybe one or two people left sober enough to remember it the next day. He knew the type of people they had gotten themselves involved with this time; mercenaries. They'd drink until their coin ran out or until they fell over, too drunk to order more. Or until the barkeep decided they had had enough. He noticed that the local, Roggi, was strangely sober compared to the amount of drink he had put in him. More than Gjoring would be, and he was quite a drinker.

 

 

Gjoring and Mivanu continued to bicker over the details of the story, on how they had gotten into the fort and how they had defeated the bandits. Gjoring wanted to draw as much attention to the skill of the brothers as warriors, while Mivanu continued to credit her potions with most of it.

 

 

"I just need some fresh air," Jurik said and got to his feet. The loud group was getting a bit annoying, but he'd be able to deal with it as soon as he got a little peace and quiet.

 

 

**

 

 

"Enjoying some quiet time you too?" Jurik heard a woman's voice from behind. He turned and saw the innkeep, Iddra, come out to him. She seemed to hesitate a bit. "I'm glad you people decided to stop by here..."

 

 

"Of course, it is a good inn. And I'm sure you like the coin, even as much noise as it came with. Just tell us when we're being too loud though."

 

 

"I was actually thinking more about Roggi. The man's been feeling down a lot lately, even after his debt was settled by another wanderer. I'm glad I'm making money, but seeing Roggi smiling and laughing again is worth the noise."

 

 

"Roggi, in debt?" Jurik scratched his head. He didn't seem like the type, from what he had gotten the impression of. In truth, the man had struck him as someone unwilling to not pay his debt.

 

 

"Yeah, kept beating himself up about it. It wasn't so much money that I couldn't let it slide, and I wanted to, but he just wouldn't listen. Until that wanderer came in and sorted it out. He's been much happier since then."

 

 

"Oh..." it was left open for him to continue, but he didn't really know what to say. He didn't really even know why Iddra spoke to him about it, since it had been Gjoring who had wholeheartedly welcomed Roggi to sit at their table and bought the man his first drink for the night.

 

 

"I should probably get in again and get your friends another round. Want to keep them happy."

 

 

**

 

 

When Jurik came in again his brother and Mivanu had calmed themselves and one of the other people had started to tell a story. He had been, if he wasn’t bullshitting like Gjoring and Mivanu were, lost in one of the many caves searching for treasure. When he was about to leave, nearl empty handed, a troll had walked in. However, it hadn’t seen him and he had to hide in a cramped corner for hours before the beast finally fell asleep so he could sneak out. The group laughed, calling for another round.

 

 

As Jurik sat down at the table again, the man with the troll story looked at him. “Hey, Jorek, you never told us your version of the battle at the fort.â€

 

 

“Jurik,†he answered, correcting the use of his name with a smile. “I’m not much of a storyteller. Gjoring and Mivanu are much better.â€

 

 

“Yeah, but they can’t agree on anything, except that you attacked a bandit camp. And that you can do some crazy lightning magic. You can do that, right?â€

 

 

“I guess? I can do some magic that helps me fight, and it is shock magic like they said.â€

 

 

“Show us!†the demand repeated itself more than once in the group. Odd, people were rarely this interested in his magic, but rather his brothers fighting. Or maybe most of them were still sober enough to think about it for a little while, but not sober enough to think it might be dangerous to cast spells. He smiled and asked if someone had a dagger on them he could demonstrate on. He had given his own warhammer to the innkeep for the time being, as had the others, because Iddra would prefer to not have a large group of armed people drinking in her inn. Bad for business, she said. Fist fights had been given the “all clear†though.

 

 

“Sure, take mine,†Mivanu pulled out her own. She never really used it to stab people with, but rather to cut plants and such so that she could get the alchemical ingredients. Jurik took it and put a couple of fingers on the blade. He felt a surge of power run through his fingers and it manifested in a single, unelaborate rune glowing in a light blue color just under the cross guard of the knife. He could see the small shift in air around it. A simple version of the spells he usually used, but proof of concept, if nothing else.

 

 

“Be careful not to touch the blade; that might hurt,†Jurik handed the blade back. One of the other people asked how they could test that it now was ‘charged’, as it were. Mivanu held out the dagger for him to touch. Jurik aided her by clarifying “Don’t worry; it is not a powerful spell I used on that dagger. You should be fine to touch it. It’s just going to hurt a bit.â€

 

 

The man hesitantly reached out, stopping just out of reach of the spell. Then he drew his breath and move his hand the last inch.

 

 

“Ouch!†he exclaimed, much to the joy of the group. “Remind me never to fight you!â€

 

 

 

Most of the night was spent much like that; someone told a story, then they shared a few more drinks and then they told some more. As it neared midnight, Jurik found himself tired. Keeping up with the drinking of Gjoring and Roggi was impossible. Last he saw them, they were in a drinking contest where the loser got the bill. Gjoring was good, but it showed that Roggi was better.

 

 

The younger of the Horn-Hand brothers walked into the room they had rented. Doing some drinking now and again was usually fine, but that contest almost certainly meant another notable expense. Neither Gjoring nor Roggi would give in easily, but there was no way Gjoring could win. Roggi had had more mead than anyone else who had been at their table and still seemed sober. Gjoring was half-drunk when he proposed the bet.

 

 

The payment from their last job had been good, but they had to concern themselves with saving some money as well. Their equipment wasn’t great by any means. Gjoring wore simple leather, while Jurik used an older Nord stype of iron, which was mostly chainmail, except the plated shoulders, forearms and a plate on his upper torso. It had the shape of a circle, slightly off balance, that reached down on his chest and his back. However, most of his vital organs were only protected by chainmail. Nice against slashing attacks… not too much against everything else. A well-placed thrust could penetrate it. Luckily that was often hard to do in the confusion of combat. Gjoring preferred lighter armor, but it made him more reliant on that shield of his. If they could afford scaled armor for him, Jurik would have felt a lot less concerned for their future. He wasn’t afraid to die, Sovngarde awaited the Nords who fell in battle, but he was in no rush getting himself or his brother there. Their weapons were a bit better, of proper steel make, but it wasn’t terribly impressive.

 

 

“Ugh,†Jurik mumbled, getting a headache. He wished he hadn’t began to think about that after drinking. He wasn’t really drunk, but he wasn’t sober either, and now the room started to spin a bit. Sitting down, he saw Gjoring stumbling into the room, mumbling something incoherent about a ‘Snot-Beard’ and falling over, snoring loudly. “Oh well…â€

 

 

Jurik got up again, a little too fast so the spinning hit him harder and he had to stand still for a moment, before he walked over to his brother and helped him into the bed.

 

 

“You don’t have to deal with the tab right now, we can take it tomorrow after he sleeps off the drink,†Iddra was in the doorway, looking concerned at the sleeping Nord. So Gjoring did lose. Jurik guessed a part of him still had hope that he would win the contest and leave Roggi with the bill. It wasn’t really a nice way to think, especially on Roggi’s part, but Roggi wasn’t his concern. Gjoring and Mivanu, on the other hand, were. How quickly noble intentions and helping the people you met subsided into the background when you had to concern yourself with putting, and keeping, enough coin in your pocket to live long enough to get another contract. He went over to his own bed. No reason to worry about that now. Sleep now, worry tomorrow as Gjoring sobered up again.

 

 

**

 

 

“Morning, love,†Jurik heard someone say. Opening his eyes, he saw that Mivanu had sat down at the side of the bed of his brother. He smiled. At least they tended to be happy together. “Oh, and morning, Jurik.â€

 

 

“Morning, Miss Aran,†he gave her a formal tone, one that he had picked up from her father. She rolled her eyes and gave it a chuckle. “How’s he doing?â€

 

 

“I’m fine, just thick-headed. Please tell me it was a bad dream that I challenged the Knot-Beard fella to a drinking contest?†as Jurik shook his head, Gjoring hit his hand to his face with significant force. Jurik could hear the ‘smack’ across the room, and there was a visible red mark left in his face.  “Auu! Shit, I need to stop doing that.â€

 

 

“Challenging people to drinking contests when you’re already drunk, or hitting yourself in the face?†Mivanu teased, much to Gjoring’s dismay.

 

 

“Ugh,†Jurik didn’t want to stay and listen to them much longer. He noticed that he had fallens sleep with his armor on, so he just stood up and made his way out into the inn, where Iddra greeted him.

 

 

“How much?â€he asked.

 

 

“About two hundred and fifty. Gjoring lost pretty fast, as drunk as he was when it started.â€

 

 

“Yeah,†Jurik admitted that that could’ve been worse as he found his coin purse and counted up the money. It felt lighter than it should have after he was done. “And a few more for breakfast.â€

 

 

“Alright, I’ll get you some fresh bread and good slices of ham. We also got a new batch of cheese in yesterday, if you want some.â€

 

 

Jurik nodded.

 

 

**

 

 

“Hey, here are my new friends!†Jurik had been joined by Gjoring and Mivanu shortly after he sat down, and his brother blushed his fair share when he felt how much lighter Jurik’s coin purse had become. Gjoring and Mivanu would have to use their coin to pay for much of the coming time. They shared their expenses. Roggi came over to them, greeting them jovially. “mind if I take a seat?â€

 

 

“Umm, sure?†Mivanu responded. Neither she nor Gjoring seemed thrilled to have him there, but Jurik didn’t mind.

 

 

“Here,†Roggi said, holding out a small leather purse. “I talked to Iddra about how much the tab came to and this is half of it. Games are well and fun, but they’re just games.â€

 

 

“Well, I… I don’t know what to say…†Gjoring began, but he was cut off by Jurik.

 

 

“Thank you, Roggi, you’re a good man. I mean it, better than most I’ve met on the road.â€

 

 

“Ahah, don’t sweat it! Had Gjoring been sober when he challenged me he would’ve had to deal with the ful tab, but taking advantage of drunk people isn’t how I want to do it.â€

 

 

“That makes things a bit easier,†Mivanu said as Roggi was offered some bread by Gjoring. Jurik asked Iddra for a bottle of mead to thank him.

 

 

“What’s with the generosity? I only paid my share of the game,†Roggi seemed a bit surprised at what happened, though not displeased.

 

 

“Well, I might as well be honest with you,†Jurik said. He tried to be cheerful, and Roggi had made that easier, but he was still visibly concerned. “That you paid us half of the tab makes it a lot more likely that we’ll have enough to eat until we get our next contract, which might be who-knows-when. It became a lot less to do after that large bandit clan was taken care of by the Stormcloaks. No doubt more bandits will come and take over the power vacuum, but until then these parts have been a lot more quiet. You’re a rare man, Roggi, paying coin you don’t owed to people you don’t have a reason to help.â€

 

 

“Ahah, I see. My father and grandfather were always teaching me to be honest and kind to those who showed me kindness. But I’d be lying if I said paying you back didn’t cause me some concern. I haven’t made that much coin working the mine. It got better after the debt was settled though. I won’t starve, but you know how it is.â€

 

 

“Yeah,†Mivanu nodded. “We do.â€

 

 

“Ever wonder what would happen if we just skipped the middle man and went out on our own?†Gjoring said, absentmindedly.

 

 

“You mean, like adventurers, living off selling the loot?†JJurik raised an eyebrow. They had talked about it as kids, but it was a very unreliable way to make a living.

 

 

“Well, no, not really. I just feel that sometimes we would be better served not trying to find people who want to hire us for something. Take some initiative. Kill bandits and beasts without being paid to, make a name for ourselves.â€

 

 

“I’d love to be part of something like that,†Roggi said. He was halfway down his mead. “Even though I would have to leave Braidwood behind for a time.

 

 

“Come on,†Jurik said. He had just seen some of the travelers from the night before get up for breakfast. “We better not miss a chance to pick up some contracts while they’re still here.â€

[TheCzarsHussar]

Avitus Agrippa

Imperial City

Evening,

 

Legate Agrippa let out a sigh, as he patiently waited for his aide to return from the treasury.  Adjusting his blue tunic to sit more comfortably on his lightly tanned skin, Avitus took out his letter opener from its small wooden case, and started to read some of the letters General Martullus had received in the past week. Normally, it would be someone else’s job to do mundane tasks such as this. After all, the Legate was the General’s second in command, much to Avitus eternal frustration. As much as he respected the general, Avitus and he didn’t agree on a lot of things, and arguments were frequent and quite loud, though the General rarely lost his cool. Avitus sat with his right leg crossed over his left, on a wooden chair inside his cramped office, which was covered in scattered papers, books, charts, and various assortments of clutter.  Normally, Avitus took great pride in a neat and clean office, but he didn’t have the luxury anymore.

 

Normal had gone out of the window. Too much work, too little time.

 

Not that there was much time to do anything besides work. All of Avitus’s staff was working triple shifts, and if they had too, Avitus was sure as oblivion going to work equally as hard as them. Officers needed to set an example to there men after all

 

Avitus picked up one of the letters from the small pile, lifted up the letter opener, and carefully opened the envelope sealing it.  Parchment letters carried by envelopes were getting more common the wax sealed scrolls these days, for some odd reason.  Taking out the paper letter, he started to read the black ink words, ignoring the fact “private correspondence†was quite visibly printed on the front of the envelope,

 

To General Martullus, Second Legion,

 

Greetings General, you may not remember me. My name is Pulla Arevo-

 

Avitus paused, before skipping a few of the paragraphs in the lengthy letter, skimming through the lines. The general should have assigned someone else to do this. The legate was busy enough with managing the training, and most important, drafting of new recruits for the legion in the entire region. Right now, his primary job was to deal with requests for training equipment, weapons, and supplies from the various training and recruitment camps, and to do that, he had to fish through the legions pitiful budget to get what they requested. But his normal staff was already neck deep in paperwork that he didn’t have anyone else to spare, so Avitus was ask by the general to sort through his mail when he had spare time.

 

In other words, the legate had become the General’s glorified mail sorter. Avitus knew it was some kind of messed up joke, which the General did indeed love putting Avirtus through.

 

Finishing the letter, Avitus let out a grunt.

 

Another marriage proposal.

 

This Pulla Arevo, a merchant, was obviously offering to marry his daughter off to the general, who was quite noticeably unmarried. He was a very high ranking officer in the imperial army, which was appealing to rich folk. Avitus knew the general wouldn’t be interested; he was married to his job after all, as well as married to the brothels he frequently visited in his spare time. The legate crumpled up the parchment, and threw it into a large pile of other discarded letters. He himself has received quite a few thinly veiled ones, mostly from merchant class, or upper middle class people. That’s what Avitus missed most about his old position of Tribune. He was an important enough to matter, and be important in the day to day affairs of the second legion, but not important enough to draw the attention of gold diggers. Everything had gone to hell ever since he was promoted six years ago.

 

The imperial officer started to tap his feet impatiently,

 

Arkay damn it. What’s taking the lad so long?

 

Auxiliary Asmerus was usually quick on his feet, and didn’t take long, but today, he had be gone for at least forty five minutes. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, Avitus heared a knock on his door,

 

“Excuse me, Legate Agrippa?â€

 

“Auxiliary?â€

 

“Yes sir.†Avitus could tell he sounded hesitant,

 

“Well enter lad.â€

 

The wooden door creaked open, and entered in an imperial of medium height, but skinny build. He looked no older then Seventeen. Avitus crossed his arms, exposing his muscular and hairy limbs. On his wrist was pair of leather imperial bracers. The Auxiliary was wearing the standard issue studded armour of the Imperial legion, which used to be commonly worn by the 4^th legion. Unlike the one the 4^th legion wore though, it had some minor changes. Instead of wearing leather bracers, 4^th legion soldiers had metal vambraces, as well as steel shin guards, elbow guards, a steel helmet, and steel leggings. Most distinctively, instead of imperial red, the 2^nd legion wore deep navy blue colors, which was evident in there armour.    If the young soldier wasn’t here with him right now, Avitus would spit at the mention of that dreaded legion.  The Auxilliary saluted sharply, which Avitus returned,

 

“Well? Is everything in order?â€

 

The Auxiliary let out a sigh,

 

“I’m afraid with the requests from Captain Esermelda, and…Captain Grows-In-Darkness…â€

 

Asmerus struggled with the Arogian’s officer’s last name. Avtius knew what news the Auxiliary was going to say, before he even said it,

 

“Put us over budget.â€

 

Avitus cursed,

 

“Fuck, **** sucker, ***** smasher, **** **** ****!!!:

 

 He didn’t give a rat’s ass about standard military protocol anymore. In the last fives year, they’ve dealt with a corrupt government, a lonnie emperor, a successful rebellion, a seceding province, a new regime, and an attempted coup de ta from a admittedly horrendous high general. Military protocol went to hell when everything else did.

 

The imperial soldier just waited there, awkwardly coughing at Avitus’s swearathon. Avitus pointed his finger at the lower ranked soldier,

 

“Well don’t just stand there, tell me the bloody details!!!â€

 

Last week, Avitus himself checked the budget, and going by his calculations, there was supposed to be enough.

 

The Empress, Talos bless her young soul, promised in General Martullus and her most recent meeting, that she was working on increasing the budget. Bloody High General Ceno, Talos bless his soul even more, said he was working on it. If we cant ******* afford to train soldiers, how the **** are we going to fight the dominion!?

 

He had nothing against the High General or the Empress, but he was going to write a letter to both of them to petition them for more money. A bleak venomous letter. That insulted General Ceno’s mother, and the Empresses height.  Or maybe he was just overreacting. Probably the latter,

 

The Auxiliary, cleared his throat,

 

“Well, Tribune Alkhazzard…†He once again struggled to pronounce the foreign sounding name. Contrary to general appearances, the Auxiliary had served in the legion four years, and had been Avitus aide for three. He was one of Avitus’s most trusted men, and was generally very competent at what he did. Generally is the key word here.

 

“Checked the treasury and due to a request from me, checked it another two times, and reported that the allocated budget was currently already dangerously close to being “over extendedâ€.†He paused for a second, “You want me to send a message to Captain Grows-In-darkness, and Captain Esmerdla and tell them we can’t afford to give them any more money?â€

 

Avitus let out a sigh, and sunk into his chair, “No, I’ll do it.†He took out his quill, and began to search his desk for empty parchment. When he was looking through the messy area, Avitus’s vision spotted the budget report from last week. Avitus hadn’t thrown it out yet it seems. Something occurred to him. A nagging feeling that he was missing something. Those kinds of feelings had saved his life before,

 

“Wait a minute…â€

 

Avitus hurriedly got out of his chair, and headed to his vast pile of documents, briefly searching though the stacked tower of papyrus paper in a futile effort to search for his prey. As he rummaged through the pile, he was looking for the wax seal of the imperial Dragon. ****. He had just seen it a second ago

 

Well **** that, bloody fifty percent of these damned letters have that blasted over grown lizard.

 

Finally spotting the document, Avitus hurriedly grabbed it and read it to himself. Eyebrows raised, he asked the Auxiliary,

 

“Auxiliary, did the Tribune tell you the exact amount for the budget?â€

 

He cleared his throat,

 

“Ummmmm, yes sir.†The legionary took out a large scroll, and started reading from it. “20000 septims for the area you inquired about-“

 

Avitus practically growled,

 

“Wait.â€

 

Avitus approached the young looking man, with murder in his eyes. The high ranking officer said, in a cold voice,

 

“Are you sure?â€

 

The imperial soldier quickly nodded his head. Avitus continued,

 

“Do you have a list of the budget spending?â€

 

The soldier nodded his head again, shivering; he quickly took out another document, handing it to Avitus, who rudely grabbed it from his hands. He scanned the document with his hazel brown eyes, quickly getting angry as shown by how tightly he was gripping the piece of paper,

 

“No requests for extra funding in the last two week. No recent increases in spending.â€

 

Avitus threw the previous budget report at the Auxiliary, who grabbed it with his outstretched hands. His eyes went blank at the figures,

 

“23000 Septims.â€

 

When he glanced up the legate was gone, turning he around, he saw him in the corner, putting on his heavy steel imperial armour. Unlike most in his position, the legate’s armour wasn’t fancy. Just plain, steel legionary armour. However, he wore an old-fashioned horse hair closed imperial helm. After putting on his armour, he grabbed his navy blue cloak, which he put over his back. Finally, he took out his Gladius and placed it in its sheaf. Unlike the rest of his equipment, it was fancy. The hilt was in the shape of a horse, and had three sapphires placed in its butt.

 

“Uh oh.†The auxiliary muttered, he raised his hand.

 

“Ummm…what are you planning sir?â€

 

In his right hand, he held a small sized wooden club like object. The soldier scratched his head,

 

“Ehhhhh…sir?â€

 

The officer looked up, obviously furious. He barked, “What is it auxiliary?†The lower ranking soldier, glanced around, nervous,

 

“Ummmm….if we have reason to suspect the disappearing budget is being actively stolen on purpose…shouldn’t we tell General Martullus?â€

 

“He’s too busy.â€

 

The soldier coughed,

 

“Then maybe the High-General?â€

 

Avitus hated filled glance silenced the auxiliary, who shyed away. The legate was more hot blooded then a nord, and he was used to this kind of behaviour. Avitus was…very old fashioned. Legate Agrippa glanced the wooden club, and said in a very angry voice,

 

“Let me explain to you what I’m going to do. I’m going to march to Tribune  Alkhazzard office, with a squad of men. Say hi. Order them to restrain him. And I’m going to bend him over, and then beat the shit out of him, until his red skin is blackened and bruised. Then I’m going to haul his worthless Redguard ass to the imperial prison, give him 100 lashes, and throw his miserable body into the waterfront.â€

 

Auxiliary Asmerus eyes filled with fear, as he planted his feet firmly into the ground, 

 

“But sir we don’t even know if he’s the one whose been stealing.†Avitus ignored him, the Auxiliary blocked his path, which caused the Legate to scream in furry, “Get out of my way legionary!!!â€

 

The Auxuilary held firm, as he raised his hands,

 

“We don’t even know if it was a clerical error!!!â€

 

Avitus grabbed the younger mans shoulder, and screamed,

 

“Clerical error? CLERICAL ERROR?!â€

 

Auxiliary Asmerus shouted back, “CLERICAL ERROR!!!â€

 

Avitus anger slowly started to fade, as his breathing got heavier.  The imperial officer put down the wooden club, and slunk into his chair, rubbing his face,

“Maybe my plan was a little extreme…â€

 

The young man nodded his head, “Just a tad sir.†Avitus put down his helmet, the wooden club, but kept his Gladius on his belt. He started to stretch his arms,

 

“Fine then. Take a message to General Martullus and inform him what we’ve learned.†He reached into his desk, and began to write on a blank piece of paper. “Also, inform High-General Ceno’s aide that there’s a small problem with the budget, and that Legate Agrippa of the second legion might need to report in with the High General soon.† Finishing his letter, he rolled it up, and placed a wax imperial seal to seal up the scroll. He handed it to the auxiliary, who took it. He did a crisp fist salute,

“Yes sir.â€

 

The legate waved him off with his hand. Once the auxiliary was gone, Avitus reached for below his desk but stopped himself. Nestled under a stack of more papers, was a whiskey bottle. Using every fibber in his body, he pushed his hand back , and placed it on his desk, glancing at his index finger, and the golden ring which settled there. He sadly smiled,

 

“Sorry I nearly failed you again Miss Agrippa.†Letting out a sigh, he got out of his chair. He might not beat the living shit out of him, but Avitus was going to pay a little visit to the good Tribune. 

•  

[TheCzarsHussar]

Aerin

Mistveil Dungeon

Almost three weeks after the execution

 

Brand-Shei wiggled the stone brick loose with his soft, dark fingers. Aerin knew them well, as they were frequently put to use replacing the bandages that covered his face. Only his eyes remained undamaged, while the rest was either broken or bruised. Those eyes were filled with not an ounce of anything besides hate. Hatred for what the guards had done to the people of Riften, and his sister.

He didn't know how many days had passed since the execution, and he hadn't cared to ask. The sweet embrace of unconsciousness had taken over during those times, a dreamless sleep that had lasted what seemed like forever. Brand-Shei took care of him then, as he did now. His legs were still useless, broken from the beatings given to him by Riften's sworn protectors. His ribs were broken as well, but thankfully his arms remained intact. He hurt from head toe, but his mind was still sharp.

So he sat propped up on his small cot, watching the Dunmer pull out the smallest rock in the wall. It was about the size of a fist, which left just enough room for a Nord, Mojald the Craven, to squeeze the apple through. They had both been among those imprisoned for rioting at the execution.

"Compliments of Bersi," Mojald said, as Brand-Shei tossed the fruit to Aerin.

He rolled it around in his hand for a few moments. It shone red, like the blood that had filled Riften's streets when he started that riot. Innocent lives, just like Carlotta's, were lost that day. But he didn't consider himself responsible, it wasn't his fault. No, it was Maven's and the guards. The unrest didn't stop there, however. For three straight days afterward, Riften was placed in lockdown, and only those under orders from the Jarl, or Maven, were allowed to walk about.

Now he ran operations for his own group of dissenters, and they raised just enough hell to keep the guards annoyed, but not enough to warrant backlash. Things like windows being broken, shields having obscene pictures of Maven painted on them, as well as a dramatic decrease in the buying of Black-Briar Mead throughout the city. Aerin had more planned, and his eyes glistened with the spark of ideas.

But first, the message. He plucked the top of the apple off the rest by the stem, revealing a hollowed out core. Inside, was a one word message. No, it read, which was what Aerin had expected. Goldenglow was Maven's again.

He sighed, biting into the apple with a deliberately loud crunch. It annoyed the guards to no end that he was managing to smuggle things in and out, without their knowledge. That, coupled with the orders to not touch him, brought a rare smile to his face. But his eyes still glared with the burning hatred of a wildfire.

They'll all pay, one by one. I'll see to it they suffer, have to watch their loved ones die the way I did. And if Boldir's alive, gods help the poor souls that stand between him and Mila. he thought, finishing off the apple. Brand-Shei was still holding the brick, waiting for the return message.

Aerin flipped the note over, writing out a quick message in very small handwriting. He handed it to the Dark elf without so much as a word, who did the same to Mojald. The Nord then slid it deftly into the shoe of Bersi, who stood outside near a tiny grate that let in a slim amount of sunlight. The footsteps of Bersi carried that letter all the way across town, to Aerin's former house, where Mjoll anxiously awaited news, and orders, from her friend.

 

***

 

Runar

His jetty, near Near Goldenglow

After dropping off Aerin

 

He was the first to see the jetties. Three of them, all carrying four men and closing in on Goldenglow from the north. Runar's trip back to the island had been slower than the hurried race to get Aerin into Riften, and he was only just now arriving at the docks well over an hour later. Runar shouted as he sprinted across the docks with his spear in hand, trying to get the attention of anyone still around who might hear him. 

"Boats! Boats are here! Maven's men are arriving!"

 

The the quiet thief, Rune, was the first to arrive. He approached from the southern gate with a limp, his leg not yet fully healed from the arrow wound he'd taken storming the beach with Boldir. "Where are the others?" the thief asked nervously. He was armed with a sword, but Runar doubted he'd be much good with his bad leg.

 

"I don't know." Runar answered. "Aerin thought Boldir might be in Riften. He just went."

 

"Riften?! Why would they be in Riften?"

 

That confirmed Runar's suspicions at least. Something was seriously wrong here. Why is information like what Aerin learned not known to all of them? Who had even told him? "I don't know much." Runar said, glancing back in the hopes that Marcurio or Boldir might arrive to help. "Something about Boldir's wife being executed. I'd hoped more people knew."

 

"Damnit!" Rune drew his sword as the boats approached. "Were they really so easily fooled?"

 

Runar didn't know what the thief meant at first, and then it hit him. Maven must have ordered the execution in order to split them up before attacking the estate!

 

"What do you suppose they want?" Runar turned to see Ollus stepping up beside him, his own Imperial blade in hand. "Ooh! And the Redguard's with them. I was missing him."

 

Peering harder, Runar saw that Kosta was indeed among the approaching figures. He was the only one among them who wasn't visibly armed. In fact, as they drew nearer, and he grew easier to make out, Runar caws certain that Kosta looked more a prisoner than a friend to these people. The Redguard was in the middle row, surrounded by some very interesting looking characters. There was a bald Imperial man, dressed from head to toe in white furs and wielding a dwarven sword, and a slender, tan-skinned Nord with short black hair who carried a crossbow. The most imposing of them, the Nord at the helm, had long red hair that fell past his shoulders, and a beard worn in two braids that came to his chest. He wore thick furs over silver-colored chain armor, a material that Runar did not recognize. Each shoulder bore the skull of a young troll, and to top it all off, the long handle of a warhammer leaned agains him.

This man now stood, blocking Runar's view of the others behind his large frame. 

Gods preserve us! Runar thought. He's almost as large as Boldir!

 

"Greetings!" The Nord shouted through cupped hands. His voice was every bit as deep and powerful as one would expect from a man of his build. However, Runar hadn't expected his tone to come across as so... jolly. "I know we're carrying enough weapons to kill you all a few times over, but I must ask that you ignore that! We come in peace! Where is..."

The man glanced back to Kosta and seemed to ask him a question before cupping his hands again. "Marcio? No... Marcurico... Never mind it. The mage! We seek words with the mage! We've been invited, so please lower your weapons so we don't have to obliterate you!"

 

Runar shared a glance with Rune. He saw in the thief's eyes the same thoughts as his own. They stood no chance of defeating these men. Did they really have a choice? The thief dropped his sword first, and Runar followed in suit, tossing his spear aside. Ollus sheathed his own blade, albeit slowly. It was Rune who waved them to approach.

The large Nord didn't wait for the jetty to reach land before hopping over the gap and onto the estate grass, his large hammer in hand. Runar could now see that it was ebony, and of old Nordic make. Whether it was really so old or simply a borrowed design, he could only guess. "Thank you, kindly." The large Nord boomed, closing the distance to the three of them while the rest of his comrades had only just begun to dismount. Runar braced himself to dodge as the hammer neared him, but found that there was no need to, for the Nord abruptly stopped only feet away from them. "The mage." He said again, smiling through his beard. "He wanted to speak with me, and here I am. Should I be insulted that he's not a part of the greeting party."

 

Runar was speechless. What in Oblivion is going on? "We, uhh, he..."

 

"It's a yes or no question, Greeter." The Nord said. "And it wasn't rhetorical. I'd like your opinion on the matter. Should I be insulted?..." He stared for a few more seconds before letting out a cross between a bark and a laugh. "HAH! I only joke. Forgive me if I intimidated you. It's the hammer, isn't it?" His smile widened. "Don't worry, she's had her fill for today." He extended a hand, and essentially snatched Runar's in a shake. "I am Hrokvild. Now, if you, or one of these others, are capable of speech, I would appreciate directions to the mage."

 

"I don't know if he's here." Runar choked out. "I haven't seen him in-"

 

"He's upstairs." Ollus interrupted, as the rest of the men swarmed in behind Hrokvild. "I can show you to him." 

 

The large Nord turned away from Runar, much to  his relief, and looked down into Ollus's silvery eyes. Hrokvild still smiled, but the look remained intimidating. "Thank you. But I'm sure that the Greeter here knows the way. According to the Redguard, there were four others here as well. A Nord warrior, an Imperial outlaw, another thief, and, of course, the woman. Is it true that you hold the granddaughter of Maven Black-Briar?"

 

"The others are either inside or gone" Runar said, mustering his courage to speak with this man, and hopefully take the subject off of their prisoner. "I can take you to speak with Marcurio." If he's even here. 

 

"Good, good. I hope you don't mind if a couple friends come with me." The slender Nord crossbowman and the bald Imperial in white furs came by his side. "And it shouldn't be too much trouble for the rest of my people here to enjoy the luxuries of your fine home for a while during the meeting. After all, we are neighbors... So... feel free to lead on, Greeter." 

 

Runar didn't bother to pick up his spear. It would do him no good. He had a dagger at his belt in case of an emergency, but he honestly wasn't even sure that he could shove it through this man's armor, let alone use it in a fight. And so, his hands empty, Runar led the band of a dozen men back to the mansion. Rune and Ollus came as well, and he noticed Kosta was walking amongst them, frowning. He had no inkling of what was going on, but had a good feeling that these were not Maven's men. Bandits? He wondered. They seem like bandits. And Hrokvild is their chieftain. Bandits or not, hopefully they were friendly, and not just here to take advantage of their weak state. 

The moment he entered the building, there was a loud crashing sound on the floor above. Hrokvild heard it too, and motioned for him to lead on to the stairs. The Nord's men fanned out and began picking through the place, looking for food and mead. Only their leader and his two friends remained behind Runar. Once they reached the staircase, he turned back and shouted. "Now you all mind your manners now! We're guests here!"

With that, he pushed past Runar and hurried up the stairs themselves. With the two armed men still at his back, Runar followed.

 

There was another loud slam as they passed through the upstairs hallways. The force of it shook the walls, and caused Hrokvild to pause and look back over his shoulder. "What do you lot do in your spare time, tame trolls? Hah!" He took a few more steps and opened the door . It was hard to see ahead with the man's large frame filling the doorway, but Runar didn't need to see to know that something was wrong as soon as the door was opened, for a foul smell hit his nostrils like a wave.

"Well shit." Hrokvild pushed on into the room, and his two friends wasted no time in shoving past Runar to get the next look. It took a second for him to work his way around the brutes, but when he did, the source of the smell was obvious.
There before them stood Boldir. The Nord was drenched in blood that only could've belonged to the corpse slumped against the wall at his feet. Were it not for the robes, Runar never could've known that it was Marcurio, for the mage's head seemed to only be attached by the barest of threads, and the mess of red around it, coupled with the disgusting way that it slumped back over his left shoulder, made the face impossible to make out. Even now, blood came from the opening. Horrified, Runar noted that Boldir's axe was on the floor, completely unblooded.

Hrokvild's companions were already spreading out. The slender one had his crossbow aimed at Boldir, and the bald one crept to the right with his sword drawn. The leader himself, however, seemed unbothered, despite the fact that Cynric stood in the room as well, near the toppled over desk, and he had an arrow nocked and aimed at him. "Boss..." The thief said, nervously.

Boldir himself finally looked their way, and when he did, his expression bore more hatred than Runar had ever thought to see in a man. His eyes had an abnormal wildness to them, and his breathing was heavy like that of a saber cat. Combining those with the blood and burns made the Nord's appearance more akin to some depictions of a Dremora than any man Runar had seen. Still, he made no move against them. He only stared at Hrokvild as though he'd already decided the bandit was next on his list.

"Hehe." Hrokvild chuckled. "Hehehe..." He clutched his hammer and allowed himself to laugh some more. "Hehehehahaha! Oh,... This. is. rich!"
He glanced back at Runar. "You and the Redguard failed to mention how damned interesting your lot is!" He pointed the warhammer at Boldir as easily as if it were a stick. "You... You killed the mage... Ripped his damn head off... And..." He sniffed a few times and wrinkled his nose. "And he shat himself! Does no one else find this hilarious?"

The chieftain's lackeys each chuckled as he looked at them. The archer, however, never cracked a smile as he did it. His eyes were still trained on Boldir. Probably focusing on wherever he intended to send his bolt if commanded to. Cynric's eyes were similarly trained on Hrokvild, a fact that the bandit chief was, no doubt, well aware of.
"Look, I know I've obviously walked in on a, uhh, touchy moment. But believe it or not, I didn't actually just come here to visit my new neighbors. I came for business..." he nodded at the corpse again. "With him, actually. At least unless you have another person here that dresses like a mage..." he looked at Cynric, then Runar, then Boldir in turn. "No? Very well then. I guess big man's the leader here after all. I mean, you've gotta be! You tore someone's gods damned head off! That's the kind of shit I think of when I picture Ysgramor! So can I talk business with you now, or... Are you not in the mood? Because I can't work with a crazy man."

Boldir didn't currently seem in the mood to all. His expression was locked on Hrokvild as he spoke. "Tell your men to lower their weapons, now."

 

The chieftain seemed to find this amusing. "While your Breton friend has his arrow trained on me? Come now, you are not being the best of hosts." He took a step in Boldir's direction, causing the bloodstained Nord to take a step of his own towards his longaxe and both of Hrokvild's companions to shout out threats. "So?" The chieftain shrugged. "We truly aren't here for a fight. You're instigating this.... How do you want this to play out?"

 

"I don't even know who you are." Boldir answered. "Or why you're here. But this place is mine. And if you plan on walking in and intimidating me, you might as well fall back on a different plan, and pray that your man is capable of bringing me down with one shot."

 

The room was silent, save for the steady *drip* *drip* of blood falling from a splinter in the broken wall behind Boldir. The silence was shattered by a hearty laugh. "HAHA! You are shaping up to be all sorts of fun." Hrokvild waved to his men, "Stop threatening our hosts, dammit! You don't want to end up like the mage, do you?" They reluctantly obeyed. archer looked especially unhappy about this, but he did not argue.

 

Boldir gave no such orders to Cynric. In fact, he took another step towards his axe and scooped it up. Runar noticed that the crossbowman began to raise his weapon again, but was once more waved to stop by Hrokvild. "You came here to speak with him." Boldir pointed at Marcurio. "You're right. Whatever you had to say to him, can be said to me."

 

"Now, we're talking." The chieftain smiled. "The mage sent one of your friends, a Redguard, to treat with us. He said that you were fighting the Black-Briars, and that there was plunder involved. He also said that you'd capable of actually defeating them, if I'd hear out this plan of his, and offer my help in exchange for a solid share of the loot."

 

"I don't know what his plan might've been," Boldir confessed. His breathing seemed to be slowing, and he didn't seem quite as tense as before. "But I know that he wanted to recruit the bandit clans in the area. An idea I support. Are you of Faldar's Tooth?"

 

Hrokvild's teeth were surprisingly white when he smiled. "We are. I am Hrokvild, and these are my men. There's not a clan in eastern Skyrim that can match us, for we walk with the blessings of the gods themselves."

 

"You don't strike me as dutiful temple-goers." Cynric said. His bowstring wasn't so far back now, but that could change in an instant.

 

"The true gods demand no temples, Breton." Hrokvild said in a low voice. "And we pay them in blood, not gold... But I'm not here to talk religion. What are your plans for this place? It is nice, but without the mage, what will you do if five ships of men approach from Riften, or if they decide they aren't afraid to lose the men and storm your puny gate. What will happen then? I'm told you keep a Black-Briar in the closet. That's good, but it won't save you forever. You need walls. Men. Hell-" He pointed a thumb at Runar. "You and the Greeter here aren't even wearing armor... If you agree to the same deal that the mage wanted to make, same shares and whatnot, and we can provide all of that for you. Personally, I wouldn't mind to get to know you better anyway. You're a fascinating man. Far better than the mage would've been I think... You know, I almost said 'no' when I heard it was a wizard that wanted to meet with me. Never met one of those who could hold his own without trickery. I'm guessing I was right."

 

"He deserved what he got." Boldir answered. "And you're suggesting that we leave Goldenglow for your fort..." Runar could see the conflicting thoughts in Boldir's eyes. "We fought hard for this."

 

"And I'm sure it has served you well. But not so well as what I offer. Face it, if you want to last against Maven, you need more than and island and your.. what? Five men? We'll stay the night here. All of us. And come morning, my men and I will return to the rest of our people back at Faldar's Tooth with Ingun Black-Briar. You can come with us, or stay here. I leave the choice to you."

 

"Ingun is my prisoner. You can try and take her. And if you have so many men downstairs, then you will probably succeed." Boldir's stare grew cold once more. "But it would be a victory that you would never get to witness."

 

"You are very confident in your abilities, Warrior. I hope you pick the second choice. By all means, sleep on it. But before I return to my men below, I would have your name."

 

"Filnjar." Boldir answered, his expression not showing any signs of the lie. Runar wouldn't have thought to doubt it for a second had he not already known the man's name to begin with.

 

"Filnjar, eh?" The bandit chieftain stroked his long red beard. "Ever been to Shor's Stone? There's a blacksmith there with the same name... He's not so interesting as you, Filnjar Mage-Killer... no, Filnjar the Burned... I like the sound of that... I'll be downstairs, Filnjar. Don't wait too long to give me an answer. I am an early riser."

 

On that note, the large Nord turned to leave, followed by his bandit friends. When the door was shut, and only Boldir, Cynric, and Runar remained, the bloody Nord glanced at Runar. "Are you aware of what has happened here?" he asked. His voice seemed distant. As if he was reading the words from a letter rather than making them up himself.

 

Runar ignored that and tried his best to piece together what he could, but this whole situation had just been too much for him to understand it all at once. "Marcurio got Kosta to meet these bandits and bring them here, so he could get their help... You agree with this plan, but... you killed Marcurio."

 

"He was a traitor, and is the reason Carlotta was executed. That is all that matters." Boldir said.

 

"He locked up Boldir, and is the reason he's been gone since yesterday." Cynric added, before glancing Boldir's way. "That is why you found me drinking with him. Ollus found out and told me, and so I went to the city to gather ingredients for Ingun to brew a silence poison."

 

"Silence?" Boldir scowled. "Is this why he could not cast his spells? Why not just use a deadly one?"

 

"Ollus said that you would be free by the time he'd had it. We both figured you'd want the honors."

 

"I did..." Boldir's frown intensified. "Ollus. Where is he? He knew about Carlotta, and yet did nothing before today." As Boldir moved for the door, Cynric spoke. "Forget the sewer rat, he's no schemer. He already explained himself. He's been looking for you all this time. And he says that he sent Aerin to Riften to help Carlotta."

 

Boldir's eyes turned momentarily hopeful. "He did? When? Did it work?!"

 

"This morning." Runar answered first, glad that he finally knew more than the others. "I doubt if it worked. He'd hoped you'd be there, and Aerin didn't seem entirely himself. I don't know what he could have done to prevent an execution on his own."

 

"Damnit!!" Boldir kicked the overturned desk into the wall, and then stopped to massage his temple. When that smeared blood on his face, he looked down at himself and, seemingly for the first time, realized how filthy he was. "Runar, get Rune and Ollus up here. Kosta too, if you can. Cynric, you bring Ingun up. Try not to let the bandits get a good look at her... I'm going outside to wash this off. When I get back, I want everyone this room, including Ingun. And as for him..." he pointed at the smelly corpse, "I want that piece of shit out of my sight." He headed out of the bedroom and called back. "Get to it."

 

***

 

Boldir
 

"I'm too young to be married to a graying old brute."

 

That was it, Boldir decided, bringing the cold lake water to his face. That little joke had been the last truly happy moment he'd shared with his wife. Now, as his burned and beaten reflection once again stared back at him from Lake Honrich, and the faintly gray strands in his hair reminded him of it all, he realized just how important all of the little moments like that should've been to him. Even then, when they had been trapped in Riften for ten days, he could still find it in him to laugh with her. To love her as he had in Whiterun. He had spent almost two weeks uselessly pouring over maps and playing at the ideas of plans that would never work. More of that time should've been spent like that one, with Carlotta. Mila too. He should've enjoyed every moment he'd had with them. Not just the happier ones. Now Carlotta was gone, and he knew that even if everything somehow worked out perfectly from here on out, there was no chance of things going back to the way they were supposed to be. He would never be with her again. Never laugh with her, lay with her, never look into her green eyes again. Her eyes... Boldir remembered when he had first seen Carlotta in the Bannered Mare. It had been her eyes he'd noticed first.

 

He turned from the water and swore every obscenity he could think of. I'd even thought the gods were on our side! In yet another fit of rage, he grabbed his longaxe from the grass and, with a loud cry, hurled it at the raised wooden porch behind him; the sharpened steel blade sank deep into one of the beams. The sound may have drawn the attention of some of the bandits inside, but he didn't care. Let them come and watch if it pleases them!

 

He had managed to contain, just barely, his strongest of emotions during his encounter with Hrokvild, feeling nothing but anger, and saving all else for a time when he could be alone, in the company of only his thoughts. When he'd passed all the bandits, come to the quiet outside, washed the mage's blood from his body, and seen his reflection once more, all of that sadness finally broke free, rivaling even the anger he'd felt for over a day now. Boldir had wept, feeling lost and overwhelmed.

 

And now, his anger mixing once again with his overwhelming sorrow, Boldir went and dislodged his axe from the porch and proceeded to hack at a tree instead. He wasn't certain how long he stood there, attacking the large oak, but eventually, he realized that the blade had been dulled and chipped to near uselessness. 

 

The others are waiting upstairs. Grieve when Mila is safe.

 

"You're not even real." Boldir muttered to his dead wife's voice. Even so, he knew it was true. He hadn't forgotten the girl. Or the people he still had to kill.

With a hard tug, he dislodged the ruined axe from the tree one more time and made his way back to the mansion. The entire lower floor was already a wreck. A dozen bandits were tearing through every drawer in the house, throwing the less valuable contents to the floor and fighting over anything they considered worth keeping. A few of them gave him strange looks as he walked past, to the stairwell, but none said a word.

When he reached his room, he found it to be the only tidy one in the house, save for a bloodstain on the far wall poking out behind a broken desk. Around the desk was an odd looking assembly if Boldir had ever seen one. In three chairs sat a finely dressed noblewoman with rope-bound hands, a thief, and a dirty sewer-dweller who had no business in the exquisite fur coat he now wore. Leaning on the wall was a fisherman holding a spear, and behind the desk two more thieves. 

 

"We were worried about you." Upon seeing him, Ollus spoke first, wringing his fingers together as he did. "Thought you might've decided to off a few of the poor fellas below without us."

 

"We tried to stop them from looting the place, Boldir." Rune said. "We really did. But there wasn't much we could do when they just laughed."

 

"And the big one, Hrokvild. He asked a lot of questions about you and what's been going on." said Cynric. "I didn't tell him anything."

 

Boldir remained silent as they spoke, waiting a few seconds to make sure no one else had anything to say. Finally, he looked at Kosta. "You went to them in secret. You thought the sellsword would keep you safe from any repercussions. Explain yourself."

 

If the Redguard was afraid, he hid it well. He just shrugged. "I signed on with you for the chance of gold, not out of some conviction. Was gonna leave after taking this place, but the mage's plan gave me hope that we could squeeze more out of this. A lot more. But we need help to do it."

 

The thief spoke true, and the bandits were not here to harm them. Indeed, they may have found an ally in Hrokvild. Boldir simply nodded at the man. "You are lucky this turned out well. But go behind my back again and you return to Riften for all I care. You won't be allowed to stay with us."

Turning to Ingun, Boldir changed the subject. "And you... Cynric says that you poisoned Marcurio's mead. Why?"

 

Black-Briar shrugged. "He asked me to. And I have no love for the mage."

 

"You have no love for any of us."

 

She blinked. "It doesn't change my position at all. I'd have been his hostage or yours, and... my brother used to say that if you're going to walk with the Daedra, better if they're Daedra you know."

 

"You don't know me."

 

"I know you better than I did him. And I know that you may be infected and in need of my abilities."

 

Boldir looked down at his left arm. The faded and dirty rags covering his bicep had all but fallen off, and the wound still gave off a fowl odor. He knew     that she was right. "I will not thank the blood of my wife's killers, but you have proven useful in more ways than as a hostage. I will-"

 

"You're wife's killers?!" Ingun's eyes widened and she looked at him, shocked. "They wouldn't do that! Not while you hold me captive!"

 

"No, that's right! Your family is just all love." Ollus said before flicking his tongue. "The old lady told me to my face that she would gladly gamble with your life. She and that brother of yours both. The big killer too."

 

"If this is all true, then why does she still have her head?" Rune asked, looking at Boldir. "Did you not ask her as much days ago, to which she answered that she would keep your family safe?"

 

"We need her." Cynric said without hesitation. "She is the only one that can treat Boldir, and they still have his daughter. And only an hour ago she poisoned Marcurio." He looked to Boldir. "It was my plan to poison him, and my hand that brought the ingredients. But it took little convincing to get her to weaken your enemy for you. It would be both unwise and unjust to kill her."

 

The thief may not have realized it yet, but Boldir couldn't care less about how right or wrong it would be to kill Ingun at this point. The injustice of it would not even come close to balancing the scale his enemies had tipped when they took Carlotta from him. Even so, he had decided already that Ingun would live. He needed her still, for his wounds and as a hostage, if that mattered at all by now. His answer was a simple nod to Cynric, before he looked to each of them in turn. "That is all the questions I have for now. I'll go downstairs soon, and give this Hrokvild my answer. The rest of you stay close to Ingun." He started to make for the door before pausing. "Oh, and from now on, call me Filnjar. I do not want my name to be spread amongst these bandits."

 

"Wait!" Cynric called just as he'd begun to turn again. "What is your answer for the bandit?"

 

"What do you think?" Boldir asked. "We're going with them."

 

***

 

Dirge

The Bee and Barb, three weeks after the execution

Night

 

"You haven't heard? The Jarl's plannin' to put a whole garrison in there. To keep something like that from happening again." Gavlin grinned, showing off two rows of rotting teeth. "Might be I'll get assigned to it. Maven's always liked me. I betcha she'll request the Jarl sends me personally."

 

"Maven doesn't even know who you are, idiot." Dirge responded, drawing laughter from both of the men he shared the table with. "Besides, no one is going to garrison Goldenglow. It ain't the Jarl's to man. It's Maven's. Most likely Maul's going to pick some mercenaries to guard it again."

 

"You should tell your brother that he'd be wasting his time." Ullor said between drinks. "A place doesn't just get taken over and then abandoned like that. And haven't you heard the stories? They say that the first time it fell, it fell in less than a minute. They say that the leader of the attackers was eight feet tall, covered in burns, and could shout like the Nords of old. And he had a mage with him capable of sinking whole ships as easy as you and I snap our fingers. They-"

 

"I never could snap my fingers." Gavlin interrupted, raising his right hand to demonstrate, his fingers rubbing and twisting together in an awkward and entirely incorrect method. "See?"

 

"You're both idiots." Dirge said, as he often did when he spent any amount of time with these two. Gavlin was one of Maven's hired men who'd been put into the guard force. He definitely had not gotten the job because of his brains. Ullor wasn't quite as stupid, but he wasn't far behind. If the man could sing or write, he would've made for a good bard for his ability to take any story and turn it into the stuff of legend before telling everyone he met the 'improved' version. Of course, tonight's was even wilder than usual, which wasn't surprising considering he was on his seventh ale, compared to Dirge's four and Gavlin's three. The only thing the Nord did more than lie is drink. It was a point of pride of his to say that he'd only ever lost one drinking contest out of hundreds, and it had been to some man up in Eastmarch, who, according to Ullor, only won after Ullor had passed out on his sixty seventh bottle of mead.

 

"So whatever happened to this giant man and his finger-snapping mage, anyhow?" asked Gavlin. "I heard they just up and left the place for no good reason."

 

"Is that what they're saying?" Ullor laughed. "No, no, no, men like these don't just do something for nothing." He looked at Dirge carefully. "Now you know I got all respect for Maven, but I think it might be that the gods saw fit to punish her."

 

"For what?" Gavlin scoffed, "Keeping order in her city?"

 

"Ahh, but there's the best part." Ullor's loud voice came down a few levels. "Our king is Ulfric, no? Talos favors him. Ulfric says this is Law-Giver's city. Maven treating it like hers angers Talos, and when she had that Lioness woman beaten, she went too far. The god of man and war sent his own champions to challenge her claim. That's right, we lived in the middle of a holy conflict right here in the city. Remember the house that was blown up? It started with the roof, and the whole thing went up in flames! What happened there? You can't tell me that wasn't some divine intervention."

 

Gavlin's mouth was agape. He was eating this troll-shit right up. Dirge knew better. He knew all to well that the house had belonged to the traitor, Vex. But even thinking of that ordeal made him feel uncomfortable, and so he just took another sip and shook his head at his friends. "If that were true, then I would say to let these champions try. Maven is the only god in Riften, and it will take the deaths of more than a few mercenaries guarding an island to defeat her."

 

"You still never said where they went." Gavlin said, ignoring Dirge, as he did pretty much everything when something else held his interest. "The champions of Talos."

 

"They never left." Ullor said, grinning. "They're still here. Haven't you heard about the bandit attacks lately? Hitting Rift patrols and guarded export wagons? The bandits 'round here know better than to attack these types. They always have. What's changed?" He leaned in close to the center of the table, even though Gavlin sat beside him, and Dirge expressed little interest in his tall tales. "I'll tell you what... It's not the bandits at all... It's the burned one. That tall fella. He's still out there with his crew of champions, planning their next big strike." Ullor leaned back again and downed the rest of his ale in three large gulps. After he wiped the result from his beard, he smiled again and nodded to Dirge. "And if that strike is Riften, I hope you're right about Maven being our only god. Because we'll need a god to stop them."

 

"Bah! You're a piece of work, Ullor, you know that?" Dirge nodded at his friends as he laid the coins on the table and stood, a little shakily. "Drinks on me tonight." Before leaving, he glanced one more time at Ullor. "Careful who you tell these stories to. My brother wouldn't take too kindly to talk like this."

 

"Maul? Ha!" Ullor slapped his palm on the table a few times for no particular reason. "Everyone's got a soft side. If your brother would just take that armor of his off for a few minutes and relax, I bet we could find his too!"

 

"Now you really do have a death wish!" Gavlin said, sending Ullor into another fit of laughter. 

 

Dirge turned to leave before either man saw the smile crack across his own lips. Of all the follies he'd heard tonight, none were greater than his brother having a soft spot.

The air was nice and cool as Dirge exited into the night. He stumbled slightly as he misjudged a step while making his way across one of the many bridges in the city, towards his own home. Gods... am I really so drunk? The bile that he puked down into the waters below was all the answer he needed. Wiping his mouth on his leather bracer, Dirge continued on to the other side of the bridge. 

 

"Dirge!"

 

He was glad for the dark, without it, the caller might have seen how greatly they had startled him. Spinning around, Dirge saw a figure clad in dark brown and with their face hidden beneath a cowl. A guildmate.

"It's damned dark out here. Who are you?"

 

"Etienne Rarnis. We need your help Dirge, now! It's your brother!"

 

"My brother? Is Maul okay?!" Dirge drew his elven war axe.

 

"He's not the one in danger!" Etienne had already spun around and begun to run into the darkness. "Quickly!"

 

Dirge was confused by that, but he figured that in his drunken state, it was better not to try thinking too hard. The guild and his brother needed him. That was all that mattered. He hurried to catch up.

 

Like most of the thieves, Etienne was quick on his feet, and it took all of Dirge's energy to keep even within sight of the man as he darted between houses, over canals, and through alleyways. After they'd been running for a good five minutes, Dirge began to lose sight of him. Every time he turned a corner, he only just managed to see a flicker as Etienne rounded the next. Finally, he lost even that. And as he turned one last corner, and found no one and three different paths between multiple close-together houses, he realized that Etienne must have made a different turn. It was hard to tell in the darkness. "Etienne!" He called out. "Slow down, you've lost me!"

 

"No, he hasn't." Dirge spun around. It wasn't Eitienne's who'd spoken. It was the voice of a women. He was having a hard time making her out in this darkness, but the figure seemed to be armored. 

 

"You actually followed me perfectly." He spun once more, brandishing his axe. Etienne stood before him. Even in this light, Dirge could see the shape of a dagger in his hand.

 

"You hope to trap me, cur?!" Dirge laughed. "Even caught off guard, I can take on the two of you with ease."

 

"Who said there were only two of us?"

 

It was a third figure who spoke from elsewhere in the shadows, and as Dirge glanced their way, he felt a sudden and sharp pain in his right arm. He didn't even realize it when he dropped his axe. The woman behind him shoved him to his knees, and Etienne knelt down in front of him. "This is for Vex."

Dirge felt a dagger plunge into his gut, cutting clean through his fur vest.

I didn't kill Vex! 

 

"This is for Constance." said the mysterious third voice before another pain shot into his ribs. 

The orphanage lady?

 

"This is for Garthar and Viper." whispered Etienne. Another sharp pain. 

 

"And Ornolf. And Rillin." Was this a fourth voice?

 

By now, Dirge could see nothing, he was on the ground, unsure if they had quit stabbing him or if he had simply lost all feeling.

 

"You finish him off, Mjoll. You arranged for this and you have yet to even bloody your sword."

 

"This was not my idea, but a friend's... it seemed right at the time, but now..."

 

"You're think this scum deserves your honor? Have you forgotten what these people did to you? To your friend? Pretend he wields the blade if you must. I'm sure he would be glad to."

 

Mjoll took a deep breath. "You're right." 

Dirge had just begun to drift away when a final voice spoke loudly into his ear. "This is from Aerin. For Carlotta."

 

Dirge's last thoughts were not of fear, but confusion. Who in all the realms of Oblivion was Carlotta?

[TheCzarsHussar]

Baldur, Rebec

Kyne's Watch

Midnight

 

"Shit!"

 

"I told you that was gonna happen..."

 

"Just shut it and go get me some whale oil from the fort!"

 

Daric watched Baldur grind away at his axes outside the hut for who knows how long, and he hadn't said a word the entire time. Even while he warned him he was going to ruin the edge on his axes, Baldur ignored him, or didn't hear him, and obstinately continued. It wasn't until the expletive that he said a peep. When he barked at him, Daric thought he was fit to thu'um him right then and there, and gladly used the excuse to get away. His tensity was felt by even Stuhnir who whimpered the entire time.

 

Baldur was oblivious to both of them even as the fox hopped in his lap as he examined the chip in his axe bevel. He finally noticed the shaking creature as he touched the tip of the chip at the center, and reeled back as it drew blood from his thumb. Stuhnir nudged a cold nose at his hand to lick the wound as he sat on the grinding stone chair, deep in thought and nervously biting his lip.

 

"What's taking them so damn long?" he thought. Ysana had come as soon as Baldur burst through her door, bumping the head of some slumbering Reachwoman still without a home of her own. "Rebec wet herself," he said, recounting the moment Rebec woke him up in the night with a simple nudge. He thought she pissed the furs at first, with how calmly she did so. Wouldn't have been the first time during the pregnancy.

 

Ysana immediately pushed him out while she got her daughter-in-law ready, saying she needed privacy as she sifted through her pack of goods. All Baldur could do was call for the queen with the magic stone, sharpen his weapons, and wait.

 

Daric finally returned with the whale oil, leaving Baldur to polish the damaged weapon as fervently as he had been sharpening before, again quiet. The only thing he could compare the feeling to was the wait before battle. But somehow, that was a comforting feeling. This was not.

 

"Daric, go tell Vigge to get his old ass over here, now."

 

"Alright, I'll wait by the fort for the Queen when she arrives, and meet up with y-"

 

"No! You stay in the fort," Baldur ordered.

 

Daric looked to him as if he'd just been struck. "But why?"

 

"Don't question me, boy, just do as I said. Go! Take the fox with you."

 

Daric noticed something very odd from the Nord he'd grown to admire so much over the months he'd known him. For once, the proud confident man wouldn't look him in the eye. "Yes sir," he said glumly. It was to be expected, he figured. He wasn't Baldur's son and wasn't family, so he let the man be.

 

Baldur waited until Daric turned to look at him with Stuhnir running behind him. He couldn't let Daric be there for the birth, but couldn't tell him why either. He couldn't tell him about the dream. He cast the thought out of his mind, now that no one was directly reminding him of it, continuing to polish away until he could see his reflection in the silver edge, its gleam showing the stress in his eyes and bringing the thoughts back. "That's it."

 

The door burst open suddenly from a big Nordic boot. Ysana had her hands over the side of Rebec's stomach as she lay under the sheets, nethers exposed. "I'm not waiting any longer, mother. What's taking so damn long?"

 

"It's only been about thirty minutes! Close that damn door! You're letting the cold in!" Ysana shrieked.

 

Rebec was shifting around, trying to find a comfortable spot, but that hadn't been possible for weeks. Really she was just nervous, and wanted to get up to walk, or piss, or hack something with her axe. Still, she smiled when she saw Baldur. "It's probably going to be a while. Take a load off..wait. Shit! I forgot to burn the elf stick. It's over there. Throw it in the fire, hurry."

 

A few days before, Baldur had walked in on Rebec daubing symbols on their walls and hearth using her own blood mixed with a little war paint. They were old runes, and swirls like they had painted on the cow for the giants. She'd been sheepish about it, but also adamant that the runes should stay. What she didn't tell Baldur was that she was resorting to the old Nord wives' tale because she felt that something was wrong. It had been some time since she'd last felt the baby kick. It didn't seem like the child had dropped enough. Rebec thought she caught Ysana giving her worried looks, too.

 

One of the things she painted was a green of wood. This she decorated with the same symbols that were on her amulet. The "elf stick" was a ward against elves stealing or hexing Nord babies. The wood would burn slowly, all through the birth, to keep the elves away.

 

Baldur took the wood and did as he was told. He didn't know about the ritual, but he could tell when Rebec was feeling nervous. Rebec didn't get on about strange rituals unless something was wrong. An impending battle meant a facepainting ritual, the giants gathering meant the cow ritual. Even before their marriage, Rebec did the same thing with her armor and paint. And now this as well.

 

Baldur watched the flames lick at the wood for a few seconds, then ran his hands through his hair anxiously and said, "Why is this taking so long? When's the child coming out?"

 

"In her own sweet..." Rebec's voice cut off as a contraction hit her. She winced and waited for it to pass.

 

In the meantime, there was a timid knock, and as the door cracked open Vigge peeked in but only far enough to see Baldur. "What's going on?"

 

Ysana thought it was Daric at first, from the sound of the knock. Baldur apparently did as well, as he was just about to yell for him to leave until he saw a mound of white hair. "Get in here if you're coming in. You're letting the cold in now too!" yelled Ysana.

 

"Baby," said Baldur simply, arms crossed.

 

Vigge's face turned whiter than his beard. He was about to disappear again, but Rebec covered herself and said, "Papa!"

 

Reluctantly, the old sailor ducked underneath the lintel and came in. He sat on a chair next to the bed and timidly ran a big hand over Rebec's sweaty forehead. Neither said anything for a little while- being block and chip when it came to that- but eventually Vigge spoke up. "My little girl." He tried to smile, voice hoarse. "You'll do real good. I know you will." Leaning forward, he kissed her temple. The old man stood, ready to flee. The runes caught his eye and he stared at them a moment, then turned to leave.

 

On the way out, Vigge stopped and put a hand on Baldur's shoulder. "She's strong."

 

"I know it," Baldur said, brows slightly knitted. Clearly it wasn't hard to figure out what was bothering him, if Vigge had to say that to him. Baldur took a deep breath and patted the old man's shoulder in turn before taking his place beside Rebec with a mead in hand.

 

"Hey, she can have more of this now, right?" he asked. Ysana was aligning buckets of water and mixing up some kind of oil with dried up rose petals in them when she nodded and gave him the go ahead.

 

"Sure, that'll actually help things. No more than half the bottle."

 

"You heard the woman," said Baldur as he looked at her with worried, yet reddened sleepless eyes. His voice hoarse and low like his droopy lids.

 

Rebec smiled up at him and took a gulp of mead to slake her thirst, but she wasn't in a drinking mood anyway. She grabbed Baldur's hand and squeezed hard on it when the next contraction hit.

 

There was another knock, and Veleda came in, carrying a shoulder bag clanking with potion bottles. "Oh good," she said breathlessly. "I was afraid I'd be late. How are we doing?"

 

Baldur didn't know the answer to that and looked to his mother, who said, "Things are going more swimmingly than an Argonian in Spring, your majesty." She made a hand gesture facing the Queen so the others wouldn't see, one of her fingers going straight like an arrow then suddenly turning to its side.

 

Veleda's eyes widened briefly, but she composed herself quickly and sat down on the other side of the bed. Casually she put a hand on the pregnant woman's stomach. "How are you..."

 

Catching the queen's hand, Rebec gave her an intense look. "Can you tell?"

 

Trying to sound casual, Veleda asked, "Can I tell what?"

 

Glancing at Baldur, Rebec then looked back. "If our baby is alive?"

 

Taking a deep breath, Veleda nodded and moved her hand back to the round rise. She mumbled a spell, then smiled. "Yes. The baby's alive."

 

A smile forced itself over Baldur's face despite his nervousness. His stomach twitched slightly from the jitters as the idea of them having this child suddenly became more real. Any minute now, he'd finally be called a father. "What else can you tell?" he asked in a tone not unlike a curious child. "How big? Is it a boy or a girl? Will it already have some hair on its head? What color?"

 

Veleda laughed nervously. "I think we can all tell that it's not a small baby, but my spell isn't as precise as all that."  She patted Rebec's arm. "Don't worry, admiral. I'll be right here in case you need me, though I'd rather not spell you unless it's necessary. Even after ages of restoration magic, we still aren't sure how it affects infants. Though, you should take that off, just in case." The queen gestured at Rebec's Kyne amulet, that was glowing slightly from the detect life spell.

 

Reflexively Rebec clutched it, about to object. The elf stick might not be enough.

 

"Why does she need to remove her amulet?" asked Baldur.

 

"It's a magic resistance enchantment. If I have to cast a spell on her..."

 

Veleda was interrupted by Rebec crying out as a powerful contraction hit her. She had been trying to bite those back, not one to wail and moan. This one had been a surprise, however. "They're getting stronger," Rebec said to Ysana. "How much longer?"

 

Ysana stood and moved Veleda aside, temporarily forgetting that she was the Queen of Skyrim. "Baldur, take her amulet, please."

 

Baldur already had it over her head before Ysana finished. "Here, lets trade," said Baldur, throwing his bear skull amulet of Orkey over her head to give her strength. He'd worn it so much that he'd gotten used to the extra boost, and felt dizzy after it was removed.

 

Ysana took an amulet of Mara and placed it on Rebec's belly, then suddenly started mumbling something unintelligible before a light went off from her hands. Blue runes appeared over Rebec's exposed belly, then suddenly disappeared.

 

"What the hell is that?" Baldur asked.

 

"Calm down. It's a ritual we're taught in the temple. Dibella and Mara were both wives of Shor like Kyne. Our two loves practiced as priests are linked, and we respect mother Mara for her role in the power of sex. This ritual lets mothers sense things from the child of a pregnant woman. From your contractions, dear, I can tell that you're close. The baby is stressed and ready to come out."

 

"Thank whichever gods you please," Rebec said, relieved. She just wanted it over, and didn't even have the strength to protest Baldur putting his Orkey amulet on her- which surely wasn't in the old Nord wives' tale regimen. She lay back, clutching to Baldur's hand, and closed her eyes for a moment to wait for the next wave.

 

All these months of waiting and worry, down to these moments. Rebec felt sorrier for the baby than for herself, its little head turned now and being squeezed by these powerful contractions through a narrow gate of bone and flesh. Hang on, little Nord. Just a little while longer and you'll be out here with us.

 

Ysana watched her son's expression, his lips folding in a smile while his eyes clearly reflected his inner thoughts. But for now, he seemed calm, and even excited. Her eyes watered, thinking of all the years she'd missed out on with her beautiful son. Normally, seeing him so emotional and about to become a father would have melted her heart. But not now.

 

"Baldur, take this bucket of oil, and start the preparations for me. Rub the rose petal oil on Rebec's thighs and at the surface and inner parts of her bellflower. All around the area, and be quick while I prepare. I'll pick up after I'm ready. Veleda? A word please."

 

Rebec opened her eyes at these instructions, and couldn't suppress a laugh. "We don't usually have an audience for this kind of thing." She watched Baldur, her usual affection for him becoming something else as they experienced the fear and anticipation of their child's birth. This was not something she could have imagined, two years before when she first went to Falkreath.

 

Baldur was glad that Vigge decided to leave. It was awkward enough doing this in front of his mother, though Ysana and Veleda's backs were turned as they talked about whatever it was they were conversing over. This was for Rebec's well-being, however, and him being there and helping with the birth seemed like the most natural thing. "Don't just focus on her poon area, boy, go all around," Ysana said, without even looking at what he was doing and being spot on.

 

"How are you feeling? Any different from last time?" he asked Rebec.

 

"This baby's a lot bigger. I guess that's a good thing, but right now I'm not so sure." She smiled, and added, "And you're here." Truth be told, it was all different. Rebec wanted this baby, wanted to give it all the love she hadn't been able to give Jala and all that she felt for Baldur, too. There was more hope, and as a result there was more fear, too. Rebec glanced at Ysana and the queen, and called over, "What's wrong? What are you two whispering about?"

 

Ysana turned around and shushed her so she could continue speaking. She needed to get a good sense of what the Queen was capable of so she could have all her options on the table. Healing magic would help stabilize her after the birth and speed up the healing process. But also, if for some reason they'd need it, they had shock at their disposal as well. Paralysis would have been useful for Ysana's suspicions, but that wasn't going to happen.

 

When Ysana returned, she checked Rebec's legs to see that her son adequately covered her skin. He covered all but the one area that most untrained individuals always missed. Most, especially men, had no real knowledge of a woman's delicates and just how far their muscles reached. Ysana, remembering her own painful experience quickly corrected the mistake with no hesitation.

 

Ysana caught Baldur's expression and said, "It's all normal. Don't concern yourself with it. Now, I need to take a look." Ysana placed an old ring on her finger that gave her night eye, and placed her hand on Rebec's stomach. She waited until Rebec's contractions started growing closer, then peered in. She took a look behind her to Veleda and nodded. "Just as I thought. I can see child's foot, dear."

 

"She's supposed to have a foot," Rebec said defensively. "Two of them."

 

"No no, blockhead. I mean that I'm supposed to see the head, not the feet. It's flipped still, and we'll need to get the baby to turn."

 

"So that's not normal?" Baldur asked, his hand about to rip the furs from his grip.

 

Ysana sighed and said, "No, it's not. So what I'm going to need you to do, hon, is try not to push long enough for us to get the baby to turn. If it won't, then you'll just have to do your best to push it out quickly."

 

"Oh gods." All of Rebec's fear came back in an instant as she imagined her baby, so close to birth, suffocating in the womb. It was her curse. With Baldur, she'd almost imagined that everything had turned around, but now it was happening all over again.

 

Then she wasn't able to think of anything, including her fear, as a powerful contraction hit. Sitting up, Rebec cried out, as much from exertion against the overwhelming desire to push as from the pain.

 

Baldur felt hot tears fall from his face, his mother's words stinging his ears. Ysana looked momentarily stunned, maybe not believing that this was really happening either. "Do something!" He yelled.

 

"Right. Veleda, use that spell again and tell me where the baby's head is if it moves," Ysana submerged her hands in the oil and put pressure on Rebec's stomach while her other hand attempted to guide the child's head towards the bottom.

 

This continued longer than any of them had the patience for. Baldur's foot kept tapping in the background as they all watched his mother attempt to futilely turn the stubborn creature in Rebec's gut. It looked so silly that if it weren't his child and his wife's lives at risk, Baldur might've even laughed. She looked completely ridiculous. 

 

Ysana was doubtful, but asked anyway. "See any movement, Veleda?"

 

The queen said, "A little. Keep going."

 

Rebec groaned in pain, breathing hard now. When she looked up at Baldur, her eyes were feverish and the anxiety in them apparent.

 

Baldur grew more terrified the longer this went on, but did his best to hide it, trying to smile. "Hey, you heard her. It's working. Just try not to let it get to your head." Baldur squeezed her hand and said, "Fight it, Rebec."

 

Baldur heard the door open suddenly and saw Toralf poke his greying brown mop through the door, dragging Daric in with him. "Hey! Why didn't someone get me for the birth? Bad form, lads!"

 

Daric said sheepishly, "I tried to tell him..."

 

At the sight of Daric, Baldur said, "GET OUT!" Baldur yelled at the top of his lungs. "Get the hell out of here, both of you! Ma, is this working or not!"

 

Ysana didn't say anything for a moment, still trying to rotate the child to no avail. Eventually she gave up and started rubbing even more oil in her legs until she ran the risk of slipping right out the bed. "I think we're going to have to put these Nord hips to good use. The contractions are too restricting. We needed more time. If I use more force, it could hurt the mother and the child. Keep holding it, Rebec. And when I say push, you push like there was hot coal inside you. And..."

 

Ysana wiped at her eyes and said, "If you have anything to say to my son, you best say it now."

 

"What the **** is that supposed to mean?" he said.

 

"Baldur." Rebec's voice sounded thin even to her own ears. She was going to fight, and wasn't going to go down easily, but she knew Ysana was right to worry. It had been what she felt all along, too. She pulled on her husband's arm, wanting him to bend down to her.

 

Baldur was going to protest, but hearing how weak she sounded shocked him into submission. "Yea," was all he could manage to say, trying to hold his composure.

 

Leaning close to him, Rebec's lips brushed his cheek. She might have left it at that, but he had taught her not to leave words unsaid. "Baldur Red Snow. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. You..."

 

More words were cut off by a contraction. It hurt so much, more than any wound she'd sustained in battle. Close to fainting, Rebec's breath heaved and her sight went black. The reality that she might be stepping into Sovngarde in just a few moments pierced her thoughts. Unless she wouldn't be allowed to enter? This felt like the biggest battle she'd ever fought, but Shor might not agree. Opening her eyes again, Rebec's eyes held Baldur's. "Give me my axe." If she was going to die, it was going to be with a weapon in her hand.

 

Baldur's lip trembled, and he could hardly see as the tears he was holding back came bursting forth despite himself. His chest continued to spasm, and for a moment he thought he'd throw up. Ysana had to hand him the axe so he could give it to Rebec. He just kept repeating this isn't real, in his head. It was all supposed to be a dream. Things were positive just a moment ago, but he realized that was only because his mother was hiding it. That was obvious now, but they wanted to believe. And now she was avoiding his eyes.

 

He said, "I'll give you this axe, but only because if Kyne even thinks about taking you from here, you smack the bitch with this. You better not have brought me all the way up here just to watch you die, you hear me?" Ysana whispered to Veleda in the back to get ready to try and give Rebec some extra stamina.

 

Forcing a smile, Rebec took Kyne's Talon and held on to it. Just doing that gave her a boost of courage and determination. With that, she looked over to Ysana and Veleda. "If it looks like the baby might die, you take that dagger on your belt and cut me. Promise me you'll do it."

 

"They'll do no such thing or I'll kill them myself!"

 

"Baldur." Rebec's voice turned pleading. "I can't do it again."

 

Veleda stepped forward. Her tone was commanding. "You're not going to die, Rebec, and neither is your baby. I'm your queen, gods damn it, and that's an order." She brushed a hand over Rebec's forehead, a soft green glow emanating. The Fortify Fatigue spell was just in time, since another contraction hit at the same time.

 

Come what may, Rebec couldn't hold back anymore. Clutching the axe haft so hard that her knuckles turned white, and Baldur's hand with the other, she pushed as hard as she could. The pain became a euphoria. Gasping breaths, she rested a moment and then pushed again, groaning.

 

How something that was supposed to create life could be so violent was completely beyond Baldur's imagination. If he were in his right state of mind, he might've thought it fitting, considering the violent nature of Nirn's creation, but the similarities were lost to him now. All he could think of was that if Rebec didn't make it, this would be the thing he'd remember every time he looked at his child for the rest of his life. With the way his dreams were, he was sure he'd revisit this day every day. Vaernima must've taken a liking to him upon his visit to Dawnsar, he thought.

 

"You need to push harder!" Ysana yelled, interrupting his thoughts. "Contract every muscle and push!"

 

Rebec would have been angry at it all if she wasn't in such agony. She cried through another push, then, gasping for breaths, she pleaded with Ysana and Baldur alike, "Do it. Cut me. Don't let the baby die. Please."

 

Casting a healing spell on both mother and child, Veleda said firmly, "Not yet. Push, Rebec. Do it now."

 

Desperate, Rebec bore down and pushed again. It felt like her insides were being torn out of her body.

 

Baldur had enough of this. He released her hand and stepped to the foot of the bed, dragging it forward, then walking behind the headboard to grip Rebec's shoulders. "Push! That the best you can do? Did you learn nothing from Ulfric? I swear if you die, I'm going straight to Falkreath to find that red tart, now PUSH!"

 

Pain was everywhere and everything. Almost unconscious, Rebec wanted so badly to let go. If she gave up, they could take the baby out of her. One bright streak of pain and then it would be over and she could rest.

 

Baldur's voice shamed her out of that cowardly notion. His voice was the only thing she heard above the rushing of blood in her ears. She was nearly unconscious and too weak to even cry out again, but had just enough strength to obey, willing her muscles to work one last time.

 

"That's it, Rebec! It's a little girl. Your daughter needs you now. Push again or she won't be able to breathe!" The queen cast another stamina spell over the admiral, then hesitated and formed another spell over the baby, hoping desperately that she wasn't doing more harm than good. Veleda then joined Ysana in trying to pull the baby's shoulders through.

 

Baldur rushed to the front the second the Queen said it was a girl. His eyes widened from what he was being shown, and his mind immediately went to Namira. "Don't faint on me like your father did, son. Deep breaths. You too, Rebec. Almost there..."

 

Baldur panicked a moment when he saw Ysana and the Queen struggle to get the child's head out. It was a Nord's head to be sure, both thick and broad. Eventually the child's skull popped out like a cork in a mead bottle... and appropriately, the child had a lovely little crop of mead colored hair, matted in the fluids and byproduct of birth, and as pale a thing he'd ever laid eyes on his entire life. It was madness, and it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

 

Her entire abdomen was so on fire with pain that it had become numb, but somehow Rebec knew when the baby was out and her work was done. She slipped into blackness. It was like her dream, the dark waters enveloping, only they were taking her down this time.

 

There was silence in the room. Rebec knew that sound, and knew what it meant. She didn't want to wake up. There was a pain that was greater than being cut in two in birth, and that was having to put a child into the ground and leave her there. The water would swallow her, but it would save her from the despair.

 

Baldur. He would be left alone, with no baby to hold and no chance at another, at least with her. Reluctantly Rebec fought the relief of unconsciousness and came back up to the bright, harsh pain, the emptiness where her child had been, and that awful silence. Voice a hoarse whisper, she said, "Baldur. Take her away. I don't want to see her."

 

Baldur watched Ysana walk over to him, the child still attached to her mother. He was thinking the same thing Rebec was now. He wasn't sure what would be worse, Rebec dying, or the baby and having to explain why he lied to her that day in Morthal. Ysana evidently didn't care for either choice.

 

She placed the child in his hands and firmly patted at her chest repeatedly, and before anyone could say anything further, the little thing's lungs rang clear through the hut. Baldur was completely in shock and unable to say a thing. Ysana ordered him to sever the cord, and he did without even thinking, spitting the blood from it into the fire.

 

"Hold her so I can clamp it off now," his mother said. He looked at her as if he were afraid, and truth be told, he was. His hands shook, and he thought he'd drop her when Ysana let go. But he didn't. The baby kept crying until Ysana retrieved a silver metal clamp and purified it in the fire before cooling it in one of the buckets of water. Once it was attached, Ysana backed up and watched her son, remembering the same expression on her husband's face the day he was born.

 

The baby was still whimpering for some time, but eventually calmed down as Baldur ran a finger over her stomach. She instinctively pawed at his finger when he touched her little hand, and as soon as she did, more salt water came pouring from her father's eyes as he struggled to make sense of what he was feeling.

 

Ysana sighed as she collapsed in a chair, thinking she was too old for this sort of thing. "Let the mother see her now, son," said Ysana weakly.

 

At the sound of the baby's cry, Rebec's eyes flew open. For a moment she didn't know if she had imagined or dreamed it. Sitting up on her elbows, she craned her neck and caught a glimpse of the pink lump on Baldur's arm.

 

"Is she..."

 

Before Rebec's question was out, the infant's whimpers turned into another full-throated cry. The baby had felt something she never had before: Hunger. Outraged, she moved her small arms and legs and helplessly reached out for something that by instinct she knew had to exist, and had to be close by.

 

Tears had started down Rebec's cheeks again, and by the time Baldur brought their daughter to her, she was sobbing. She didn't even know why until it dawned on her that Jala, always struggling for breath, had only ever managed thin, wheezing cries. This was the wail of a healthy baby, and it was the most beautiful sound Rebec had ever heard. Still weeping, she laughed as well, and looked from the little bruised, misshapen face up to Baldur, in disbelief that she and the baby were both alive to look into each other's eyes for the first time.

 

Baldur still almost didn't believe it and gave her a deep kiss to be sure she was really there, awkward as it was with emotions running high and as tears still fell. Ysana took the baby from them temporarily to clean her with warm cloth, and told them to remove their tunics so that contact with the baby was skin to skin. Anxious to have the child again, Baldur helped his mother clean her after helping Rebec with her shirt, then brought their child back to be fed.

 

Rebec didn't care about anything but having the squirming, ugly little creature back in her arms. The baby had kept on crying while Ysana washed her, but when Baldur laid her on Rebec's chest, the infant reached out for her dinner source like she'd been doing it for years. There was some awkward jostling and Rebec yelped once, but soon the baby was drawing on her in gulps of surprising vigor.

 

"I can't believe this is happening," Rebec said, laughing. She was still crying, though the sobs had abated and mostly she was just transfixed by the lumpy head with its tiny nose, and the fingers that looked like perfect miniatures on a doll. She was so tired that under any other circumstances she would pass out, but adoration and excitement was fueling her for now. Tearing her eyes away, Rebec looked up at Baldur. "Papa. You should name her."

 

Ysana stepped out to tell the others the news while the new parents had their time alone.

 

Baldur looked to the little girl, running a finger through that mead colored hair as he tried to fight back a yawn. He was exhausted, but didn't want to admit it, not after what Rebec went through. A new wave of tears came as he looked to Rebec's face. He'd never seen her so exhausted looking before, emotionally and physically. He was deadly close to making his dream come true.

 

If Rebec was just a tad weaker... Baldur looked to the amulet around her neck then, wondering what would've happened if he didn't have it. If the small bit of stamina granted really made the difference. She was the only one who deserved to be tired.

 

Even still, his eyelids felt like stone as he settled under the furs next to his two beautiful girls. He saw the creeping of new Dawnlight from under the door and smiled, thinking her haircolor a blessing from Azura, but keeping that to himself.

 

Finally, Baldur relaxed enough to recall the name they decided upon way back in Dawnstar. "Ragna. Ragna Red-Snow. A stubborn child deserves a strong name."

 

Murmuring sleepily, Rebec repeated the name as she held the tiny hand in her fingertips. She hadn't remembered their discussion because she hadn't let herself think that the baby was real, that they might get this far. Meanwhile Ragna, concerned only with the fact that she was full and warm and there were familiar sounds nearby, left off nursing and was immediately asleep. Rebec soon followed, unable even to hold her head up any longer.

 

Veleda had surreptitiously cast a healing spell on Rebec to take care of the tearing. Ghastly as it was, it shocked the queen, though Rebec hardly seemed to notice one way or the other. Now Veleda stood back, feeling like an intruder, but unwilling to go too far in case there were complications. That water breathing spell... It had led to a prolonged silence in which the baby had no need to use its little lungs, but otherwise no harm. The queen turned her head away, and thought about her own turn at this someday.

 

"Thank you," he said to her, eyes still glued to the child beside her mother. "Sorry about earlier. I wouldn't have really killed you, you understand."

 

Veleda smiled wryly. She had never fought beside the Red Snows, but it was easy to believe that either of them would kill for the other, no matter who was the threat. There was also enough blood that it could have been a battle. "I'll just clean up a bit. I don't think those two will mind."

 

Baldur thought about using this as an excuse to lift the baby from Rebec's side. He hadn't had near enough time to hold her, but it seemed wrong to take her from Rebec, even asleep. He got over it though, as she'd be back at her side soon enough. The little thing stirred at being disturbed, but Baldur's large hands scooped her up, and soon she was resting her little head on her father's chest, ear to his beating heart.

 

"I saw Rebec's husband once. In a dream. Back when she told me she had another child. I wanted to be closer to her than anyone else ever was, which was why I asked for this baby. I told her husband that I knew how it felt to lose their child, because I felt it through Rebec. I claimed her for my own, said she was my child."

 

He continued, "Only now do I really get how foolish and cruel it was to say that. To try and dismiss someone's pain of a dead child because you're mad that another man had something you didn't. And now that I have it, it's like... The world looks different now. Having that taken away would be like a blind man being allowed to see, then having his sight taken away again. We made this. We literally took a piece of ourselves and granted it life. It's me and my wife literally made into one thing. Knowing what it's like to lose that is one thing I don't envy Toki for sharing with her. And my ma..."

 

Baldur realized he forgot that he too was separated from his mother, though not as permanently. Still, he better understood how she must have felt now. Bolting up as he realized something, he said, "Ma. I threatened to kill my mother." The child whimpered slightly at being moved and made her father sit back immediately.

 

Veleda listened as she gently worked the bloodied linens out from under Rebec, who didn't stir except to groan once as she was jostled. The problems of family intimacy were things Veleda had left gladly behind her in Cyrodiil, and only now was beginning to wade back into with Ulfric and Sofie. As momentous as her marriage had felt, to see admired warriors like Baldur and Rebec left so vulnerable by the tiny bundle in Baldur's arms left the queen shaken. She wasn't sure that she wanted to be put in the same position.

 

"I'm sure she'll understand," she answered Baldur. "And I suspect Ysana wouldn't have been afraid to stand up even to you. Let's just thank the gods none of that was necessary. I doubt I could have done what Rebec asked." Veleda managed to get new linens on the bed, rolling Rebec back and forth like a log. It wasn't a legion regulation linen change by any stretch, but then Gracchus wasn't here to reprove her and the Red Snows didn't care. After that, she laid clean bandages around Rebec's abdomen, got a clean tunic on her, then covered her in furs and stood back.

 

Baldur decided to try and stop thinking about it for the baby's sake. Rebec was fine, the baby was fine. Everything was fine. He tried to move the baby back to her spot beside her mother, but the baby was sound asleep and showed signs of waking if he moved her too much. And her little fingers scratching at his chest charmed him enough that he decided to let her stay there while he rested. The mother and child had bonded through feeding. Baldur wanted to do the same by supporting her the way a father should. Lying down smiling, he said, "Tell the others we'll be in here a while, and tell them I'm sorry for not letting them come in. And let Ulfric know we'll come to visit him in a week or so."

 

"A week? You'd better ask your wife about that first. Now, you three rest. I'll be back soon to check on you." Veleda cleaned herself up, then went out. In the doorway she smacked into a looming Vigge.

 

"Where's my granddaughter?" he demanded, as if she were a tavern wench late with his mead rather than the queen of Skyrim.

 

"She's inside, but you might not want to..."

 

Ignoring that, Vigge pushed past and went into the longhouse. There he stopped short at the sight of the sleeping family. His eyes first went to Rebec, searching for signs that the screaming he'd heard earlier had left her none the worse for wear. Satisfied, his attention turned to the small bundle lying on Baldur's chest. He didn't say anything or move, just stood rooted, gazing at Ragna.

 

Baldur got an eyeful of daylight, then sat up when he heard the old man. Inching his way to the foot of the bed with the baby, he patted the space next to him near Rebec's feet and said, "Sit. And bring that blanket on the table here, would you?"

 

Vigge stirred, his eyes bleary and now swimming. Getting the blanket gave him a chance to brush at them. He shuffled over with it and awkwardly bent to drape the fur over Baldur and Rebec. He didn't touch Ragna, however, seeming afraid to do so, and then took a seat on the chair near the bed. "I won't stay long. I just had to see. She yelled so much. I never heard her yell like that, not since she was little and put an awl through her hand."

 

He asked, "How the hell did she manage that?"

 

"How else. Because Vilnur dared her."

 

Rebec stirred, the pain in her abdomen and thighs waking her as much as the men's voices. "Papa?" she said blearily. The baby then caught her eye and she seemed startled, and guilty that she had been sleeping. "Is everything alright? Is she hungry?"

 

Baldur ran his hand over her forehead through her dampened hair. "No, she's alright. If she weren't, you'd hear it. Girl's got a war horn in her chest."

 

Rebec laughed, though she also looked like she might cry again. She put a hand on the tiny head with the thick shock of hair and caressed it. "Bard lungs." Her eyes met Baldur's and she felt a surge of love and gratitude. He had given her all of this.

 

"Alright. I'm going." Vigge got up, though he stopped and half turned as he was about to leave. "Your ma'd be real proud, Rebec. I wish she were here."

 

"You're not even going to ask to hold her, pappy?" Baldur teased. "Don't worry, she won't bite. Unless she gets hungry again."

 

Vigge's smile vanished. "Go on, papa," Rebec said, trying to sit up. She gave up quickly, her legs too numb and sore.

 

 The old sailor shuffled back, wiping his hands on his tunic even though they weren't dirty. They shook a little as he took Ragna gently from Baldur. She made a little noise and waved one arm, but otherwise didn't wake up. Vigge tucked her close to his chest and looked down at her. His eyes filled again, and he shot Rebec and Baldur a brief, embarrassed smile, then walked away from them and started to sing in a low voice. "Mama makin dumplings, papa shootin crow, grandpa come to dinner, he don't need to know. Dagon dance a jig and Orkey play the drum, stew is cookin in the pot but they don't get none."

 

"She's a little young for that," Rebec called over.

 

Baldur smiled at Vigge in his rare form and shushed Rebec. "The Child said the food was tasty, Grandpa just said 'sorta', Papa came back with elf ears and Mama blamed ol' Mora. They found Woodland Man in forest, man ear and beard in tow. Grandpa swung high, Papa stabbed center and Mama swung real low."

 

Vigge chuckled, turning back and bringing the baby over. "Haven't heard that verse before."

 

"No one has," Rebec said, smiling sleepily. "I told you the runes would work, love. And you were skeptical."

 

Baldur said, "Could've easily been my Orkey amulet, but I'm not willing to put them to the test with elven devilry, so I'll just go ahead and say you were right." He wondered if Vigge could tell how close his daughter was to being proven wrong, but decided not to bring it up before he started crying again. "Her name's Ragna, by the way pa. You like it?"

 

"Good name. Strong." Vigge reluctantly bent down and handed the little bundle back to Baldur. "Guess I'll go start on her first boat."

 

Rebec burst out in a laugh. "You've got time for that, I'd say."

 

"No sense in waiting around." Vigge leaned over Baldur and kissed Rebec on the forehead. He was about to leave it at that, but added an awkward pat on Baldur's shoulder. "Good work, son in law. It's not easy raising a Red girl, but I guess you figured that out already."

 

Baldur wasn't sure how he felt about being told 'good work'. Rebec did all the hard work, but he let it be, taking the rare complement. "I'll enjoy her not being able to walk now while I still can," he said. He was smiling, though his look was reflective.

 

Vigge gave a snorting laugh and turned to leave. Outside, the queen's second was hovering, a celebratory sausage and mug of ale in his hands. "Any chance Uncle Menel could get a look at the new arrival?"

 

"My girls are sleeping." Vigge slammed the door shut behind him in case the Bosmer missed his point.

 

Inside the longhouse, Rebec laughed. "The elf stick works, too." She was indeed sleepy, but couldn't stop looking at the baby. "I think she's got your nose."

 

"Oh no, that poor girl," he said, chuckling. "My nose is huge. Luckily I think that's too early to call. She's got your lips for sure though. Only thing I see from me is the hair maybe. It's darker though."

 

"She's a lucky girl if she's got your hair." Rebec yawned and her head faltered, coming to settle on Baldur's shoulder. She mumbled something else but clearly couldn't stay awake any longer even for the excitement.

 

Baldur wanted so much to sleep, but somehow felt he should stay awake while they rested. Perhaps it was instinct, he thought. The father guarding his mate and newborn child while the mother was still weak from childbirth. He didn't mind it.

 

His eyes kept darting back between the two over and over, comparing their slumbering faces through bleary and newly dampened eyes. Rebec matched the baby's gentle rumbling snores, like two active Red Mountains in close proximity. And appropriately enough, they both started leaking magma in the form of warm drool while poor Baldur was trapped between them. He had to bite his lip to keep from laughing and disturbing their sleep when their snores started to play out in symphony. Ragna would draw breath, then Rebec, then Ragna and Rebec would exhale at almost the same time.

 

"Just you wait," he whispered. "We've got such a big family now. You're going to have so much fun. You've got uncle Boldir and aunt Carlotta, uncle Ulfric and aunt Veleda, and uncle Vilnur and aunt Raesa. Heh, even uncle Menel and Toralf. Oh, and aunt Maz! Then there's cousin Mila, Cyrus, Timur. They can be your sparring partners. And there's also Sofie. Suri... I hope you get to see her some day." Baldur paused a moment, wondering what to call Daric. "Daric... Daric we'll call brother."

 

Counting relatives, adopted and blood related, was like counting dragons and soon had Baldur succumbing to the safe warmth and weight of his family resting over him. The last thing his eyes saw before falling into Vaermina's realm once more was Ragna's little hand wandering and exploring until it found her mother's hanging lower lip.

[TheCzarsHussar]

Jhared Mon

King's Camp

Dawn

 

The sun had not yet risen, the only hint of its imminent arrival the light shade of purple and orange the eastern clouds bore. Duke Mon smiled a thin-lipped grin. Ignoring the glares of the heavily armored knights outside the king’s tent, he pushed aside the heavy canvas flaps and ducked his tall, balding head into his liege’s temporary domicile. Had Mon not dabbed his skin with a light perfume, of Sentinel origin, he would have grimaced at the musk that filled the air. As it was, he could hardly smell it, for which he gladly thanked Zenithar, along with the other divines whose names he hardly deigned to remember. By his approximation, he only needed the one, though they seemed to come in a package deal. Still, the “one who always wins†seemed to be the obvious choice for chief deity in his life, especially one whose realm of influence included money, wealth, and commerce.

 

Duke Mon bent his knee before his king, before taking the chair offered by Adrard’s pointed and outstretched hand. As he did, however, he ran his head into a lantern hanging nearly directly above his chair, eliciting a whispered swear. If the king felt either humored by that, or disgusted with Mon's late arrival, or both, it did not show. The Duke found that quite annoying, but so it was with many highborn Bretons. One did not spend their entire lives living in High Rock without learning to mask their emotions, lest they betray their fear, their anger, their hate, their love. Some did it with grins, other frowns, still others with solemnity. Theodore Adrard was the lattermost, Duke Mon the former most.

 

The grinner watched with hidden disgust as the rotund, snotty king deposited his wet handkerchief in his pocket. Mon was just glad he wasn’t asked to kiss his liege’s hand; otherwise he might release his breakfast. He watched as Adrard finished reading an Imperial newspaper, before he cast it into his fire pit.

 

"What have you for me, Duke?" the king asked.

 

“The Nords will do trade, and didn't seem too upset by their tax cut being slightly less than they asked for. The goods we brought were a smashing hit, and Sir Charien wants a ship there every fortnight," Jhared Mon smiled as he spoke.

 

"Good. You've done well, Mon. Anything else?"

 

Duke Mon didn’t believe for half a second the king truly meant his praise, but his smile increased all the same. Approval from a king was not something gained lightly, even if it was only simple courtesy.

 

“Thank you, your grace. Their High Queen recommended you treat with the Direnni, which you no doubt already thought of. The admiral, was of course, skeptical about their allegiance, and told me to tell you as such, although she seemed to wear skepticism as naturally as a knight wears armor,†Mon said.

 

“And our request to participate in their naval exercises?â€

 

“Shot down like a fat duck. Sir Theirry was spurned away from participating in their little war games, and is brooding over it by killing a few pirates in the north seas,†Mon said with a frown that seemed an afterthought.

 

“He’s not one to take insults very well, if the past is anything to go by,†King Adrard said.

 

He referred to, of course, the temper of Sir Thierry, which had cost him his leg. He and Duke Chirditte’s oldest had dueled over some supposed insult or another, Mon could not nor cared not to remember exactly, but the result was the Chirditte heir dead and Theirry legless from the knee down. A fireball burned the skin so horribly it had lost all feeling, as if his leg were paralyzed. They chopped it off soon thereafter, as he didn’t want to be a cripple. Better an amputee, which Mon thought was nearly the same thing.

 

“No, nor will he ever, I suppose.†Mon watched as his king penned a letter. It was probably to that seemingly immortal mother-in-law of his, with whom he consulted on a great many things. The king trusted her like he trusted only his wife and son, although the whispers were he had been speaking with Lord Traven frequently as well.

 

A dangerous couple, those two, both shrewd and cunning as they came, he thought. Of course, I am equally dangerous, in my own way. Those two have power, yes, but my income rivals the poorest of lords, and my cunning is unmatched.

 

“Of that I have no doubt. Him holding a grudge is as sure as ice being cold and fire hot.†The king scarcely looked up from the series of letter he wrote, and even smiled as he read one. Duke Mon could not decipher who it was from, but he surmised it must have been of some importance, as the king cast it in the fire like the newspaper earlier. That, or his fair ruler wanted to listen to the crackle of pages burning.

 

“Do you have any other commands for me, my liege? I would love to stay and visit,†Mon lied, “but I’m afraid I get little sleep at sea, and even less sleep in those rat infested taverns that we were forced to sleep in on our way south.â€

 

“You are dismissed,†the large king said, dismissing his vassal with a brusque wave.

 

Jhared rose, bowing with practice elegance, and sweeping out of the tent with his green and white owl embellished cape trailing him like a shadow. He glanced around the smelly war camp, the earthy stench of horse dung and putrid souring of sweaty men overpowering his cologne. He lifted a scented handkerchief to his mouth and nose, the stink of shit replaced by a lovely lavender smell, so vivid he could nearly taste it. It reminded him of the lavender wine waiting in his tent, a thought he relished indeed. His guards were chatting amiably with the king’s, though his wore only leather jerkins over mail, both with the same green owl on white on their chest, unlike the heavy metal plate and black bull of the Adrard men.

 

“Come,†he commanded. “I want to set up my tent as far away from this pisshole as possible.â€

 

He mounted his skinny, black haired nag. The horse was good for nothing other than riding, which suited the battle-loathing nobleman just fine. He spurred it northwest, his contingent of soldiers following just off his heels. Behind them teetered his wagon, loaded down so heavily with unnecessary supplies it threatened to sink into the soft earth. It creaked and moaned like an old cottage in a winter wind, but slowly trudged along under the determined drive of the six workhorses doing the pulling. Unpacking the tent at a suitable sight, Mon quickly ushered himself in, thankful for the reprieve from the pigsty of a camp.

***

 

Louise Traven
Eastern camp

It was neither sun nor servant that awakened the Lord of Northpoint from his slumber. Instead, it was sounds that he'd heard plenty as of late, the sounds of war: horns, screams, the clashing steel. It was loud and close, and it didn't take a mind half so bright as his to know that the camp was under attack.

Frowning, as he often did, Lord Traven arose from his cot and went about dressing himself. A woodland-green, long sleeved tunic and woolen pants went underneath strong hardened iron plate. Strapping on all the armor took a little longer than usual, given the fact that whatever servants he should've had were craven and likely already off to hide among the King's larger numbers, but it was no matter. Louise's father would never have forgiven him if there came a day when he was incapable of putting on his own armor. Lastly, he grabbed his carved quicksilver longsword, of Nordic make, and buckled the sheathed weapon to his belt.

Now that he was dressed appropriately, Lord Traven lifted the flap of his tent and made his way outside. He could hear shouting and frantic screams. And large columns of smoke were already beginning to rise to the east, which was where the majority of his men seemed to be heading. At either side of the entrance to his tent was a Northpoint soldier, clad in chain mail under thick dark green overcoats bearing a black elk. They wore steel helmets that masked their faces and wielded the standard steel longswords and iron shields of all his men.
"Have either of you seen the enemy yet?" he calmly asked the two men.

"No, my lord." replied the one to his right. "We haven't left this spot. But the attack seems to be from the mountains. Not the city."

"Thank you." Lord Traven motioned for the two men to follow and made his way to the makeshift stables they'd built from the trees to the north. He quickly saddled up his black Cheydinhal destrier, and set course for the smokestacks in the distance. 
The ride was brief, and it did not take long for Traven to figure out what was going on. At the eastern edge of his camp, nine tents were aflame, and amid the smoke and clutter, he could make out fighting. His men were falling back. The attack was larger than anything they had prepared for, and they were not organized to fight. Not three rows of tents down, he saw one of the Farrun men fall to a long wooden cudgel that seemed to sport some beast's razor-sharp teeth along the edges. The wielder was dressed in primitive furs. 

"Damned heathens." muttered Traven. He tugged at the reigns and whirled his horse to the right. He rode parallel to the conflict, keeping enough distance to avoid being attacked himself as he assessed the situation. It wasn't good. Reachmen were attacking in large numbers, and they had caught his men completely unaware. He shouted orders at those around him as he rode, ordering men to group up and remain close, not run into or away from the heat of battle to the east. It wasn't an ideal position, but they needed some order if they wanted to halt the wild charge of the mountain savages.

"My lord!" His second, Thonir approached, also mounted and fully suited up for battle. Five soldiers of the Point accompanied him on horses of their own. "They came out of nowhere. Thousands of them! I've been rallying the men further back in the camp. The Farrun troops are in the thick of it. I can organize a cavalry push into their sections, but it will not be easy."

Traven thought on that for a moment, then nodded. "Let them remain there. The soldiers of Farrun are brave, but ours come first. Let them fight and retreat as they must. It will buy us more time to form up and prepare a proper defense to hold until King Theodore arrives."
Thonir looked prepared to object, but nodded, knowing full well that he wouldn't change his lord's mind. 
"And send a man to the king's tent. I'm certain the others have heard this by now, but I want him to know the gravity of the situation."

The Nord turned to one of the mounted men. "Did you hear that? Go!"
 

As the rider galloped west, to Theodore's camp, Traven and Thonir headed north, to the center of their own, where tents were already being hastily cleared away and men, some in green, and some only half-dressed, were running to and fro to get in formation. Shields were moving forward with pikes pointed at the sounds of battle. The men Traven had gathered rushed to join in. While the lines grew stronger, and the men more organized, Traven rode to the back, where Dukes Vette, Northwode, and Maul awaited, and surprisingly enough, Prince Roland was with them. He was sitting atop his own brown destrier, wearing that solemn look Traven only saw the boy reveal at times of battle. Something about that look reminded Traven of the boy's father.

"The attack is not particularly organized." Vette was saying. "But they caught us off-guard, and are many."

"How many?" Traven asked as he approached. 

"Ah, we were getting worried, my lord." said the middle aged duke. "It is impossible to tell, but they number at least two thousand, Reachmen and Orcs. Probably a good deal more, actually. It's hard to tell with the fires and tents. The eastern edge of camp was all but massacred. We've salvaged what we can, but we're looking at some heavy losses."

This was the first Traven had heard of the Orcs. Their kind's brutish warriors were known throughout Tamriel as a force to be reckoned with. "Rolston must have sought them out of desperation. I had not thought Evermor to be on good terms with the mountain natives."

There was a booming sound to the east, followed by a blast of fire that temporarily lit the pre-dawn sky. This one was a lot closer to their current location than the burning tents from earlier. Thonir sounded his war horn twice more, and the men of Northpoint assumed battle positions. Outlandish, even animalistic shrieks echoed through the night, and Traven caught a glimpse of charging spells among the tents in the distance. His men on the frontline stood steady behind their shields, and Thonir had the archers several rows back prepare their arrows.

As if a dam had broken, scores of pelt-clad savages flooded out of the line of tents, tearing across the twenty yards of open field to the Breton shields. They charged haphazardly, and with no correlation, but even as they did, many flung spells of all sorts into their ranks. They were men and women, young and old. Some carried bows, some swords, clubs, spears, staffs, and some only charged with the spells in their hands. Orcs were among them as well, easily spotted by their large, heavily armored frames among the shorter Reachmen. There was even a troll in the midst of it all. 

"Fire at will!" Thonir commanded, sending a hundred arrows into the charging fray. It only slowed them briefly. Seconds later, the clashing of weapons was accompanied by far more human screams than those heard before.

"What now?" asked Northwode, his hooked nose looking even more ugly in the dancing flames. "Half of our men are scattered or dead. They could overwhelm us. We should retreat to the king's camp!"

"The king isn't an idiot." Traven said, rather calmly. "His men are likely gathering as we speak. All we need to do is hold the savages. Help will be here soon enough."

***

 

Derrick Estermont

King’s Camp

 

Pale, calloused fingers strapped the banded steel cuirass together atop a chainmail shirt, both of which covered the muscular frame of Shornhelm’s ruler. He did it with practiced, experienced movements, those of one adept at war. So was Lord Estermont, vanquisher of Orcish villagers and annihilator of bandit clans. His armor bore dents and cuts that attested to it frequent use, although the central sigil had been freshly re-painted onto the chestplate.

 

The black heart of the Estermont Family, pierced with an arrow and sitting on a crimson background, stood out prominently among the time-worn and repaired armor. The seal of his family went back two hundred years, to a Nordic-Bretic family known as the Black-Hearts. The Black-Hearts were ferocious warriors, bandits and raiders based out of the Wrothgarian Mountains near Orcish lands. The Estermont family was then but a simple barony, until Baron Philip Estermont married the daughter of the Holmar Black-Heart, thus uniting the families. Since then, the Estermont family had grown larger in size and prominence, as the Nordic genetics made them giants among the shorter Bretons, and the warriors produced helped steer them to the throne of Shornhelm. The families’ sigils were also combined, the flying arrow of Estermont now piercing the Black-Hearts’ black heart.

 

The Lord of Shornhelm finished outfitting himself in his armor, just as he heard the stomping of hooves outside his tent. He grabbed his helm, a barbute design with a “Y†shaped opening. He preferred it to the closed great helms some men wore, as it allowed better visibility in combat. His ebony war axe lay on his bed, alongside his banded steel shield, which he picked up as he brushed aside his tent’s flap, revealing a mounted messenger.

 

“My lord, urgent news from the king. He wants you to meet Duke Gondwyn and the cavalry, and to swing around from the north,†the young man said.

 

“Who’s attacking us boy?†Estermont asked, walking towards the King’s stables as he did. Behind him trailed two of his knights, both in black and red. Further behind them, Estermont’s three sons cursed as they rushed to join their father.

 

“Orcs and Witchmen, my lord. They surprised the eastern edge of Lord Traven’s camp before dawn and slaughtered most of the Farrun men,†the messenger replied, reeling his mount in check as a man scrambled in front of him, running towards the sound of battle.

 

Estermont quickened his pace at the news of Orcs, his already hot blood now nearly boiling with anticipation of spilling Orcish innards. He smiled, much as he always did when eager to fight. He arrived at the stables to find many cavalrymen already waiting, mounted with lances in hand. Gondwyn had arrived earlier than Lord Estermont, his war hammer strapped firmly to his squatty frame. The Dwarf of the South rallied many a man while waiting for Estermont, and the cavalry was nearly complete.

 

Estermont and his sons mounted without a word, the grim silence covering the men like a thick mourner’s veil. A squire handed him of them a lance as well, and together he and the Dukes rode to the front of the men, many of whom gazed at the thick gray smoke billowing from the northeast.

 

“Do not be scared by a little smoke, men,†Estermont started, his deep voice booming out in natural intensity, “For the smoke only masks the real horrors. Witchmen and Orcs assail our camp, heathens and brutes alike. But they will be the ones knowing true fear today. For today they meet the most courageous, deadliest soldiers in King Adrard’s army. Bards will sing songs about our steeds trampling their skulls, and of the bravery wrought by this battle. We ride for the enemy and shall not stop until they are dead or dying! For King and country! For High Rock!â€

 

Estermont let out a “yah,†spinning his horse around and leading the charge north. Behind him a familiar song about a big bosomed Bosmer was struck up, and he hummed along joyously. Gondwyn, riding alongside, let one long blast of his war horn go as the charge came upon the back of Traven’s shield wall. Several mounted men joined their ranks, while shrieks and screams emanated from the thick of the fighting. Estermont swung his destrier’s head around, aiming the host south as they made a “U†shaped turn after clearing Traven’s lines.

 

Lances lowered, the mounted soldiers picked up speed, the hooves of the horses pounding the ground underneath and sending up a cloud of dust to join the smoke. The sun was just rising, however the mountains of the Reach blocked it from view. Only the dimmest rays reflected off the men’s armor, giving them the slightest glow. Fur clad pagans hooted and whooped at the site of a new enemy, while thundering the cavalry neared. Estermont rode point, and gave out one last cry of “For High Rock! For the King!†that was echoed from behind him.

 

His lance met the first foe, a beefy dual wielding Orc, square in the chest, the point snapping off and rendering the weapon useless. Gondwyn, beside him, was instantly knocked from his destrier, a thrown spear catching him below the arm. He fell with a thud and was trampled by the surge of mounted men behind him. Estermont grimaced, while cheers could be heard from Traven’s lines, foot soldiers thankful for the reprieve brought upon by the mounted knights. The cavalry slowed its charge and was now mixed in the enemy soldiers, while the infantry advanced into the fray.

 

Lord Estermont drew his axe and buried the thin, pointed end opposite the axe head in the face of an old, topless witch woman, her high pitched yelps ceasing with the blow. An eye stuck on the end, but it was promptly flung off when the Lord of Shornhelm was forced to block on oncoming blow from another Reachman. This one held a wooden club spiked with nails in one hand and a glowing blue orb in the other. The magical sphere hit the eyeless, dead witch and revived her, now a reanimated corpse. The destrier wheeled around, Estermont blocking another blow with his shield before finishing off the witch for good, his axe head burying itself deep into her skull, so that soft brain matter oozed through the wound.

 

The nail-club wielding enemy was dead, a soldier having nearly severed him in half with a longsword. Beside the Lord of Shornhelm, his three sons formed up. Dunrick the flail wielding heir at thirty, sported a bushy black beard beneath a twisted and broken nose. The middle son, Delric, had a longsword in his left hand and was more comely than his older brother. Younger by four years, as well as clean-shaven, his shield arm sagged where an arrow bit his shoulder. Delric dropped the shield and proceeded to close the wound with a healing spell, his grimace fading from his scarred face as he did.

 

The third son, Danric, was the handsomest of all, clean-shaven as well, and his face free from scars and his nose unbroken, unlike his elder siblings. He preferred a one-handed war hammer in his left hand, with a wicked looking spike, and a shortsword in the other. He was brazen and fearless, as all boys are at seventeen. Recently married to Lord Traven’s youngest daughter, Abelle, and he fancied himself a true man now. Even with blood on his face and mud in his hair, which stuck out and curled around his helmetless head, he smiled, and Estermont’s heart warmed that they all enjoyed battle as much as he.

 

A war horn sounded from the south, as Estermont fought off several crushing blows from an Orc wielding a war hammer. It wasn’t the guttural horn of the Reachmen or Orcs, nor the booming, deep horn of the Bretons, but the trumpet like horn of the Legion. A red draconic banner bobbing up and down from across the battlefield affirmed that, as the graying lord’s oldest finished off the Orcish brute with a face crushing swing from the spiked ball on his flail. Estermont wiped some blood off his face with the back of his gauntlet, and smiled at the body-strewn wasteland before him. He and his sons reformed the Breton line, driving the enemies towards the Legate and his men.

 

***

 

Reyderic Montrose

Between camps

 

"Sound the horns!" barked Legate Montrose as he wheeled his horse to face the mountain city of Evermor. "Defensive ranks! Look to the south, dammit!"

 

The Legion forces had only just begun to mobilize and move to assist in the eastern camp when the false-queen Rolston's last-ditch attempt was revealed. As the forces of the northern lands worked to hold off the surprise attack from the Reachmen, and the others scrambled together in order to assist, another attack had been prepared from the city itself. Rolston forces were massing in front of the city while their opposition focused on the east. And as it so happened, the Legion troops were the closest. 

 

The trumpet-like horns of the Legion sounded across the battlefield, three short blasts, and then a fourth long one. The soldiers of High Rock wouldn't know what this meant, but his own men did. They halted their march east and turned their attention south. From his elevated point, Reyderic could see the confusion among them as to what was going on. They would figure it out soon enough, for Rolston's forces were already mid-charge. Mara preserve us if they don't.

 

"Phalanx! Everyone ready your shields!"

 

The charging Breton forces were more numerous than any host most of his men had ever taken on. But this war had hardened them, trained them better than any drill, and Legate Montrose was proud to see how quickly his men prepared for the attack. When Rolston's vanguard met his own front line, it held better than he'd have expected. Their numbers were not great enough to win this, but perhaps they would at the very least survive this trap. To the north, many of King Theodore's own Bretons continued to march east, but somewhere, he heard the powerful Breton horns sounding. Hopefully in recognition of this new and greater threat. 

 

"Form up!" he shouted again, to the men behind and around him. While half of his men were fighting well, the other half had yet to even see where the enemy came from. "Spread to the west! Do NOT let them overwhelm us!"

 

The rebels surged into the ranks of his men in far greater numbers. Bretons coming around both sides. His horns sounded again, and his men formed a circle, tightening up as best they could while the enemy poured around them. Every time he saw a break in the line, more of his men pushed back the attackers and filled it back up. The attackers still outnumbered them by more than he could count, but for every man they lost, the attacking rebels lost many more. And now, he saw the attackers faltering even more when one of Theodore's Breton forces, which, he couldn't tell, hit them from the east, apparently no longer occupied with the Reachmen. The attacks on his ranks were slowing, and he could see from atop his horse that Rolston's men were now split, and the southernmost score of them were already returning to the city. Reyderic smiled. "Let's push them back!" He shouted. "On me! Drive them to the city!"

 

His circle of men spread back out into a line, and at one last blazing of the horn, his men charged. He spurred his own horse to join them, and the terrified rebels turned tail and ran. It was no use. Those that weren't cut down by his men only found their more loyal Breton countrymen blocking the retreat. In less than two hours, over half of Rolston's forces had been wiped out, and the others were once again hiding behind their walls. Things were too chaotic at the moment to quite tell how their own losses looked, but from where he sat, Reyderic was confident that, at least among the Legion, this had been a major victory.

 

He scanned the battlefield for familiar banners. The Legion dragon still stood tall, and to the east he could see the pierced black heart of Estermont dancing across the carnage wrought on the Reachmen, and another such banner among the forces that had cut off the retreating traitors. It took a little longer to spot the King's bull. It was closer to the city, amidst many other flags sworn to the winning side. Wiping the blood off of his blade onto his saddle, Reyderic wondered if King Theodore himself had participated in the fighting. He wouldn't have been surprised. Most men don't carry around a sword as large as his unless they can use it. 

 

With the battle mostly over, and the worst of the chaos seemingly done, he decided the king's next course of action would probably be to regroup. Deciding not to wait for the call, he turned his horse towards Theodore's banners and set off at a slow trot, ordering his men to follow.

 

***

 

Roland Adrard

Northpoint Forces

 

Roland adjusted the bull’s head clasp of his cloak, the black iron inlaid with garnets for the eyes holding together two ends of the brown cape. It hung over his steel plate armor, which also bore the black bull’s head. He had his greathelm tucked under his left arm, his right arm holding the reins. He frowned, watching and dissecting the way his military tutor, a former legionnaire name Cruttus Mido, taught him to. He always hated the lessons with the curmudgeonly old Imperial, and was more interested in Nireli Seles’ bosom than her speech and politics lessons, but they were both of paramount importance to being a king.

 

The Prince of High Rock watched the surprise attack whither away like fruit on a dying vine. Lord Estermont’s cavalry charge was the deathblow that sent the Orcs and Reachmen fleeing in the face of the mounted knights and men-at-arms. Lord Traven’s decision to stay and fight rather than flee proved fruitful, and now the remnants of the Farrun men were mopping up what few savages remained.

 

Roland ventured a slight smile, until his ears heard the Legion trumpet sound near back towards the city. Turning, he saw that Rolston’s infantry was pouring from the gate, surrounding the Legion men, who formed a circle around their commander. Roland turned to Traven, and was about to ask if they should march to help, when a mounted courier arrived, bearing Roland’s own familial banner.

 

“Lord Traven, King Adrard wants your troops to move to the east. He believes the enemies cavalry will attempt to swing around to flank us.†The courier didn’t wait for an answer, but instead galloped off to wear Lord Estermont was gathering the cavalry.

 

Lord Traven leaned towards his Nordic second, who turned and yelled out a few commands to the Northpoint men. Roland followed the ranks of soldiers marching to the east, glancing back over his shoulder to see his father’s men doing the same, to the west. Back in the middle of the two marching hosts, the surrounded Legion men were fighting off the Rolston forces, and winning, while Estermont’s cavalry moved in to assist. The Pretender’s forces split in the face of the cavalry, one half retreating, while the other half was destroyed in between the legionnaires and the knights.

 

Roland inwardly smiled this time, pleased with how well his father’s men, his men reacted to the surprise attack. Roland of course knew the way his father had come upon this throne, and that Lielle was in the right, but almost all of these nobles knew it too, and cared little and less. They each gained something from siding with Theodore, and that was all that mattered.

 

The Prince trotted along behind the pikemen of Traven, Vette, Northwode, and Maul. Maul and Vette were discussing something, occasionally laughing, while Traven and his Nord discussed the battle, pointing sometimes glancing at the Legion men and the Estermont led cavalry. Northwode looked like a half-drowned bird, with his beak like nose, sullen expression, and pale skin. Roland ignored them all, draining a health potion as the pain in his right shoulder flared up. The stab of pain subsiding, his thoughts shifted to his new wife.

 

Lyenna was, in Roland’s opinion, the best thing that had come of his father’s ambitions. He had no doubt Lord Traven, prudent as ever a man was, brought his daughter up to be infatuating and beguiling, but Roland fell for it all the same. He’d slept around more times than he cared to count in his younger years, but knew how to brew a simple aborting potion so as to save himself from any embarrassing bastards. But even with all those trysts, he never once felt he loved the girls. Only what they held in between their legs. He was infatuated with Lord Traven’s daughter, and he knew that no arranged marriage was ever so happy. They had known each other only a short time however, so he could not yet tell if she felt the same, but he didn’t care. He was hopelessly in love.

 

Though the part in between her legs isn’t bad either.

 

He knew that to all outsiders his parents’ marriage was the very model of perfection, but his parents were nothing if not good actors. Roland saw that it served to have a united front, in all things, though beneath that façade the king and queen were like all other couples. But they had never wavered in their ambitions, never once thought that poisoning his Lielle was wrong. Elayne and Lielle’s rivalry went back ages.

 

Even as prudent as his grandmother Joslin Gaerhart was, even she could not deny she loved Elayne more. King Dilborn had been even more obvious in his favoritism of Elayne. His father once told him that Lielle was a cruel child, always the most beautiful, always the one suitors fawned over. She fit the bill of queen perfectly, from her lovely appearance to her beguiling ways. She was a lot like Lyenna in regard, though Lyenna knew no cruelty, while Lielle was known to pinch and kick and hit those that displeased her as a younger woman. His father went on to say that he was originally proposed to Lielle, but he would have none of that. The way Theodore told it, he would not take her cruelty, not even for the proposition of being king someday, and it was no secret then that Lielle despised marrying the man she deemed a “fat drunken oaf, who shall soon be bald to boot.â€

 

It was then this plan was formulated, between Roland’s father and Queen Gaerhart. They could not let Aleron and Lielle to rule, but no mother would purposefully kill their daughter, even if it was their least favorite child. That was until Lielle drunkenly said, on her wedding night no less, that her father ought to die already, to let a real man like Aleron rule. Joslin knew then how truly pitiful a queen Lielle would be, and initiated the decades long plan, starting with the contraceptive potions.

 

Now they were here, on the cusp of victory. Roland looked on with admiration as Lielle’s cavalry, led by the silver lute on pink banner of Duke Jastal, crashed into the pikemen’s phalanx. It was obvious the cavalry was expecting little to no resistance, but instead they found a bristling porcupine of spears aimed at them. Spells flung back and forth as well, and a few arrows were traded. Their flanking maneuver was a total failure, and Roland couldn’t help but chuckle at how utterly crushed Lielle had been ever since her wedding day so many years ago. He turned to look over his hurt shoulder, and saw that his father’s spearmen were finding the same success.

 

Traven’s Nord gave a few blasts of the horn, and the host moved back to the untouched area of the King’s camp, where Estermont and the Legion men were already waiting. Theodore arrived at the same time Roland and Traven did, and without any beckoning the leaders assembled in the King’s tent.

 

Roland moved to his father’s right, noting that, while his own blade had gone unused, his father’s was red with blood, and he held his left arm in such a way that Roland could tell it had been injured somehow. That was the one area where his father was not as prudent and shrewd as he usually was, and he never shied away from joining his own soldiers in battle, once the commanding part was over.

 

Lord Traven, Lord Estermont, Roland, Theodore, and the various dukes and barons and knights allied to Theodore gathered around the large map table in the King’s personal tent. Roland watched his father wipe his nose, before addressing his vassals.

 

“My lords, we have turned a probable defeat into a grand victory,†the king said, smoothing out his mustache as he spoke. “Lord Estermont, Legate Montrose, my sincerest apologies in not heeding your advice to attack immediately. Mine own cautiousness cost us many a good man, but their blood was repaid twice over with that of traitors.â€

 

Estermont smiled, his face covered in blood, his gray beard laced with crimson. “My king, all you did was give the enemy a fair chance, which they foolishly wasted by using Orcs and savages to combat blooded knights. Once again, you prove yourself the one true king.â€

 

Roland smiled, and uttered “Aye,†along with several others, while Theodore bowed his head to the Lord of Shornhelm.

 

“Now, although we have scattered the enemy from the field, we are not yet finished. The walls of Evermor are thick and high, and while Baron Kirbath and Duke Theirry have been so kind as to oversee the building of siege engines, that will cost us many a man. I propose we send around a force of ten men each, one south west of the city, another north and east, along with the Redguards and their powder, to the river gate. The smaller the force, the better the chance they have to remain undetected, and once inside they can hide away. Meanwhile, the infantry will attack the main gate. Once the small force has blown the gate, Lord Estermont’s cavalry will ride around and storm through. If by that time we have not entered the city from the main gate, they can then open it, giving us the city.â€

 

No one spoke a word against the plan, as it was the best chance at success they had, so the king continued, as Roland scanned the crowd and saw many approving looks. His father had not only won them over to his side with favors and promised rewards, but also with his ability to command, from both horseback and throne.

 

“I will need twenty brave souls to volunteer for this endeavor, but they must be knights who will not be noticed missing by those manning the walls.â€

 

Roland saw his chance, and sprung. Kneeling, he said, “Father, bestow upon me the honor of leading a force, and will bring down those gates.â€

 

Roland could tell his father didn’t want to give him this assignment, but he must lest he injure Roland’s pride, and it would not do well to treat him like a child in front of all the nobles of High Rock. Not to be shown up by an injured youth, nearly all the knights in the room knelt as well, save those needed to command elsewhere, like Estermont’s three sons.

 

Ultimately, Roland and Sir Vette, Theodore’s captain of the guard, were chosen to lead. Sir Vette’s group, which was to go around the northeast, included two knights from Camlorn, Sir Maric and Sir Acques, as well as Sir Montgren, the Giant of Farrun and Sir Montieu, head of the Knights of the Blackened Heart of Shornhelm, along with Sir Stoine, Sir Phiencel, Sir Wicksley, Sir Rirne and Sir Jend. Roland’s group included Camlorn’s Knights of the Illesan head Sir Oges, as well Knights of the Dragon head Sir Bridwell, along with famed battlemage Sir Virelande, and the renowned Sir Metrik, while the group of ten was rounded out by Sir Churchill, Sir Fanriene, Sir Ancent, Sir Hayha, and Sir Roosevelt.

 

The two groups set off, while the movement of the siege engines and rams and infantrymen screened their clandestine mission. Roland downed another potion before he set off, adjusting his bastard blade in its saddle sheath as well. The road single file, with the Redguard and his powder on a strong backed mule in the center. They could still hear the sounds of the attack on the main gate long after the trees swallowed all sights but that of green ceiling, green walls, and brown floor. They didn’t speak, and hardly dared to breath, as even the attack from the main gate didn’t bring every guard down from the walls.

 

It wasn’t long before the gate was in sight, through a window in the trees. Roland turned to Sir Hayha, who did his high-pitched bird chirp several times, before the return call came from Vette’s men across the way. Now the hard part began. There were four guards atop the gate, and only Sir Vette was a skilled enough archer to hit them, and that still left three to deal with before they sounded the alarm and more soldiers came.

 

Roland turned to Sir Virelande and asked, “What spells do you know?†Roland himself only had the basics of magic down, and could conjure a flame and move items around telekinetically, but that was it.

 

Sir Virelande scowled every time he talked, as if moving his tongue hurt his mouth somehow. “Ice spike would take out one. Maybe two. I’d use a fury spell. Make them fight each other.â€

 

“Do that. Sir Hayha, I believe its time to attack,†Roland said, then told the Redguard to stick close to him.

 

Roland slid his wooden shield onto his left arm, pulled out his sword, and laid it across the saddle, so when the fighting came he didn’t have to waste time pulling it out. Sir Hayha called out a deep “caw†of a raven, and then followed out Sir Virelande, who led the attack. The guards didn’t see them immediately, and so when the arrow sprouted from one of their necks, it was too late. Virelande fired his spell, the red ball of light hitting one guard square in the back. Had they been close enough, they could have seen his eyes rolling back, glazing over with a red haze before his slid his blade deep into the ribs between his fellows armor. The next guard took an arrow to the calf, staggering to his knees, before his enraged friend nearly took his head off with a vicious swing. The bewitched guard then seemed lost, looking around for another enemy to attack. An ice spike hit him full in the chest, and then an arrow his right next to it, ending him for good.

 

The Redguards rushed to the gate, unpacking the barrels and pouring some of the powder out in a trail, to the edge of the cliff where everyone else waited. One conjured a flame in his fingers, touched the powder trail, and the sparks raced along until the explosion deafened everyone, sending pieces of the old oaken gate flying. One as large as a man’s leg killed a mule, but everyone else hid safely behind their shields. The sounds of the explosion still echoed off the mountains, and Roland had no doubt the main force heard. Then they charged, racing into the city to wreak as much havoc and keep the gate clear until the cavalry could arrive. Already Evermor guards and soldiers were regaining their feet, as many had been unsuspecting of the explosion, and stood to close to the gate.  

 

Roland rode a man down, slashing him in the back of the legs as he fled the destrier’s charge. With his weakened arm, it didn’t cut deep enough, so his pitiful screams sounded out, though almost no one heard them. Sir Acques used his war hammer to crush a man’s skull, then another’s chest, then another’s face. Sir Vette shot another arrow, and this one took a man in the throat. Sir Virelande used more magics, causing men to fight one another, as well as roasting them inside their armor. Sir Montgren the Giant’s battleaxe nearly severed a man in half, while Sir Maric had dismounted, as a few others had, and was using the armored points of his plate armor to deflect blows, enabling him to deal with three enemies at a time. Sir Hayha, though, fell to a thrown spear, while Sir Wicksley and Sir Roosevelt went down as well.

 

Then the booming horned sounded from behind them, as Roland dealt with another enemy, tossing his bull painted shield in the man’s face before running him through. The relief of the cavalry was almost palatable, and Roland sighed audibly. He turned just in time to see that, alongside the graying Lord Estermont and his three black-haired son, his own father rode, cleaving a man’s head off with one swing of his massive greatsword. Roland smiled, and knew that his father was truly the one true king, no matter the circumstances of his rise to the throne.

 

***

 

Theodore Adrard

Evermor

Midday

 

Evermor was his. Already, the bull’s head banner was going up above both gates, as the few pockets of resistance rightly surrendered, or foolishly fought on. Duke Willem Jastal, as skilled a fighter as any in High Rock, surrendered quietly, choosing the lives of his family over his honor. Duke Riscel, he of the red snake sigil, choose to resist, and was shot down by Sir Alix Vette. And now his family would be executed, as fitted unrepentant traitors. Baron Ashcroft, however, had fled, sneaking himself out of the destroyed River Gate in the aftermath of the fighting. He was an easily recognizable man, with only one arm, only one eye, and old, nearing eighty-five. Theodore did not doubt he would be found soon, and then brought to justice. Though he could not help but see the irony that the man with a running dog sigil was now a dog on the run.

 

Theodore, meanwhile, was a gracious conqueror, and already killed two of his own men he found raping a woman. Their bodies were being strung up on the walls, to show the rest of his men what happened to rapists. All that remained of the city was the keep, located on the highest point of the city, with its gates locked tight and barred. Once, a knight peered over the battlements to shout curses and spit at the king, but Sir Virelande put and end to that with a spear of ice.

 

The battering ram was brought up the hill, slowly, and when it finally arrived, they need not use it. Suddenly, the gates swung open, revealing a courtyard of butchered soldiers bearing the crossed blue and red rose of Rolston on their chests and shields. The three men wore patchwork armor, with a silver man for their sigils.

 

“The Silver Brigade,†the Breton king said, scowling. Around him, the remaining knights from Roland’s expedition moved closer to the king, and Roland even drew his sword, though Theo doubted his son would be much use against hardened killers with a lame sword arm, so Theo pulled his arm down and told him to sheath it.

 

“Is that any way to greet the men who gave you the Queen, excuse me, Lady of Evermor as a gift?†Sir Salomon Silver said. He was a Breton of ill repute, his genial smile and dreamy eyes as false as the title he bore.

 

Sir Montgren the Mountain spat, and said, “That’s how I greet scum like you.â€

 

The Nord to Silver’s right growled. His long face and bristly grey hair gave him a wolf-like appearance, as did the claws on his gauntlets and the wolf pelt cloak. “Shut your mouth, big man, or we’ll see if you can spit when I rip out that throat of yours.â€

 

The man made no move to his knife when he said it, but instead flashed a mouth of filed teeth that glistened with red spittle. Sir Oges restrained Montgren, pulling his horse away from the sellswords, chiding him with thump to the head. Theodore studied the other Breton, the man to Silver’s left, a quiet, small man with a long black hair and a missing ear. He knew him to be Geon Nin, a short name for a short man.

 

“I see no gift. Only three sellswords, who were minutes ago fighting against us,†Lord Estermont said, stroking his graying beard. Lord Traven nodded his assent, his cold eyes never moving from the trio of hirelings.

 

“’Tis true, we were paid to kill you. But no amount of coin is worth our lives, and it was obvious you were going to take the keep eventually. Starving to death is nearly just as painful as a blade to the chest, I hear,†Salomon said, fingering his thin mustache. “So, now we give you the castle and this false queen, though I might add we were paid up front, and now reap the benefits of coin and living. Your prize, my liege, is in the Mage’s Tower. The staff looking one.â€

 

Theodore spurred his horse toward the man, until he could smell the wine on the mercenary’s breath. Many a man drank before battle, and it did not surprise Theo that Silver was one of them. The king leaned in close; close enough so that only Silver could hear, and grabbed a fistful of the man’s cloak and pulled him closer.

 

“You have my leave to take these two men and do to her as you wish, though do not kill her. You are getting paid like a king, so why not bed a queen?†Theodore then spat at the man’s feet, and slapped him across the face with the back of his hand, riding into the courtyard with his knights and retainers in tow.

 

Several laughed at the mercs, though Silver had the intelligence to keep his two lackeys in check. They then scurried off to the back of the keep, taking care to avoid Theo’s entourage. The king rode the length of the great hall, called the Rose Hall, where a great wooden throne awaited him. It was intricately carved, made of painted vines, the armrests ending in two gorgeous roses, one blue, one red. He lopped off the flowers with one swing of his sword, then sat on the chair with a plop. The other lords, dukes, barons and knights filled the rows of benches and chairs around the empty long tables.

 

“My lords, I want this city no worse for wear. There will be no rape, and no pillaging tonight, and to keep the men off the streets, save the guards, we shall throw a feast. Until then, the camps must be cleared, and the dead buried. Burn the savages, but ensure even Rolston men are buried properly. Any knights may be returned home and entombed as their families wish. You all have men and matters to attend to, so you are dismissed,†Theodore said, rising awkwardly, as his left arm had taken a hit from a mace when Lielle’s cavalry attempted to flank him.

 

The noblemen faded away as they went to fulfill whatever duties were required of them, and Theodore left as well. He sought a warm bath and a healer to take care of the nasty blue and yellow and purple bruise on his left arm, but first, he had a mind to talk to the Pretender. He heard screams as he approached the Mage’s Tower, and thought he even heard a growl.

 

The great iron enforced oaken door swung open to reveal the three leaders of the Silver Brigade in the midst of their attack. Salomon was trying to grab Lielle while the other two looked on in eager anticipation, though Geon’s eyes were the only things that showed he was excited. They all ignored the king. 

 

Theodore had seen enough, so he drew his sword and impaled Geon first, withdrawing it while Salomon scampered away. The king chased him across the room, where the leader of the Silver Brigade was trying to find his sword amidst the pile of clothes. His head came flying off then, spurting blood all over the fine rugs on the floor. Wulfar was so distracted he didn't notice the flat of the sword hitting him full force in the face. He slumped over, unconscious, while Theodore turned to Lielle. She crawled across the room, towards the window over looking the rest of the keep.

 

“What’re you doing? She spat at the king, but was shaking so bad it barely escaped her mouth.

 

You got what you deserve. I am nothing if not fair and just, Lielle.â€

 

“Just? You framed my husband for poisoning you, you fat miserable oaf!â€

 

“It was that same description that started this. Lielle. You were vain and cruel and mean, not fit to be a ruler. You wished death upon your own father, and don’t deny that you were pleased at his death.â€

 

“Aleron always said he was too honorable by half, and dim as well. Aleron would have been a great king, but you-you murdered him.â€

 

“That’s where you’re wrong, Lielle. He was king. King-For-A-Day.†With that Theodore tossed his sword aside, grabbing Lielle by the hair and shoving her out. Her screams were not yet finished by the time Wulfar was joining her in the plummet. The king left, making sure his blade was appropriately bloody before he emerged from the keep huffing and puffing.

 

Around the bodies a crowd had gathered, including Sir Acques, Sir Montgren, Sir Oges, Duke Theirry (who had heaved once already and looked prime to do so again) and Lord Estermont’s oldest. Theodore cursed and threw his sword to the ground, shaking his big bald head.

 

“Curse those damned sellswords. I go to talk to the queen, and they were raping her. I killed two, but the third one pushed her out before I could stop him. I-I tried to grab him, but he jumped,†Theodore said, staring as the splatter of bones and blood and flesh. The two corpses were barely identifiable, but Lielle’s golden blonde hair had survived enough to distinguish her.

 

“Clean this up, please. Hang the mercenaries on the walls with the other rapists. Put that one in a bucket if you have to. And clean this up before the feast. Good knights, if you will go tell the other Lords what happened, I would be duly appreciative. I feel soiled, and need a bath. No one should ever have to witness what I saw up there,†Theo said, picking up his sword and taking it with him, his face noticeably paler than his usual paleness.

 

He made for the Rolston’s personal quarters, where he was pleased to find a tub large enough for four. Servants ushered in the hot water, and he sank down to his chin, the usually curled ends of his mustache drooping down to touch the water. Theo sighed audibly, though no one was there to hear it. He listened to the city, and heard not a single sound of war, which lifted the frown from his face. Peace would be a nice change.

 

The water was cold when the courier arrived, so he threw on a cloak as the servants emptied and refilled the tub. He already looked like a large, white prune, but the hot water relaxed him and helped ease the soreness of his bruised left arm. He also noticed his cold seemed better in he presence of the steam.

 

“My king,†the messenger said from his knee, “I bring grave news. Your nephew Dilborn Ryger, Lord of Farrun, passed away three days ago. It was a sickness, they said, and he was too young to bear it.â€

 

Duke LaRouche’s work, no doubt, but a babe as Lord is something no one wants. Shame I couldn’t whisk the boy away though, he was my great-nephew after all.

 

“It is always a sorrowful day when a child dies, but now he may join his parents and grandparents in Aetherius. Is that all?†the King of High Rock asked.

 

“Farr family was also killed, down to the last member. Reachmen, probably part of the force that surprised the Farrun camp.â€

 

“Rise, sir,†Theodore said, and shuffled across the rugs of the room to a dresser, where he looked through an assortment of jewelry until he found an appropriate ring. It was silver and sapphire, the gemstone carved in the likeness of a rose. “For your good service.â€

 

“Thank you, my liege,†the man said gratefully as he left.

 

That is one good thing that came from that heathen attack. Now no one will suspect those were my Reachmen. They knew too much, and barons are easily replaceable. Shame, Anya was such a loyal servant. Nireli Seles was right, Mephala must be pleased with my scheming. How else could these separate schemes both come together and benefit me so perfectly?

 

Theodore returned to his bath, sitting up with his arms rested on the outside of the great tub. He called in a servant, who went off and fetched his son. Roland entered, freshly bathed as well, beaming with such youthful joy Theodore couldn’t help but smile as well.

 

“What has you so happy?â€

 

“Lyenna is pregnant! I got a letter from her just now. She wants to name it Dilborn, if it’s a boy, or Joslin, if it’s a girl,†Roland said, pulling a stool over to sit by his father’s side.

 

Theodore smiled, a true and real smile. He was happy his heir had an heir, but it also warmed his heart to see his son so taken with the Traven girl. “Congratulations, son. Though, I wouldn’t name it Dilborn. Seems the name carries a curse. Dilborn Ryger died, only three days ago. I think that was Duke LaRouche’s doing, but it is no matter.â€

 

Even the news of his cousin’s death couldn’t waver Roland’s cheerfulness. “Damien then, after the first Gaerhart lord of Daggerfall. And maybe Elysana, that’s a name I know bears no curses.â€

 

Theodore laughed, and nodded. “Now son, I have a secret of my own to tell you. My visit to Cyrodiil was almost very fruitful for our family. I discussed marrying you to the Empress, who is around your age, and initially she declined, but as I began to leave, she accepted.â€

 

Roland raised his eyebrows, as befitted a man who was learning of how he almost became emperor.

 

“I was overjoyed, obviously, as this changed all the plans we had worked so hard to bring to fruition, and for the better. Your grandmother was excited as well, as it meant none of this business with the Rolston need happen. However, it was obviously not to be. The Empress became engaged to the court mage for one reason or another, so she cancelled the engagement.â€

 

Nodding, Roland sat there in silence for a minute. “Why tell me this? Or better yet, why not tell me sooner?â€

 

“Because I didn’t want you always thinking about what could have been. And now that I see you so happy, I know that my telling you won’t have the slightest affect. Love is one thing I’ve never known, Roland. Your mother and I respect and admire and love each other, yes, but we are not in love the way Lyenna and you are. Do not ever believe she does not share your feelings, son. I’ve seen the way she blushes when you touch her hand, and the way she smile that mischievous smile when she thinks we aren’t looking. Hold on to that love, and protect it, just like I have, your mother has, Nireli and Cruttus have taught you. Whatever happens after I die, I know our kingdom is in capable hands,†Theodore grasped his son by the shoulder and smiled, his eyes watery around the edges.

 

Roland hugged him, even though he was naked in the tub. “Thank you, father. It means a lot to hear you say that.â€

 

“And Roland,†Theodore said, as his son was near the door, “You fought well today. Keep your sword arm strong and your shield up.â€

 

The Prince nodded, then turned and left, leaving Theodore along once again. He exited the tub and dressed, as evening was coming soon. He choose a long, billowy-sleeved fur-lined cloak, black with white fur. Under it was his customary brown tunic, with the bull’s head done in black, the eye garnets sewn in. Black boots and pants matched his ebony crown, which held blood-red rubies. While usually he wouldn’t wear his greatsword, tonight he wanted to remind the people that this king was no mere politician, so he slung the sheath over his back.

 

He picked up his sword from the squire who cleaned it, riding the two-handed sword of the blood of numerous enemies. Salomon Silver, Wulfar, Geon, even Baron Ysciele. Though the former Wayrest vassal had joined Theo, he’d never been as accepting as fellow Wayrestian Duke Aric, even going so far as to insult the king. He surely regretted that when he tried to exit that alley, only to find Theodore blocking the way. For all the man’s talk, he went down easily, trying to talk his way out of the fight as he blocked blow after blow from the greatsword. At least his was an honorable death, and he would go down as having died for the winning side.

 

Next he visited the small temple in the keep. Theodore prayed to each of the gods in kind, and even sent up a silent prayer to Mephala, whom he hoped would help unravel any plans against him, and keep his plots secret and safe. The High Priest of Evermor was waiting to bless his rule at the Rose Hall, along with all of the nobles who fought so valiantly for the one true king. Their banners lined the sides of the hall, while Theo’s hung behind the throne. Elk for Lord Traven, whale for the absent Lady Gaerhart, pierced heart for Lord Estermont, snowy saber cat for the now dead Ryger lineage, three mountains of Birian, the Lady Turncloak and Gate-Opener. Mon’s owl, Gondwyn’s peregrine, Theirry’s boat, Vette’s feathers, Ottus’ mace, Wirich’s spider, Brolus’ rams, Northwode’s ravens, LaRouche’s bear, Endre’s geese, Maul’s severed head, Jastal’s lute, and Aric’s dolphins, as well as the banners of the various barons, were all represented.

 

After the blessing, the feast began, starting off with a course of smoked and peppered pork. Next came a vegetable stew, with fresh, grainy bread. A different wine was served with each course, and Theodore made a joke about choking on his, to which the entire hall laughed. After the stew came whole chickens basted in a lemon sauce, on a spinach pallet. Next was a bloody beef roast, with more bread to mop it up. Then came mashed potatoes and thick, greasy gravy, peppered and salted to perfection. Finally, the deserts. Lemon cakes, berry crostatas, chocolate cakes, fruit pies, and more wine to wash it all down. The king waited half an hour after the feast to begin the most anticipated part of the feast: the handing out of titles and honors.

 

“Duke Edwistyr Vette, who has served me so honorably these many years, is awarded the Lordship of Evermor.†The black haired, sharp-featured man kneeled before the king, thanking His Grace.

 

“Duke Marc LaRouche, ever the faithful servant of Farrun, is awarded the Lordship of Farrun, now that Lord Dilborn Ryger has passed on.†LaRouche looked every part his bear sigil, large of chest, with a thick beard, even sporting the garish green and yellow of his emblem.

 

“Lady Roain Birian of Jehanna will rule as Lord Regent until such time as her son is of age. Henry Leland is awarded the Lordship of Wayrest. Sir Lewin Theirry is awarded the former Duchy of the late Duke Gondwyn, who left no heirs. Baron Inwald Eardwulf will take over Duke Vette’s former lands. Sir Vincent Oges will take over Baron Eardwulf’s former lands.â€

 

And so on and on it went. Sir Gaspar Charien replaced the heirless and deceased Duke Endre, Baron Geves took over LaRouche’s former lands, Sir Nicolard Ancent replaced Geves, Baron Varnis Litte replaced Chirditte, and Sir Faric Ambywyr replaced Litte.

 

“And my loyal guard captain Sir Alix Vette, is awarded the Riscel’s former barony, and has taken the snake of Riscel and pierced it with arrows for his sigil. Very appropriate, I think, Duke Vette,†the hall laughed and the new duke beamed with a drunken smile.

 

Duke Willem Jastal retained his duchy, while Sir Traelius Acques replaced the Farrs. Sir Moric Montgren the Mountain replaced the escaped Baron Ashcroft, Sir Gavin Aric took over the Duchy his late brother held, Sir Davide Rostorard replaced Duke Steive, Sir Theranis Decel replaced Baron Maston, and Grantham Ysciele replaced his cousin Baron Lanis Ysciele. But the honors were not yet finished.

 

“And now, for the highest honors. I would be a foolish king if I said I did this on my own. In truth, I had more help than will ever be properly thanked. But these select few have helped me the most, and they must be honored. I am creating the Council of Lords, who will advise me in all matters foreign and domestic. Lord Traven will serve as Lord Regent, overseeing that the law is upheld across the land. Lord Estermont will serve as Lord General, commanding my armies. Lady Joslin Gaerhart will serve as Lord of Secrets, rooting out spies and treason. Duke Lewin Theirry will serve as Lord Admiral, commanding our naval forces. Sir Bevyn Virelande, who impressed us all, will serve as my Royal Battlemage, training our soldiers in the magical arts. My Captain-of-the-Guard, and Head Knight of the Knights of the Bull, will be Sir Thomas Maric. Lord Treasurer will be Lord Henry Leland, and will advise in all matter of money, as well as head our national bank. Last but not least, I will fill the spot of Court Wizard soon, to complete my council.â€

 

Theodore knew, somewhere beneath that green and white owl banner, Duke Mon was fuming. He may have been smiling externally, but internally he would feel betrayed and rejected. But money speaks, and so do ships, and Henry Leland had used both to buy himself a spot on the council, and a lordship. He was poorer now, but more powerful than he ever would have been as a merchantman.

 

“Now, I have one more honor to bestow. Legate Montrose, will you please come forward,†Theodore said.

 

All eyes turned to the back of the hall, and followed Legate Montrose as he came forward. His expression was one of surprise. No doubt this man of Cyrodiil had not expected to be mentioned among the lords of High Rock, at least not publicly.

 

Theodore waited for the man to stand before the throne, though he knew the Legate would not kneel. He swore fealty to the Empress, not the king. "Legate Reyderic Montrose is a faithful servant of the Empress, as faithful as any. Is that not true, Legate? How long have you served our good Empire?"

 

"It is. I have served our Empire for twenty five years."

 

"A regular veteran," Theodore said, fingering the curl of his mustache. 

"Would you mind reading this letter? And identifying whom it's from?â€

 

Confused, the Legate nodded and stepped forward to take the letter Theodore produced. He cleared his throat and began to read:
"Your Majesty Theodore Adrard, I will waste no time with pleasantries. You have my full support. Show my seal to the legionary officer in-charge and you'll have the full access to the Imperial Legion forces stationed in High Rock, along with any resources I can allocate. Crush these rebel scum in the name of the Dragon, King Adrard."
 

Legate Montrose's eyes went over the paper for several moments more before he added.
"It's signed by the Empress."

 

"Ah, I believe you forgot a part. The post signature, if you will," Theodore said, absentmindedly peering off to nowhere in particular.

 

"I..." The Legate looked around the room, shifting his weight to the right. "It reads: P.S. When I visit next time, make sure you have a selection of... maids and...maidens for me to browse. I hear there's some mighty fine ladies in High Rock."

 

Theodore's eyes snapped back to the Legate, and he frowned considerably. "This is an old letter, that much is true. I apologize for this, Legate Montrose, you are nothing if not loyal, and your help and men have been greatly appreciated. But now, you, your men, and the Empire must leave High Rock, forever."

Murmurs and whispers abounded, but Theodore's slammed fist silenced that. "This is not the only false, and rather unprofessional way our Empress has conducted herself. She promised me that she would marry my son, but the promise was rescinded without so much as an apology. She said that, were they to marry, my son would be her 'b*tch.'"

Theodore rose, glaring down from the upraised platform the throne sat upon, his eyes boring holes in the poor, innocent legate. "My family, and High Rock, is not, and will never be, the Empire's b*tch! We will not be belittled and disrespected by the likes of her."

"Your Empress has done nothing but flounder and fail while her consort cleans up her messes in Bravil, Leyawiin, Cheydinhal, yet he is nothing but an up-jumped court mage. And, he is responsible for executing General Tullius, who has never once went against the Empire. He ran off Lorgar Grim-Maw, hunted down Jon Hard-Heart, and fornicates with his Spymaster Lillin Qunetas, as well as courtesans and maids. I would argue he used his fouls magics to twist the minds of Tullius and Lorgar, so as to weaken and destroy them, and replace them with his weak-willed lackeys."

The hall was growing restless, yelling insults at the few legion men at the tables, with whom they had joked and drank with mere moments earlier. Theodore quieted them down with a his open hand, his palm facing his vassals.

"The Empire is a shadow, and empty shell of it's former self. Ruled by corruption, by man-whores and a pedophile Empress who preys on young maidens. You have it from her own hand! My only regret is that High Rock was the last to see this unnatural, unholy cesspit for what it truly is. Legate Montrose, you will march your men to Wayrest in two days time, where a boat waits to take you back to Cyrodiil. I hope you bear the Empress, though she is that in name only, my best regards."

The hall roared a collective, clamorous yell, shouting out "The-o-dore! The-o-dore!†and "Long live the King!" Theodore beamed, soaking up the praise. Lord Estermont nodded his assent; Lord Traven even ventured a smile, while Roland moved to his father's side. High Rock was free at last.

[TheCzarsHussar]

The Brothers Horn-hand

On the way to Ansilvund

Late morning

 

"There once was hero named Ragnar the Red who came riding to Whiterun from old Rorikstead!" Roggi Knot-Beard sang, off key but not altogether horribly. He was even known to get better as he drank, but he'd only had one bottle of mead this morning. 

He and the Brothers Horn-Hand, along with the Dunmer alchemist, walked in the orange light of the dawn sun. Roggi had his hide shield slung across his back, and his iron sword dangling from a metal loop in his belt, in lieu of an actual sheath. His fur armor covered a green tunic, though he had a pair of hide bracers instead of fur gloves. 

Rounding out the group were two other mercenaries, though Roggi couldn't remember their names, no matter how much he toyed with his knotted beard in though. He walked up to Jurik, and leaned in close. 

"Who are those two, again?" the mead on his breath was dark and wheaty, just the way the Nord from Kynesgrove liked it.

 

"Those?" Jurik shook his head with a smile. "Cidius and Amiel. I think they're from Chorrol, but I'm not sure."

 

Their new friends looked to be of Colovian blood, but Jurik couldn't tell for sure. He didn't know that many Cyrods. Their father could probably have told them, but it didn't really matter. They wore heavy armor distinctly of Imperial make though, modified for the northern climate, but without the Dragon motif of the Empire. Instead it was a simple diamond that was the mark, red in color. There was no doubt about what it was meant to symbolize. He doubted they were part of the Empire's military though. They Legion would have been foolish to send someone so clearly marked as outsiders, and even better as Cyrods, and Jurik had never gotten the impression that the Legion was full of fools. He didn't expect the Stormcloak Army to send someone with the Bear symbol of Windhelm to work undercover in Cyrodiil either.

 

"I don't care where they are from as long as they can hold their own in a fight," Gjoring grunted. He didn't look like he was fully awake yet. "And that they keep their word about splitting the reward."

 

"Don't worry about it," Amiel said back, chuckling. He was about as tall as Jurik, perhaps an inch shorter, with short black hair and a thick mustache, both of whom had strains of grey in them. He carried a greatsword. "There's enough gold in this job for all of us to be greedy and still not having to fight about it. Best thing about working for mages more interested in research than wealth is that they are quick to part with it to further their hobby."

 

"And don't worry about fighting: I bet we could put any of you flat on your backs," Cidius added. He was as tall as his friend, but sported no facial hair, and had shaved his head nearly bald. He was armed with a dagger and a war axe. He gave Mivanu a wink. Jurik saw Gjoring reached for his own weapon, but laughed instead when Mivanu rolled her eyes for all to see at the gesture. Cidius seemed to blush a bit, but it disappeared quickly. "We're about half an hour from Ansilvund. We don't expect to find much there, to be honest, but one never knows with these old ruins. Last reports was that a powerful necromancer was driven out or killed or whatever from here not too long ago and we're basically going to pick up what we can so the Patron might learn what went on here. Full discretion and no involving of the authorities. Got it?"

 

"Sure," Mivanu replied. "Who would like to hear that we're helping a necromancer from Cyrodiil?"

 

"I dunno if he's a necromancer," Amiel shrugged. "But it doesn't matter. His coin, his rules."

 

Jurik felt his gut turn a little. They hadn't mentioned anything about necromancy before now. He was tempted to turn back right now and get the Windhelm Guard. He gave a look to Gjoring and Mivanu, who looked to be thinking the same thing. Mivanu looked to Roggi.

 

Upon noticing Mivanu's look, Knot-Beard gave an uneasy grin. "I doubt that there would be more necromancers, especially since they rooted the last one out. And as much time as I spend in the tavern, I think I would've heard if any more took the place over."

Roggi went back to humming his song, this time shifting to a tune a bear and a maiden, brushing off the talk of mages and necromancers.

 

"Killing them is one thing, but I'm more worried we might be helping one," Jurik mumbled, just loud enough for Roggi to hear it. It didn't look like the Imperials did.

 

"True enough. So, Horn-Hand, what's your story? You don't seem like the usual lot of sellswords I've met." Roggi indicated with his head towards the Colovians, who seemed mercs to the bone.

 

"Good upbringing, I guess," Jurik shrugged. "Father was a Legionnaire to the core. Always went on about honor and duty."

 

"Yeah, lot of ******* good that got him," Gjoring added, annoyed in his tone. "Died in the civil war. Just another conflict our family choose the wrong side in. But... he was a good man."

 

Mivanu shrugged. "You think your father went on about honor and duty? My old man wanted me to become a frikkin priestess of the Tribunal."

 

"Oh boy," Jurik sighed, but gave a quick wink to Roggi to show he wasn't serious. Just teasing Mivanu. "Don't get her talking about her family, she never shuts up about it. Sometimes I wonder if it was to get her silent that he kissed her the first time."

 

Roggi snorted when he laughed, and now he sounded like a hog, snorting and bending over clutching his sides as he chortled.

When he finally finished he said, "And I bet the same trick wouldn't work if I tried it. The only thing I'd be likely to kiss is Gjoring's fist."

 

Mivanu put on a coy expression, pouting her lips. "You could try..."

 

"Go right ahead, I wonder if she's worth the trouble sometime," Gjoring laughed. As he did, Mivanu looked disappointed.

 

"It's no fun if you're in on the joke!"

 

"Hey, are you guys gonna shut up anytime?" Amiel broke in, scowling at them. He and Cidius had to stop to wait for the others. "We kinda have somewhere to be, if you haven't forgotten. Bloody amateurs..."

 

The last sentence was mumbled to Cidius, outside of the earshot of the others. Cidius seemed to say something to Amiel that made him lose his grimace. Coming back to them, he took the rear guard. "Don't worry 'baut father. He used to be Legion. Doesn't like the thought of people relaxing a bit as we get on our way. He'd be more comfortable if he could order you to march in lockstep and obey his every command."

 

"Sounds like my father," Mivanu mumbled.

 

"My father never did anything but mine, and doubt he cared much about anything else. 'Roggi,' he always said, 'minings a fine business. Builds strong backs and rough hands. Men were made to work, it pleases the gods.' He was full of sh*t, that old coot," Roggi said, shaking his head at the memory.

 

"I think most parents are," Jurik replied, more dourly than he had intended. "They live in the past. The world changes, a little bit, with every generation. Kynareth only knows the world would be better if people learned this."

 

"Heh," Cidius said. "My father almost reenlisted in the Legion when he heard about Ulfric's rebellion. I talked him out of it. No point throwing away ones life at fighting against someone else's freedom."

 

"You were against the Empire keeping control of Skyrim?" Gjoring raised an eyebrow. "But you're an Imperial."

 

"So?"

 

Roggi gave a little snort, and shook his head again. "Never mined harder in my life then when that damned rebellion started. Our boss had us working shifts until our hands bled, getting malachite for Ulfric's forges. To hell with rebellion, I say. What did I get out of it? A god who doesn't answer my prayers?"

 

"We don't involve ourselves in that stuff," Mivanu said, nodding towards Jurik and Gjoring.

 

"Yeah," Gjoring added. "Looking at our family history, choosing sides isn't our thing. We always choose the wrong side anyway, so why bother?"

 

"I appreciate being free to openly acknowledge Talos," Jurik said, absentmindedly. He didn't really care about whether or not Skyrim had remained independent. To him, a commoner, what did it matter if the highest legal authority was the High King or the Emperor? "But beyond that I don't care for the Stormcloaks much. Not the Empire either. I'm more concerned with who the Jarl is wherever I happen to be living at any given time."

 

"You got to not have your nation sold out again," Cidius said. His tone spoke of restrained passion, more than any of the other people had showed. Jurik thought he seemed to suppress some annoyance that none of his companions shared his view on the Empire. "I may be an Imperial, but there is no way I am going to look at the White-Gold Concordat as anything but a surrender unworthy of the idea of the Empire. Letting elves take away people to fates best left undescribed for their beliefs? When it was signed, the Empire forfeited its right to rule."

 

"The Empires no more than Cyrodiil and High Rock anyway. And I've heard they even have a girl on the throne. And her husband? A Nord," Roggi said, smiling as he did. "I guess getting pounded in war by us Nords only made her want to get pounded by a Nord in other ways as well."

 

"I dunno. Invading through the Jeralls isn't easy, no matter who you are. Our father had some books about what happened to the Akavir in the time of Reman Cyrodiil. Supposedly the Jeralls did more to defeat them than any army at the time could do," Jurik looked up at the sky. It was cloudy. The group stopped, taking to the left off the main road. They were close to the old ruin.

 

"I don't think it matters what race the Emperor is," Mivanu added.

 

"I agree. Cyrodilic culture at the heart of the Imperial City, no matter the race of the ass on it," Gjoring ran his index finger along the blade of his axe.

 

"I can think of worse cultures than the Cyrodilic one to lord over others," Cidius countered. "Imagine the Altmer or the Dunmer getting their way across the continent. Or you Nords. I like your people, but I wouldn't want to be an elf in a Nordic Empire."

 

Roggi nodded, but didn't reply. He'd been known to make a racist comment or two while in the cups, a fact he shamefully regretted every morning. Thankfully, he'd avoided that when he met the Horn-Hands. 

"What else do you two Imperials know about this ruin?"

 

"I know the contractor said Lu'ah Al-Skaven was a powerful necromancer and had a strong following. That she was raving mad, wanting to get her revenge on both the Empire and the Stormcloaks because her husband died in the Great War. And that she was attempting to corrupt the spirits of two once famous Nords who this tomb was built for. And that this place was cleared out sometime in the mess of the civil war. Lu'ah dead, the spirits free yadayadayada... Now, here is the interesting part: Supposedly the one who cleared the place out didn't have an eye for certain valuables and overlooked something that could be very valuable to, and I quote our contractor, 'an openminded and brilliant mage, unaffected by the superstitious nature of the common rabble'. Don't know what that means, but he offered a lot of gold for us to search it for him."

 

Cidius didn't seem all that interested in what he was telling them. He was probably a bit annoyed to have to tell them at all, since he had clearly memorized it for this contract.

 

Jurik and Gjoring gave the Imperial brief, scowling looks. They had never hated the elves, and didn't like being grouped into the Nords who did. And they knew a lot of the Nords around Skyrim felt the same way. But they let it go. No point in making a big deal out of it. And it was true that the Nords of old hadn't been particularly generous hosts to the elves in their lands. Hell, even the most revered hero among the Nords was known for driving out the elves of Skyrim.

 

"You would think if this mage was so 'brilliant,' he would get it himself. Or at least come along for the ride," Roggi said resentfully. "And I hope whoever cleared the place last time left us some loot. Maybe we'll even find my family's shield."

 

"I prefer to not have the boss around when doing the mission," Cidius admitted. "Stuff gets tense. I like to be able to take it a bit more slow. That's why I could never have joined the Legion. I guess pa cured me of rigorous structure at an early age."

 

"I'd say it is pretty smart of him to not risk his life getting something he can afford to make others fetch," Mivanu let out a heavy sigh. She was getting tired of all the jammering. "Sending some expendable sellswords that you don't have to pay if they die on the job is better than going in with them and dying."

 

"Guess I'm just new to how this mercenary stuff works," Roggi admitted, taking a swig of a freshly opened bottle of mead. He shrugged and said no more. 

 

***

 

The group walked in silence the rest of the way to the entrance of Ansilvund. Outside there was the remnants of what looked to have once been an Imperial guard tower. On the ground there were old a weathered sleeping bags, clearly not used in a long time, as well as signs of a bonfire. Footprints were plenty, but it was hard to tell if they were old or new, and they were mixed with animal tracks of several kings. Jurik could see bear, wolf and elk tracks, among others. Amiel wasted no time going over to the door.

 

"Hang on," Cidius said, raising his hand. "Shouldn't we take some time and see what we can find out here? Maybe we find a journal or something."

 

Jurik and Gjoring nodded. Mivanu wasn't listening; she had seen a plant she found interesting and was in the process of harvesting its roots.

 

Roggi poked around the old sleeping rolls, lifting open the musty flaps, but finding nothing of interest. He shifted through the ashes of the fire, but if they had burned a journal in it, he couldn't tell.

 

Gjoring and Jurik went into the ruined tower, but there was nothing there but an old, dusty alchemy setup, as well as a sleeping bag that had been torn badly. No blood, no fur, no sign of what caused it.

 

"Found anything?" Cidius stuck his head in to them. They shook their head. "Better get inside then, before father goes bonkers."

 

***

 

Ansilvund

Midday

Vantius

 

"Fascinating," Vantius said, looking at the body he had found. Draugr, the locals called them. Whatever the Nords did to their dead, he liked it. These ruins were amazing treasure coves of servants. And so well preserved! Anchorite Krognar had once said that the old traditions are about making the bodies of the dead protect the one whom the tomb was built for, and it showed. There was signs that this Draugr had been killed after resurrecting, but it was still far above specimen one could expect most other places he had been.

 

The armor it wore wasn't great, but functional. Iron make, from the looks of it. Old... worn... He smiled. The weapon near it was of more notable quality. It would make for a fine guardian. He looked up towards the entrance; he had heard a noise.

 

"Hey, Anine?" Vantius shouted. He was answered with an annoyed 'what?'. "Did we hire any mercenaries? No? Oh, better run and tell the Anchorite that we have visitors then. And prepare the resurrection circles! I'll try to take one or two of them down with me."

 

***

 

The Brothers Horn-Hand

 

Roggi followed the Colovian sellswords, breathing quietly behind his hide shield. He suddenly regretted no buying one that offered more protection, but he'd wanted some mead for the road, so that became the priority. He noticed his hand was shaking a little, and he realized how scared he was. Roggi had never killed before, never swung a sword besides a few times at a tree. He hoped it wouldn't show too much when it came time to fight.

 

When they heard the shouts of whoever it was that had set up shop, Gjoring immediately took lead of the group. His armor allowed him to move fast. Jurik and the Colovians followed after, running in front of Roggi. Jurik gave the man a glace, noting that his confident self wasn't there anymore. You and me both, he thought to himself. Whatever and 'Anchorite' was, he didn't like the sound of it. He thought he recognized the name, but couldn't be sure.

 

In the room below, they were met by an Imperial, dark of hair and skin, in black robes. On his chest there was a skull in faded red. He was standing on a ledge just above them, looking at them with determination. His eyes betrayed no fear of what was to come, despite being outnumbered six to one.

 

"Kill them," he said, calmly. They heard a noise from the passage to their right; a number of dead bastards looked at them with their weapons drawn. The cold, glowing eyes of the draugr showed no mercy, no hesitation, no knowledge that they were not attacking the ones who defiled the tomb.

[TheCzarsHussar]

Theodore Adrard

Evermor

Evening

 

Theodore, though he didn't show it, was more content than he could ever remember being. The loose ends of his succession were tied up, he had successfully seceded, and only Duke Mon had expressed any discord with the council appointments. But Mon, as rich as he was, held no sway over anyone. He was a lickspittle, and it surprised Theo he even dared to question Leland's appointment as Lord Treasurer. 

It was late, and the King of High Rock had just finished the first meeting of his council. Only four attended, though, as the rest had not accompanied the hosts to battle. But his battlemage Sir Virelande was there, as well as his regent Lord Traven, his general Lord Estermont, and his guard captain Sir Maric, who trailed him now. 

Theo had grown fond of the quiet man. Sir Thomas Maric was a knight, from a long line of knights. He'd gone off at a young age to adventurer and seek fame, questing in Skyrim fifteen or so years ago. It was said he fell in love with a woman there, but for whatever reason she didn't come home with him, and it had hardened him against love ever since. The Widower Warrior, some called him, though he was not a true widower. He acted the part, though, his dark hair and dark blue eyes as sullen as his attitude, though he did not lack for intelligence. 

But he was a skilled warrior, even at only thirty five. He wore dark ebony armor, passed down from his family, and used a longsword with such skill that Theodore has no doubt he could take on many men at one time, as Roland purported he had during the battle. 

Theodore greeted the two guardsmen outside his room, formerly the Rolston's room, but they stopped him before he could enter. 

"My king, you have a visitor. He's waiting in your chamber."

"Thank you, sir."

Theodore wondered who could be visiting him now, the evening after his battle. He opened the door to find a Breton, young, with a charming smile. Sir Maric followed in his king, and moved to stand beside his liege lord, positioning himself between Theodore and the stranger. 

"And you are?" Theodore asked, eyebrows raised.

 

"Someone who prefers privacy," the man laughed. He was a handsome man, lean and with deep brown eyes. His hair was of a light brown color, neatly held in a rogue knot. He sported no beard or mustache. He looked at Theodore, after giving Maric an approving glance. "I am afraid I am going to have to insist. It has to do with the fate of the False Queen." For a moment the man's eyes pierced that of King Adrard.

 

"A sad fate. Raped and murdered by sellswords, who did it to spite me. I should have known they would be upset I didn't congratulate their treachery, but I never suspected they would go so far as to rape her. You may see their bodies if you wish, though one had to be hung in a bucket." Theodore lowered his eyebrows, and kept his face straight. 

Sir Maric frowned, narrowing his eyes as he said, "It's customary for citizens to kneel when they greet a king."

 

"That's a strange telling of the story," the man said, laughing again. He ignored the knight and remained laid back, leaning on the wall. "Very strange indeed. As strange as the story of you meeting a friend of mine in the Imperial City, a long time ago. I'm sure you'd remember her. Attractive Dark Elf, practically threw herself at you."

 

Sir Maric continued to frown, but otherwise didn't say anything. Instead he rested his hand on the pommel of his sheathed sword. Theodore nodded, recalling Alef quite well, though he would rather not have. 

"That she did. Though I would have none of it. I am loyal to my wife. I will pretend you didn't suggest I'm a liar, as I'm sure your employer wouldn't appreciate it. In the future, I would guard your tongue against it."

 

"Ah, so you do know who I am. Excellent. Now, would you please dismiss your guard dog? I do so hate having an audience for this kinds of meetings. And I would prefer to not have to see to that myself," he gave a wink to Maric, forming the question 'my room later?' with his lips. He knew the knight had keen enough eyes to catch it. Shaking his head, he turned his attention to Theodore again. "Come now, I am not suggesting anything. I am outright saying that you're a liar. So am I. And your friend here. And we both know I'll get away with it. My 'employer', as you call him, would do so too. Don't get me wrong, I admire your lies. That is why I am here."

 

Theodore toyed with the curl of his mustache, dissecting this arrogant man. Alef had the same way about her, wondering how and why he wouldn't fall to her guiles. No doubt a product of their near invincibility from being such a powerful information broker's pawn. Some pieces always thought themselves more important than they were. 

"You may call be a liar, sir, but that does not make it true. As a king, and a prudent one at that, I do not think I'll be dismissing Sir Maric. Not after my poisoning, and not after an assassin attacked my mother-in-law. He's sworn a holy oath to uphold my secrets, and does not lack for the conviction to uphold said oath. He will stay."

 

"You are really starting to bore me. Don't think I am some expendable agent you can play; I am the Masque of High Rock. When I tell you I want privacy, your job is to say 'yes, sir'."

 

Sir Maric scoffed at the title. Theodore raised an eyebrow again, but otherwise said nothing for a few moments. 

Kings do not bow, yet pride is a grievous folly. Especially when dealing with such a powerful and dangerous man. Bend but not break, I suppose.

"There will be no 'yes sir,' but Sir Maric will leave."

Sir Maric gave a glance at his king, bowed, then left. 

"Now what is it you so dearly seek my audience, and my privacy, for, Mr. Masque." Theodore moved to the bed, and sat at the foot of it, facing the man against the wall.

 

"Excellent. My eyes and ears told me you weren't unreasonable, once you understood where we stand," the Masque's friendly demeanor returned immediately. "I do wonder what the Scoffing Man will think of my - shall we say name? Yes, let's - name now. I am glad I did not need to explain to you what it entails."

 

He drew out a small glass flask from his pocket and took a sip. For a few moments he held his eyes closed as he adjusted himself to the ability to see the life in the people around them. No listeners at the door. Good. He opened his eyes again. "Now, I do want to congratulate you for your lies. Truly, I rarely meet others who follow the Whispering Lady, but you have her stench about you. Using the Reachmen, and the Legion, then turning on them nearly flawlessly. Even your execution of the False Queen was entertaining to see unfold."

 

Theodore could tell that, whatever the man drank, was not of the alcoholic persuasion. Why else would he scan the room after drinking? He had plenty of time before Theo arrived to check for others, so he must be looking through these walls, instead of within them. He had suspected he would ensure their privacy, though a muffle spell was what Theo had expected. 

Dangerous indeed. Now whether or accept or deny...he deals in information, and therefore can't be trusted with the truth. Not the whole truth, anyway.

"Yes, the Legion served it's purpose very well before I turned on them. But I was used by the Empire, just as I used their soldiers. A fair trade, though I have sent coin with the Legate for the dead soldiers' families. That's more than the Empire would have done for them. I'm sure you already know my motives in seceding. The speech made them rather plain."

 

"Yes, it was almost... inspirational. The Masques and the one who wears us have no qualm with people who seek independence from the Empire. Rulers rise and fall, but we never go out of work. Tell me, was it because she was cruel you decided to take some time to enjoy the view of the False Queen, or was it a more base desire?" the Masque couldn't keep a straight face and burst out in laughter. He had muffled the room before the king got there. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't tease you about that. It doesn't matter to me why you did it. We even got rid of a fair share of the heathen Reachmen. So uncivilized, so lacking in appreciation of my trade. But on to the point of my rambling: Your secrets regarding these events are safe with us. Until such a time you decide to become our enemy. That would certainly be interesting, but I have a far more profitable solution in mind. I am certain you've been quite capable of making educated guesses as to what I am talking about."

 

Theodore didn't trust the man, his master nor his laugh, and yet through some sorcery or another he knew the events of that room, when everyone else who was there was dead. He misliked that. He misliked everything about this. The king would need to do some digging on this, to be sure. If this 'Masque' fancied himself a Mephala worshipper, then there very well could be a Daedric connection. Or some form of obscure shadow magic, which was as dangerous as anything on Nirn. Or the man could have been invisible, yet that didn't explain how he knew of the Farr's dying at Theo's hand. 

"I'm sure it would be in very poor judgment to make you my enemy, though I don't deign to be your ally, either. But if it's that, or be enemies, the lesser of two evils seems apt. I could guess but then you would enjoy that, so why not just say it straight away?"

 

"I did not become the Masque of High Rock for nothing, Theodore. There is more to this job than simply setting up deals. You may interpret that as you wish."

 

He looked to the door for a moment. He could have sworn he saw a light flicker there. He walked over, eyes narrow, and lowered hiss voice as he continued. "We do not require you to be our ally. Allies have mutual obligations. We prefer to look at it as a... trade agreement. We provide a service, you provide us with gold. And occasionally other services, should it be required. But that will be discussions for another time. Don't worry, you're more useful to us on the throne, so we won't ask you to do anything that could threaten your position on it. If you wish to end the trade agreement, that is at your discretion, though I am sure you understand the intrinsic risks of doing so in any way that can offend the Masque Bearer. Does this sound fair? Or, if nothing else, like an evil you can live with?"

 

"An evil I can live with, aye. Though if we aren't to work out the details of this arrangement now, when? I'm obviously wary about agreeing to something, especially when you say "other services." You say you want me on the throne, and it suits you, but you'll understand if I don't believe you. I did not get this far by blind trust."

Theodore eyes the area near the door, where the man had walked to. What did he see? Theo's head was unfortunately turned to look at the man, so he hadn't seen the flash of light. 

"Something amiss?"

 

"And I did not come this far without being able to predict people's course of action," the Masque mumbled in return, turning back to Theodore. "I believe I have overstayed my welcome. Certain people seem to have taken an interest in this room and it is best I disappear. Should you need us before we know you do, here is a list of contacts. They are expendable, but try not to get them killed of exposed. It makes working with you an uncertainty. I would add a reason, but I'm convinced you already understand us. I'm overjoyed I am not a candidate for being the new Masque of Skyrim. The Nords' sense of honor and confrontation lust would drive me insane. Sometimes I wonder if they measure themselves against the strength of their enemies. I'd have to explain that I do not make threats idly. Sorry, rambling again. Perhaps we'll meet in the future, Your Highness."

 

He gave a deep bow before he opened the door and walked away. As he turned a corner, he became invisible.

Theodore looked at the list, common folk names and no one he recognized, which he supposed was some good news. He wondered who was taking an interest in the room, but he'd likely never know. 

It annoyed him, not knowing, and that night he slept little. His mind was filled with equal parts joy, and concern. The dragon dreams still haunted him, as did his cold, and now he had to worry about this Masque and his master, while also continuing his personal plans.

I would do well to take up juggling, it would seem. These people will contact me in time, and then I will deal with them. Until then, I have a country to rule.

The next morning, he called a meeting of his council, to discuss a few things he seemed important. Theo was first to arrive, shadowed by Sir Maric. Lord Traven arrived next, calm as always, with maybe a little twinkle of joy in his eye. Lord Estermont came, and so did the scowling Sir Virelande.

 

"My lords and knights, I thank you for coming. A joyous day, today, our first as a free province. Lord Traven, I trust there were no escapees from our little trap last night?"

 

"There were attempts." Lord Traven answered. "None were successful."

 

"I'm sure Legate Montrose will keep them in check. Now, we must discuss our next war. Lord Estermont, I assume you will deal with the Orcs?" Theodore asked, as the group looked over a map of the Wrothgarians the king pulled from a shelf. They were in the library, and had pulled a table near the map sections, for easy access. 

"Of course, my liege. Those Orcish scum will never make it to their new homeland," Lord Estermont said, smiling and tracing the path his host would take with a finger. 

"It's a good thing for them many have already left. The stubborn stayed, and will die like animals. Good. Sir Virelande, how sit our mage number?"

Bevyn Virelande wore a set of armored robes, the hood pulled down to reveal a shaved head. His beard was black, and thick, his eyes pale blue, nearly grey like Theo's. He scoffed, as he often did, and Theo reflected the Masque named the wrong man "The Scoffing Man."

"We have around a thousand. And a half. I can train more given time. Battlemages and spellswords, if that's what you want."

"Both, if you please. Mages will be important in arming our ships, as well as combatting the Thalmor mages." Theodore shuffled the first map off, and replaced it with one of the Western Reach, so named for it's location in Skyrim's west. 

"I plan to go north with Lord LaRouche's forces, when they clear out the Reach with Duke Maul's forces. My own Camlorn men will go with Roland to Wayrest. Then I will go to Skyrim, to inspect the new city and talk to their king. Sir Maric and his guards will accompany me."

"We look forward to protecting His Grace," the clean-shaven Sir Maric said.

"Lord Traven, will you be returning to your ships in Farrun, or go with me to Jehanna?" the king asked his confidant.

 

"Two thirds of my men already prepare to return north, my liege." Traven said. "I have ordered the rest to remain with your host, in the event that you find want for more swords in Reach. If you have no more need for me, I will return to the north with the larger force. And I still have a number of men keeping the peace in Jehanna who I would see home soon as well."

 

"Now that Lady Birian is on our side, she will have to keep her own peace. I would have you take a child of hers as a ward, though, to ensure her continued support. Her daughter Vanessa will do, I think."

 

Traven nodded. "If you command it, I will take the Birian girl under my roof. Though my sister still grieves the loss of her son at the hands of the traitors. For her own safety, the girl will have to be kept separate until time has lessened the hatred."

 

Theodore frowned. "Time will not, I'm afraid. Forgive me, I forgot your nephew fell at Jehanna. The Birian girl will go with me, then, and I will spare your sister the painful reminder every time she sees the girl. Lord Estermont, how fares your middle son?"

The graying warrior frowned and hung his head slightly. "Not well I'm afraid. The should wound was worse than I expected, and he also revived a gash on his right ribs."

"I truly am sorry. For all the losses we sustained. Now," Theodore said as he shuffled away the Reach map, and looked at the beginnings of his council. "I will be away for the better part of a month. You have until my return to see to and visit with your families. After, I will call you to Camlorn, where we can forge our province anew. The old High Rock is done gentlemen, that of petty disputes and quarrelsome nobles. I intend to build a dynasty, with you and your heirs by me and my son's side. Together, we can make High Rock strong. For all our futures.

 

Lord Estermont grinned, Sir Virelande scowled in approval, Sir Maric nodded, and Lord Traven have a half-smile. So they were on board, in their own way. 

"Good. And you'll all be glad to know that someone friendly to us has taken over the Silver Brigade. They have agreed to take up a contract helping us deal with the Reachmen. The vilest Reachmen of the Deep Reach. Hopefully they take each other out, and rob us of two evils." Theodore smiled at the prospect, eyes glistening with hopefulness.

 

The others looked pleased as well. Theodore nodded the group, and dismissed them, save for Sir Maric. 

"Sir Maric, what did you think of my visitor today?"

The knight frowned and ran a hand across his chin, the stubble rough and coarse. "I didn't like him. He was shady."

"Quite so. But I trust you to keep the visit a secret." It wasn't a question. 

Sir Maric's eyes grew wider. "Of course, my liege. As you said, I've sworn a sacred oath. Though I may not like whatever methods you employ, you're better than the alternative. And that's the truth no matter which way you frame it."

Theodore chuckled, slapping his belly. "Your praise of me is stunning. Thank you for your discretion, Sir. Now, I feel the need for a good sparring match. How's your sword arm?"

Sir Maric smiled slyly, apprehension gone. "Stronger than yours, your grace."

[TheCzarsHussar]

Jhared Mon

Evermor

Evening

 

The white owl on green hung behind Duke Mon’s hunched shoulders, as he ran a bony hand through his graying, widow peaked hair. How this had happened, he didn’t know. He obliged King Adrard’s every request, treating with Ulfric and the High General. Yet when it came to promotions, rewards, he got nothing. The Lord Treasurer seat was his, by all rights.

 

That imp Leland did nothing, never so much as leaving Daggerfall, while I marched off to that cold wasteland. I managed the finances with his senile mother-in-law, while he lounged about in the lap of luxury. He bought this job with ships and gold.

 

Jhared Mon refocused on the rest of the announcements, clapping along with the rest of the Rose Hall. His false smile masked his earlier frustration, but he chided himself for displaying any anger. Someone would have picked it up, possible even the oaf himself, but he would only let it be a momentary lapse. The secession surprised him, and as he looked around, the widened eyes and hanging mouths suggested Adrard hadn’t told anyone. Even Estermont was surprised, though his smile said he approved. Traven was the only one who didn’t react, suggesting he knew, which didn’t surprise Mon in the least.

 

The rest of the night was a hate drunken blur, as Mon didn’t care what went on. His eyes never left the man on the throne, who would occasionally cast glances at Mon, but did nothing more. By morning, Mon was gone, leaving with his troops back for his lands. He had plans he must make. The fat oaf would suffer for wronging Mon, of that much the duke was sure.

 

***

 

Duke Mon sat at the head of his table, his family surrounding him. His wife, the Duchess Barbara Mon, sat to his left. Her pink, round cheeks moved as she chewed her food, and her light blue eyes twinkled in the torchlight. Jhared reached over and gave her hand a squeeze, which caused her to smile at him. Going on forty years, they were happily married, and she was one of the few people who could make him truly smile. To Jhared’s right, his son and heir Tristyn sat. He was plump like his mother, but with his father’s sharp, pointed nose. At thirty-seven years old, he and his wife Ysyrra had one son, thirteen-year-old Jauffre. Both sat to Tristyn’s right. On Barbara’s left sat Estelle Arthe, formerly Mon, daughter of Barbara and Jhared. Her child Sylbenitte, seven years old, sat between Estelle and her husband, Fenas.

 

The talked amiably, as they always had. Jauffre begged his grandfather for a story about Skyrim, so Jhared relented and regaled him with a tale of the northern lights, and the giants they spotted from the boat. Giants still lived in High Rock, of course, but they were rarely seen, keeping to the deep valleys of the Wrothgarians, and craggy caves of the Reach.

 

Dessert was being served, but Jhared dismissed himself, choosing to go over some tax reports in his study. His wife wasn’t skilled with numbers, and his son didn’t bother to concern himself with that, so it was left to the Duke. He grabbed a quill, dipped it in the inkpot, and began adding the sums. He taxed his people more heavily than most, but the soil of the Illessan was fertile, and the famers wealthier than the subsistence farmers of many places.

 

His castle sat on one of the larger hills, the base of the rise surrounded by a dry moat, filled with spikes, with a wall inside the moat. The top of the hill boasted another round curtain wall, with guard towers only on either side of the gate. Inside, his keep was small, but the towers that sprouted from it gave views of the entire surrounding area. It was nice, the inside finely furnished, but to all outsiders it looked insignificant, just as Mon must have with his graying hair, bent shoulders, and long, thin nose. But he was significant, and he hoped that someday soon the drunken oaf king would learn that the hard way.

 

The Daggerfallian vassal rose to look out his window, able to see the slight glimmer of the ocean from his perch atop the tallest tower. It shown purple, like the clouds, with streaks of orange like a fool’s bawdy costume. Not near as the soft green and white Mon sported. His doublet was verdant, with a white owl on the chest, gold lacing and lining on the tunic. His pants were black and simple, as were his boots, while his cloak was lined with white fur, and the owl on it’s back outlined in fur as well. The sleeves were billowy, swallowing his skinny, bony arms. He massaged his knuckles as he sat back down, and went back to the sums.

 

Tristyn arrived about an hour later, and the two talked at length about the new High Rock under King Adrard. Tristyn was disappointed that his father gained nothing, and said as much, and vowed to help his father right this wrong. Jhared thanked him, but said it was better he managed this alone, so that the blame would fall on his shoulders, and not his heir’s. It wasn’t long after the younger Mon left that the steward came and alerted the Duke that they had a visitor, which Jhared thought strange, it being past dark, but whatever the case he told the steward to show the man to his study, where they could talk and discuss whatever it was this man wanted to talk about.

 

A somewhat timid knock came from outside of his study, followed with a soft voice of a man obviously not used to addressing anyone in an authoritative manner. "Excuse me, Duke Jhared Mon, I hope that's the proper way to address you. I come on the behalf of another for a mutually beneficial... yy-transaction. If you will."

 

Jhared appraised the man while his smiling facade. A mage judging from the robes. Mages were always difficult in dealing with, able to influence you or fry you with a flick of the wrist. But this one Mon knew wouldn't cause trouble. 

"Of course. Please take a seat. Yes, that chair is fine. I'll have some refreshments brought along. Now what was it you were saying? Some sort of transaction?" Duke Mon smiled and crossed his legs, his fingers interlaced and sat on top of one knee.

 

The Breton mage sat as he was told to, spreading his mauve robe with gold intricate la di da weavings meant to impress. Unfortunately, he was small, even to Bretons, and seemed as if he were malnourished. His hair was a dull faded brown, as if fading. Or even greying, though he was too young for that possibility. Folding his hands in his lap atop his now smoothed robes, he said, "I am but a messenger for those more important than myself, so for that reason, there's no need for you to know my name. What I'm here for concerns recent events with our esteemed King."

 

As he spoke, the mage could feel his voice flickering. He watched the Duke with his smile, which while fake was comforting to him. Yet even so, and even with the weasel-like man with his scoundrel-esque smile and his submissive shoulders, the man was still the more dominant figure, he knew that. He'd sweat if his thin body would even allow it.

 

The refreshments arrived, carried in by a servant on a silver platter. There were flaky pastries filled with jellies, as well as hot tea. Duke Mon took a pastry, filled with a grape jelly. He stirred in a lump of sugar, and tasted his tea before adding another. 

"How do you like your tea, man with now name?" Jhared smiled and chuckled at his jape.

 

The Breton smiled genuinely and said, "Aye, it's much better than what I'm used to, thank you. All of this is more than what I'm used to. But for the sake of convenience, you can call me Brenon."

 

"Brenon..." Duke Mon said the name, trying it out. "You look like a Brenon, whether that is your real name, or otherwise. I do hope that I can expect these masters of yours to treat me better than they have you."

The graying Breton slid a teacup across the desk, with a pastry sitting on the saucer. 

"Do tell me, what is it your masters want with me?" Mon inclined his head slightly, arching an eyebrow, a smirk tracing his lips. "I'm nothing but a lowly Duke."

 

'Brenon' smiled, half into his own pastry already and said with a half full mouth, "A lowly Duke that has dealt with the King directly. A Duke that may have been taken for granted. That makes you... convenient." Swallowing first, with the help of a sip of tea, he said, "Don't worry. My master treats me just fine. It's my own fault that I'm... awkward, I guess you could say. I spend more time in my tomes than with people. And sometimes I forget a meal or two. My Master sent me partly as a way to help me. He says I should get out more. I just might if I get a chance to have more food like this."

 

"Money can buy the best cooks. And food is one area where I don't count coins. Here, have another." Duke Mon slid another pastry, this one filled with strawberries and drizzled with a cream. 

"Your master did not come for himself, and I can't help but wonder why." Mon sipped his tea and sighed. Nothing better than tea that warmed you to the marrow.

 

Brenon looked at the sweet creation with wide eyes that did his small facial features no favors. Not that he cared. If he were worried about looking good for some mate, the slow dripping white cream over the red strawberries was both suggestive enough and seductive enough to satisfy any cravings.

 

Respectfully however, Brenon looked the generous duke in the eye and said, "It was out of courtesy to you, of course. Like I said, I come from the Isle of the Direnni, the Isle of Balfiera. My master is an Altmer. And it would not do good for anyone to see an Altmer mage visiting your private estate. Even I know that. As I said, you're convenient, due to your King's recent distribution of rewards. Your lack of recompense did not go unnoticed by my Master and his colleagues, and neither had it gone unnoticed by that of Breton nobility. It's the topic of all in light-hearted conversation, apparently."

 

Mon nodded slowly. "You actually failed to mention that you came from Balfiera. Or that you work for the Thalmor. Explains why I'm viewed as a convenience. An appropriate term for an arrogant race."

Jhared's weasel-like features narrowed as he squinted at the mage, but his smile remained. His eyes spoke of an emotion different than either the scrutiny or smile. A dark glimmer of hate. "And your master took into account my possible turning him in to the king, I assume. Though he need not worry. I will not grovel and come tattling to a king who scorned me so."

"I mentioned Direnni, I think, right? Pretty sure. That could only mean Balfiera, but no matter." Brenon took another bite, which was more like another plate full of pastry in his cheeks. He must've looked a sight, he knew. With his narrow face, and full cheeks, he must've looked like a hamster, packing in a meal to save for later. Which in a way was exactly what he was doing.

 

"As you said, they took into account your 'tattling', but I'm resourceful. And by they, I don't mean the Direnni as a whole. Just my master. The others aren't aware of his other ties, though everyone's basically looking over their shoulders. It's odd, when your own kin can't trust themselves."

 

Duke Jhared Mon smiled genuinely for the first time since the mage arrived. "I hope our gracious and noble king is more trusting of his brethren. It shall make our job that much easier. So when shall I meet this master of yours?"

 

Brenon gulped down what was left of his pastry with the tea, pounding at his chest to help it all go down. "Well, that depends. Can you arrange a meeting with King Adrard still?"

 

"Of course I can. He must hold open court at some point, and then he would be remiss to not give me my due. I assume we shall meet there, to arouse less suspicion?" Duke Mon finished off his tea, and set the cup and saucer aside.

 

"Aye, sir. That you are. I'll likely be required to come with, so I'll see you there hopefully. My Master was picked to speak with the King himself over matters with the Direnni, since he's the Grand Poobah around here now." Sipping at his tea with the same grace and care as he had wolfed down his pastries, he wiped his mouth, leaning back in his chair. "Don't worry though, this won't be a complicated matter. I don't know what it is they have to help you, but you'll have it within moments of meeting him after he speaks to the King. That'll give your King his last chance to be persuaded, though my Master told me to suggest you didn't try it. Says that it would draw suspicion and that you should instead remain under the illusion of content. If you ask me though, King Adrard will see through that. Perhaps you should share your grievances with him. The Altmer tend to underestimate humans, even Kings."

 

"And this one is not to be underestimated in the least. Not many men willingly poison themselves and get away with it. Or dictate the execution of children and be perceived as just. He spins tells like a spider spins webs, with such care and craft that nary a strand is out of place. To sink him we must act with the utmost caution." Mon's smile wavered, but flashed back almost as quickly. He had a begrudging respect for the king, but that didn't stop Mon from hating him. 

"I will likely share my grievances. He knows I have them, and to lie would only cause him to suspect I may be crafting some plan. Confronting him will lead him to believe that my plan is only to complain until he rewards me. I know he thinks me craven and cowardly, so hopefully he'll suspect I wouldn't dare cross him. Especially after the ruthless justice he dealt the traitors. But he will learn that even an owl has talons, and they are long and sharp."

 

The mage's eyes were wide once more, as if to try and mimic the owls he just mentioned. "I uh... I actually didn't know the King poisoned himself! That explains a lot, then. I suppose that's what my Master wishes to talk with you about. He mentioned something about proof."

 

"You must not get out much. While no one will say or, because there is no proof, many believe the king poisoned himself and framed Lord Rolston. But I suppose it doesn't matter if your Master's proof is true or not. So long as we can plant the seed of doubt, the seed of mistrust, in people's minds."

Duke Mon rubbed his hands together, and dropped his smile. "Now, what is it your master requires of me? Obviously he isn't going to just hand out this information."

 

Brenon scratched his head, thinking to himself. I get out. I mean, I go to the brothel to wet my willy, if that counts.

 

"Actually, that's exactly what he's going to do. I'm sure he'll give you the details. I have no idea whether this proof is real or not, but like you said, I suppose it doesn't matter. Only one way to find out though. So, my generous Duke. You in?"

Duke Jhared Mon nodded as his smile grew, taking shape just like this plan for revenge. With the god's good graces, King Adrard's reign would be a short one.

 

Smiling as well, Brenon said, "Ah, that means you're in, for certain." Standing up, he said, "My Master will wait to arrange his meeting with the King after you do. No need to wait for a letter or send one. Just send the King a notice for an audience with him, and his colleagues will hear about it and act accordingly. As for myself, I suppose I'll be heading out. Don't wish to overstay my welcome. Unless you'd like to hear about my chess piece collection?"

 

"I look forward to meeting his acquaintance." Looking concerned, the nobleman said, "It's past dark, where are you planning on going, exactly?"

 

"I was going to travel back to the tower. I'm used to dark anyway. But, I suppose I.. I mean if it's not any trouble..."

 

Mon rang a little bell, and a servant entered. "He will show you to your room. It's no trouble at all. Goodnight."

 

"Mmm, right. Thank you," said Brenon, clearly not used to asking things of others. As he and the servant made their way out the room, Mon could make him out saying to the servant, "Hello, my good man. Could I possibly trouble you for more paaassstriesss?" Whispering as if he'd been requesting some tawdry night novel.

 

Duke Mon turned to his window, looking past the two curtain walls and out over the countryside, and he smiled.

 

[TheCzarsHussar]

Elven Garden District

Morning

 

Vallisara, an Altmer, was on her way to work. She worked as a tailor at the Silver Glove shop. The shop specialized in making custom fit clothes for nobility. It had been a rather successful shop in the past, and was at it's peak during the truce with the Thalmor. But with the Thalmor gone; the grievances over their wrongdoings had begun to crop up in the light. As the mer of the city had received special treatment at the hands of the Dominion (official contracts almost only being handed out to businesses run by Altmers, non-elves having to pay extra for wares from businesses governed by the Dominion, property of people that had been convicted by the Justiciars had been given to elves and so on) the humans felt that the elves was on the side of the Dominion, and the Dominion was an enemy they could hate openly now. In the growing racism, the shop she worked in had lost a lot of business and what followed was that over half the staff had to be laid off.

 

Vallia wore an elegant dress fit for someone of upper middle class. A dress she had gotten as a bonus during all the business they had gotten especially during the late emperor's rule. She had long black hair tied together in a bun at the back of her head. She walked with quick, light steps and she avoided walking to close to any of the humans; as they made her feel uneasy as of late.

 

She entered the shop with the silver glove on the sign and was greeted by a slightly depressing sight. The owner of the shop, Elarie, sat behind the counter and looked at Vallia with tired eyes. The walls were lined with half empty shelves; which once upon a time had been filled with all kinds of exquisite fabrics, allowing the customers to browse and choose what they wanted their outfit to be made of. Now almost only most of the basic fabrics were available and the luxurious fabrics were few and dwindling.

 

Vallia and Elarie only gave each other a quick glance and nod before Vallia walked past her and the counter, through a door to the big back room where the tailoring was done.

In there was only one other woman, Medora, with sharp facial features and short white hair. "So my dear how are you?" the woman asked when she noticed Vallia come in.

 

"I'll manage." replied Vallisara.

 

"Oh what's with all the doom and gloom?"

 

"The rent went up on my apartment."

 

"That's horrible. You can manage though, yes?"

 

"Yeah. I said I'll manage." Vallia said and went over to her desk where a half finished dress lay. "Bloody new human landlord." she muttered.

 

Medora's attention was caught by the remark. "They should just acknowledge there betters. Look at us, reduced to pandering to those monkey's."

 

While Vallia didn't like the humans, she did not share her colleague's opinion as she mostly only disliked them because of their racism and mistreatment of elves. But she was not about to defend them. "Last landlord may have been an ass but at least he was fair. Though his attitude was probably what got him killed in that drunken brawl last week."

 

"This is another reason for you too find a husband my dear. Help pay the bills and bring financial stability."

 

"Though I'll probably end up with a husband likes Elarie's; drinks up the money rather than bringing it in."

 

"You need to find yourself a male with a good job, and more importantly: blood purity. You can't settle for a mongrel."

 

"Easier said than done. Maybe I should try to find an apartment near the wall. I know the blocks there are practically empty and a bit rundown. But the gangs seemed to have disappeared."

 

"Most likely Imperial crackdowns in the region. All ordered by that stupid slug empress."

 

"Though I haven't heard anything about increased activity from the guards. I don't know. Maybe they just got bored and left."

 

"Bored? Those human guards practically ignore any crime aimed at Mer. What reason would they have to a new area!"

 

"Still just scraps they fought over. Or maybe they're just keeping their heads low."

 

"A bunch of you ruffians. All of them should be put to the sword."

 

"I'm sure." Vallia paused for a second as she put the finishing touches on the embroidery on the chest area for the dress. "Have you heard about poor Elanande? I heard a rumor she got work at a brothel."

 

"Nothing she doesn't deserve."

 

"How so?"

 

"I heard she was sleeping with some of our clients. Even the human ones. A no good **** like her deserves the whore house."

 

"Maybe." Vallia paused for a second. "Will you try to attend the mage tourney?"

 

"Yeah no." She said rather bluntly.

 

"Why not? Got too much work?"

 

"That, and I rather not involve myself in some stupid human competition. Obviously, if the Dominion still had a presence in here, the tourney would simply be Altmer attending."

 

"From what I hear, it's open to anyone who can pay the entry fee. Whatever the entry fee is. So I'm sure there'll be quite a few elves as well."

 

"Yeah, the lesser mer will obviously attend."

 

"Come on. Cheer up. I'm sure taking a peek wouldn't hurt you."

 

"I'd rather not."

 

Vallia shrugged. "Suit yourself."

 

"So your going? Mingling with the monkeys?"

 

"I'll try to go. Watch a couple of competitions to see if they're entertaining. Probably wont mingle around with anyone though."

 

"Good. You'll most likely get raped by some fat, hairy Breton if you do."

 

"I seriously doubt that would happen in public during broad daylight."

 

"Just be careful. And mindful. They're animals."

 

"Yeah, yeah. Anyway, have you heard anything from Virani?"

 

"She's doing quite fine. Or so she tells me."

 

"She got a new job I take it. Better than the brothel?"

 

"Yes, a store clerk for some human merchant. Better then most jobs I say."

 

"So, have you seen the sign on the pub down the street, the Sleeping Ale? It reads: 'No elves allowed'."

 

"Good. So we don't have to mingle with the stupid humans. All sorts of diseases that I don't want in my drink."

 

"If you say so. But I hope this is a one time occurrence. If this spreads, things will get even worse for us."

 

"Whatever. Once the Dominion takes Cyrodiil, they'll be sorry."

 

"That's a pretty big if. And so far they haven't done more than increase the animosity between us and the other races."

 

"Don't you remember how it was like when Motierre was in power? We practically ruled this district."

 

"But with all that animosity brewing, I have my doubts that rule would have been long lived. This may be the Elven Garden District, but we're still a minority in this city."

 

"Were the better minority. Those humans are monkeys!"

 

"I'd still not want to find myself at the wrong side of an angry mob."

 

"We wont. As long as we remain smart."

 

"Hmm." was all Vallia responded with. And from there the discussion died out as both continued with their work. She missed her older colleagues, and being left almost alone with Medora wasn't exactly ideal.

 

Later when Vallia was almost done with the dress she was working on, Elarie came in to the tailors and gave Vallia a letter that she needed to be delivered to a house on the other side of the district. It was a letter telling the buyer that their order was ready to be picked up.

 

Vallia was about to protest and say that was courier work but stopped as she saw the tired and almost pleading look in Elarie's eyes. So she took the letter and headed out from the store and onto the streets. She did not like having to leave the store where she felt safe, compared to out on the street were the humans and elves more often than not gave each other menacing glances.

 

When the street she walked on crossed with the main street, that led to the palace, Vallia saw a couple of men (an elf and a human) have what looked like a heated discussion.

"You sold my brother to the Thalmor!" the human then suddenly yelled.

 

"He got himself in caught!" the Altmer yelled back.

 

And as Vallia stopped to look at the spectacle, many others did the same and so a small crowd was effectively formed. Vallia noticed that a few human men stood a little apart from the crowd and closer to yelling human. Probably his friends. Vallia thought. Though she also noticed that the elf didn't get the same support from any of the elves in the crowd.

 

Then suddenly the human took a quick step forward and punched the elf in the face before kicking him to the ground. Then the kicking continued and it wasn't long before a couple of the human's friends joined in on the beating. Some humans began to cheer while most of the elves only watched in silence. Vallia knew why no one intervened: because if the human's accusations proved true, you'd essentially helped a Thalmor supporter. And that meant being branded as one oneself. 

 

Vallia quickly decided that she didn't want to stay and watch any longer, and she still had a letter to deliver. She began to push her way out from the crowd and back to the open street. The crowd grew louder as more humans began to cheer and some elves began to boo. When Vallia finally got out of the crowd and onto the open street she saw that some people who were not tied up with the crowd were running and screaming in panic. At first Vallia just watched these people confused. But as she looked up and down the streets of the crossing she then saw what they were running away from: a big hulking monster. It had four thick but short legs that connected to the lower part of the body. The body itself was thick and bloated but longer in comparison to the legs, curved upwards and slightly leaning backwards like a worm and with the head resting just above and in front of the legs. The head itself was like the end of a stump in that there was practically no neck between it and the body. Only thing showing where the head started was the large, smooth bulges that covered the top of the head, and each bulge contained at least one or two dark hole, from which its dark depths a dim purple light shone. The jaw looked like a bony mess with just a lot of skin covering it. The arms were attached close to the head and at the elbows, each arm split into three more arms. Each hand had four fingers, which looked more like long, bony claws than actual finger.

 

At first Vallia froze at the sight of the monster. And the longer she looked at it, the more she notices the grotesque details about the monster. She noticed that the bulges on the top of the head came from skulls, that the jaw was stringed together the jaws of those skulls, and that the body had rib cages visibly bulging against the skin here and there. The skin reminded of a patchwork as skins of different colors, though all being in a sickly shade of grey, had been melded together with clear lines of what looked like scar tissue.

 

The crowd behind Vallia was slow to notice and it wasn't till more people came screaming that the entirety of the crowd grew silent and turned around and see the horror coming towards them. Then the people scattered to the other three streets, with the majority in panic running straight from the monster and towards the palace in the center of the city. Vallia had also been taken by panic and joined the ones running straight from the abomination. But that also meant they ran in the direction the monster was heading.

Vallia gave a quick look over shoulder to see that the monster was running towards them at a brisk pace. The elven man that had been beaten had also gotten trampled by the crowd as they ran from the monster. He had barely been able to start pulling himself up when the monster impaled him on its claws as it gripped him, then brought him to the mouth where the abomination quickly bit off and swallowed the man's head. The body was then thrown to the side at such speed that it left a big splash of blood from the neck as it hit the facade of the building.

 

Terrified by this sight, Vallia turned her head away and kept running straight. Fear gripping her mind so much that it didn't even occur to her to run into one of the buildings at the sides of the street.

 

A small formation of guards was forming a bit further down the street by another crossing. Vallia could see that a some were wavering and she heard the screams of agony and death, as people behind her got caught by the monster, getting closer. One of the guards at the far left of the formation apparently lost his courage and ran. The guards that had been next to him looked to each other as if they considered doing the same.

 

"Maggots form up, or I'll kill you myself." said a hate filled voice. A tall, lean, but muscular orc emerged from the line. He was wearing animal furs, but you could tell he was also wearing standard light legionary armor along with it. Wielding in one hand a large one edged battle axe.

 

Beside him was a medium in size and height imperial. His face was rather obscured by a blue hood. The man was also wearing a blue cloak, which had heavy imperial armor underneath. With his cloak bellowing lightly in the wind, he lifted his gloved hands, twisting his finger, and unleashed a raging torrent of fire.

 

Vallia turned her head as she followed the flames through the air with her eyes. The monster stretched out its body towards its right in response and with the help of its arms it pulled itself out of the way of the fire flying towards it, effectively avoiding the worst of the spell but the side of the lower body still became slightly scorched. The dodging had slowed it down but it wasn't long before the body was once again seated over the legs in the bent over fashion of a worm. And so the monster picked up speed again.

 

"Aw ****." said the Orc.

 

Which caused the hooded man to smirk, "Is that your wife, General Hellcry?"

 

The Orc snarled "Shut up Martullus." and just as he said that he saw a small bosmer boy stumble and fall the ground a few near him. The orc took two quick steps and pulled the boy up on his feet.

 

Martullus lifted his hands up again, "I won't be able to hold it back for long." he turned around to the fear consumed guards. "Get the civilians out, now! Also barricade all entrances into the district. Go to the nearest legion barracks and tell them to deploy." he straightened out his leather gloves. "You too Grommash."

 

He gave a toothy grin and handed the child over to one of the guards that were leaving, "Like in Oblivion." he said and then brought his axe into a two handed grip. Half of the Guardsmen had already left along with the fleeing civilians.

 

The other half that had stayed shook there heads. "No sir." one of them said. Each of them gave him a smile.

 

Martullus nodded his head, "Thank you men." he started barking orders "Archers into the buildings, top floor. Be quick. Do not fire unless ordered too." the imperial watch bowmen quickly nodded there heads, and ran to various buildings. But the doors were locked and so they began banging on the doors, only a few opened. Martullus turned to the incoming monstrosity, "The rest of you form a shield wall!"

 

Though as guards, their shields wasn't made for shield walls. Vallia didn't much care for the guards as she ran past them, only hoping that they would slow the monster down enough to give her time to escape. As she had put some distance between her and the monster she heard as it clashed with the guards. Warcries and fire spells were heard among the the clashing of steel.

 

To a little relief the sound the monster clashing with the guards grew distant as she ran, meaning the monster had been halted. But the sounds soon turned to that of the dying screams and a losing battle. Vallia did not care to even glance over the shoulder to see how badly the guards were doing.

 

When the sound of the fighting died down, Vallia heard that the beast had picked up speed and was gaining on her again. She now thought about running into one of the houses on the sides of the street but as she saw some people bashing locked doors and begging to be let in, she changed her mind somewhat. But then suddenly she saw a door open and a few people being let into some kind of shop, she dashed for the door.

 

But as she was just a couple of feet from the door it closed with the words: "No elves!", followed by the sound of the door being locked from the other side.

 

Vallia rammed her fist into the door and shouted: "Curse you!" and then she dared a quick glance back at the monster only to see it biting the head of another unlucky soul who had been caught by its claws. Though now the monster looked to have suffered some damage from the encounter with the guards and generals. One of its lower arms were gone and the upper body was scorched to the point of there being a black cavity. Arrows and a couple of swords were also buried into the body of the beast.

 

Vallia began to flee down the street again. Soon another ball of fire came flying over the people fleeing towards the monster. But this time it was followed by the sound of an explosion and Vallia afforded herself another glance back to see that the monster had tried to dodge in the same way before, but fireball had exploded anyway and thus had knocked the abomination to the side it was dodging. The monster's feet fell over and it stumbled as it tried to regain its footing.

 

Vallia kept running and she spotted a small human (probably Breton) girl standing in the middle of the street crying out for her mom. At first she barely payed the child any attention as she at first ran past the crying child that just stood there. Though after having passed the child she looked over her shoulder to see that the little girl was still standing there crying, and that the monster had regained its balance and was picking up speed.

 

Vallia at first slowed down and then turned completely around as she silently cursed her folly. Now running towards the monster she felt a small sense of courage. A courage that however waned as the distance between her and monster shrunk. When she reached the child the monster was almost upon them. And as she grabbed the hand of the child she saw the monster close, in all its grotesque and wicked details. The sense of courage she had had was now almost completely gone. She pulled the child to the side before quickly ending up throwing herself and the child onto the ground in order to avoid an attempted swipe from the monster's claws.

 

The monster halted for a bit and Vallia just lied there staring down into the ground while covering her head with her hands. She did not want to die. And now even she began to sob like the child. But the deathblow didn't come and instead she heard a loud thud and the cracking of bone. She turned around and looked up to see that the monster wasn't turned towards them and ready to finish them off, but was instead turning down the street towards the palace. Vallia noticed something that looked a spear of ice protrude from the skulls on the abomination's head. It tried to pull it out with one of the hands but the long claws it had for finger only slipped off, again and again as the monster tried in vain to pull it out of the head.

 

Vallia looked down the street to see who had fired the ice spear. What she saw was some tall Nord with black hair, dressed in simple nobleman's clothing and a drawn sword in some kind of light blue metal. As the other people had fled he was now standing alone in the street, facing the monster. And it looked like he was charging another spell.

 

Vallia didn't bother to look at the show too much. She quickly got up on her feet and helped the child do the same before she led them to the nearest door.

 

The door was locked. She started to bang on the door. "Open up! Lets us in! I got a child here!" she yelled. She tried yelling loud enough to be heard but also tried to be quiet enough as she feared attracting the attention of the monster.

 

But no answer came and no one opened the door.

 

Behind her she heard the battle rage on, spells being launched and the monster stamping around. Vallia was a little surprised that the monster hadn't beaten and finished off the human by now.

 

She gave up on that anyone would open the door and decided to try her luck on the next one. She began to almost sneak as she half sprinted alongside the building, with the child still in hand. The child had quieted down and now only sobbed lightly.

 

Vallia gave the battle a look to see the monster wrestling with a big elemental being of ice before losing one leg to a spear of ice as it tore much of it off, rendering it practically useless. It was followed up by a fiery blast to its side thra knocked the monster off balance. Vallia looked with wide open eyes as the monster fell towards them. Luckily it landed a couple of yards away from them but they still hurriedly backed away from it. And as the monster began to rise, Vallia was certain that it could see her and the kid. The monster attempted a swipe at them but they were just out of reach. And before the abomination could move any closer, more destruction spells moved its attention away from them and back to the mage and the atronach.

 

They took the opportunity and ran to the next door, which unsurprisingly was also locked. "Open up! I got a child here!" she yelled as she banged on the door.

 

To her big surprise the door actually opened. "Hurry. Get in." a man (a middle aged imperial) by the door said.

 

"Thank you." was all Vallia managed to get out as she drew huge sigh of relief as she got in to the safety of the house. While she had little doubt that the monster could tear the door, and even the walls down, she didn't think it would bother to follow them in there.

 

"Where is mommy?" the little child said in a worried and fearful tone.

 

"I'm sure she's alright." was all Vallia said.

 

Outside she heard as the two combatants tried to kill each other. The horrific image of the monster as it had tried to grab and eat her still lingered in her mind. Which also made it hard to stay focused on anything else. After a moment she managed to come back to her senses enough that she began look around at where she now was. It was a simple entrance hall, much like the one to her apartment building. The man that had opened for them sat in a lonely chair by the corner. He looked scared but also a little determined, as if he was ready with a plan if the monster would get in. He glanced back when Vallia looked at him but quickly returned to look into the void in front of him.

 

Vallia's curiosity then began to grow a little and she slowly approached the window, while pressing her body against the wall. She peaked out to see that the human had lost his weapon and was now casting spells with both his hands. The giant of ice was now gone. She also caught a quick glimpse of the sword as it had joined the ice spikes among the monster's skulls. The monster had also begun to move a bit more sluggish than before due to all the damage it had taken.

 

The mage unleashed a stream of frost that went under the beast and froze its three remaining feet to the ground. The monster was also about to make another attack but lost its balance and fell over on the ground. The mage took the opportunity to unleash even more ice magic upon the monster and the monster then began to slowly freeze from the head down. Though small cracks beginning to spread over the ice, signaling that it would not hold the beast for much longer. The wizard ran forward to the beast and quickly grabbed his sword with both hands. Vallia didn't know what the mage might be doing as he didn't pull the sword out as she had expected him to do. Soon however the ice shattered, but the monster now also shattered with it. Thousands upon thousands of frozen pieces of the monster now formed a large pile on the ground. And the human slowly removed his sword from the rubble of frozen flesh.

 

Vallia turned to the imperial man. "The monster is dead." she said in a plain tone, filled with disbelief.

 

"What? How?" the responded and with a surprised look.

 

"The mage killed it."

 

The man got up from the chair and walked towards the window and peaked out to see it too. After a few seconds of staring at the mage standing by the pile of the shattered monster, the man went to the door, unlocked and slowly dared himself outside.

 

Vallia waited inside for another moment and looked down on the child who only looked back at her with big eyes. The girl still had the fear in her eyes but now there was a little glimmer of hope. Probably a hope that she would see her mother again soon, Vallia thought.

 

They headed out through the door and onto the street. And they could see that more and more people had begun to dare themselves out into the open as well.

[TheCzarsHussar]

Mila

Riften

Morning

 

Besides it being slightly overcast, it really was a nice day in the city. Hundreds of people walked to and fro, completing whatever tasks they had on their agendas. Merchants were haggling in the market, fishermen loaded barrels into wagons, and mothers yelled at their children for playing too close to the canals. 

Mila saw a group of them now. Three boys and two girls, all probably a couple years younger than her. The tallest of them, a dirty Nord boy with brown hair, was showing off to his friends by conjuring sparks of light at his fingertips. The others chased the lights as the boy laughed and made them dance around in wide circles.

Seeing it made her sad. Mila missed getting to play. It had been many months now since she'd even spoken to someone close to her age. She had half a mind to open the window and peer out for a better look at the boy's lights, but she knew better. The last time she'd tried to open a window, Fronier had seen it, and she hadn't been allowed to leave her room for days after that.

 

Mila hated it, but at least when she was good, they let her look out the windows upstairs every now and then while Sibbi wrote his letters. All she had to do was to answer some questions as he wrote. Usually the questions were dumb little things, and she didn't understand why he cared about them, like what her favorite color was, or what cities she'd been to. Other times, the questions were things she didn't want to share with them, like how Baldur and Rebec had come to know them, or how long Boldir had been a Stormcloak. The first time she'd been asked questions like this, she didn't answer, not willing to tell anything about her family to these monsters. They'd locked her up then, and not let her out of the room for a long time. When Fronier brought her food, it was always only when she was hungry enough to eat absolutely anything he brought, which during the punishment time was always some sort of stale bread or rotten fruit. She wasn't sure how long it was before Sibbi, holding a plate of roasted chicken, opened the door with a smile and asked her if she'd like to answer some more questions for him.

 

"Your Aunt Rebec..." Sibbi started from the desk to her right. "Where does she hail from, again?"

 

Mila frowned and racked her brain. She knew better than to ask Sibbi why he wanted to know something so strange. She wouldn't lie to him. She'd tried that before too, many times, and they always seemed to be able to find out that she had. She'd been locked up for that too, though not as long. Maul had somehow caught her in the lie and threatened to cut off her thumb if she did it again. At the time, she hadn't believed him, but since then, she'd actually seen him do it to one of the servants.

After trying as hard as she could, Mila sighed and decided it was no use. "I can't remember." 

 

"Hmm... It is no matter. I've just remembered myself, actually."

Sibbi continued writing for several more minutes while she gazed out the window. When he was done, he called her to the desk. Mila knew what he was going to ask next. It was the one question that came up almost every time.

"So have you thought about the little riddle we've been going over?"

 

"Yes." she said, "But I still don't know what it means."

 

"That's fine. I believe that I'm close to figuring it out myself. Have you ever heard of Vivec's sermons?"

 

"What's Vivec?"

 

"Fair enough. Vivec is, or was, a deity of sorts to the Dunmer people. One of three hero-gods who made up their Tribunal. His worship is shunned now, but there was once a time when he was put on a pedestal every bit as high as gods you know like Talos or Mara. Anyway, this little phrase we've been puzzling over, "The ending of the words is rebbabo", is actually a play on a similar phrase used regarding the Tribunal. Why your father and uncle do this is beyond me..." He frowned. "Do you follow?"

 

Vivec, Tribunal, rebbabo, Mila honestly didn't understand half of what he was saying. The question about 'the ending of the words' had always been gibberish to her, and she didn't even know why she asked it. "No." she answered. "Can I go back to the window?"

 

The Nord sighed and nodded his consent. "Five more min-"

 

He was cut off by a knock at the door, and a voice that sounded oddly familiar. From where, Mila couldn't quite remember. "Hey, Sibbi!"

 

A curious grin crossed her captor's lips, and he rubbed his goatee a couple times before nodding. "I'm sure this will go well." He waved for Fronier to open the door. The big man did as he was told, and in walked a rugged looking man. A bearded Breton in brown thief armor and wearing a bow on his back. Mila had seen him before. The man was halfway across the room when he noticed her at the window and stopped in his tracks, eyes wide and locked on her. "It's her... the daughter..." It suddenly clicked in Mila's mind who this man was, and she felt an anger rise in her that she hadn't felt in a long time.

 

"Yes Cynric, it's her." Sibbi shrugged. "What, did you think we'd killed her since you were last here?"

 

The thief's eyes were still locked with hers, studying her. Mila herself glared back, surely not hiding the hatred she felt. To the right, she could hear Fronier's large form coming up behind her. No doubt he had seen the look as well.

"No, but I... hadn't expected to see her. She looks- Is it a good idea to keep her out like this?"

 

"Never you mind how I handle my captives. What do you have for me?"

 

"I think I'll be ready soon. The bandits are more dangerous now than they were before. Filnj-... Boldir has taken to training them, if you could believe it."

 

"So you told me last time. And the time before. He's been doing that for months."

 

"Well it should be stressed. They are much more organized than common bandits, and he's been talking about Treva's Watch. The chieftain would never be willing to work with them, at least according to his own words. But he respects Boldir. Listens to him. He might just come around."

 

"Bandits are not the issue. Ingun is. That is why you're still with them."

 

"I am doing all that I can. Boldir keeps her close. Doesn't let her stray. He's smart not to. He may be whipping them into shape, but at the end of the day they're still bandits. I've no doubt some of their lot would take her and sell her to you in an instant, given the chance. But I'm telling you, even if- no, when I manage to get her out, and your plan goes through, it won't change anything. Boldir is the heart of it all, but these men are determined now... They'll be a problem even if he's gone." He glanced Mila's way before immediately reverting his eyes. "I don't think... the thing you are planning will be enough... I..." He scowled. "Damnit! I'm not going to talk about it in front of her!"

 

Sibbi shrugged, and Mila felt Fronier's large hand on her right shoulder. She was led away, but as her path crossed Cynric's, Mila looked him in the eye, and then spit into it. Immediately, she sprung at the thief, only to be grabbed by Fronier and pulled back before she could even so much as scratch the bastard. "MILK-DRINKER!" She shouted, futilely wrestling against the mercenary's superior strength. "THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!!!"

 

Sibbi Black-Briar laughed, saying something about 'old times', and the traitor Cynric just stood there looking at her without a word. Mila continued to shout at them as she was forced out of the room and back into the hallway. She only stopped fighting when they reached the stairs. He'd been the one to help Boldir escape! Why did he tell them we were in the sewers?!

She couldn't think of a reason, or do anything with it if she had one. But Mila felt angry like she had the first time Sibbi had come to her room. No, she was angrier. She'd known that someone had sold them out, told the guards where they were. It was Cynric! It had to be.

 

She thought on this as they passed through the foyer. She was momentarily distracted when she nearly bumped into Maul's large form. He stood in the kitchen entrance with two other men, and was wearing Boldir's armor as he always seemed to. There were fresh bloodstains on it. The dark eye-slits followed her all the way across the room as she hurried past. Of all the people who worked for the family, Maul had to be the worst by far. 

"Why you hurryin'?" called one of the chain-armored figures standing with the brute. "We scare you girl? Don't worry. We just been huntin' your papa's friends is all!"

 

There was laughter behind her, but Fronier guided her on to the basement, not giving her a chance to look back. Once down there, the all to familiar sight of her door greeted her. To the left of it was another door. She could only assume that it held her ma. But beating on the wall in-between had never yielded any response from the other side. The wall was most likely too thick for the noise to get through. That, or some magic was on these rooms.

 

As the familiar stink of flowers filled her nostrils, Mila crossed over to her little makeshift mattress and closed her eyes. She was glad she'd answered Sibbi's questions today. If she hadn't, she wouldn't have seen Cynric. She wouldn't have known who was responsible for their capture and Aunt Vex's death. And better yet, she'd heard a lot of new things about Boldir. Whatever those men had been talking about, it sounded important. Was there a war going on? Was that why Sibbi wanted to know so much about Baldur and Rebec? Mila hoped so. Nothing would be able to stop all three of them. 

 

The door opened after a few minutes of trying to go to sleep, and Sibbi stood in the frame. "You had been doing so good. It saddened me when you attacked poor Cynric."

 

"It didn't look like it saddened you." Mila answered quickly. "And he deserved it more than anybody."

 

"Maybe. Betrayal hurts. I've felt it myself. It's why I'm not going to hold you accountable for what you did this time. Anyway, I meant to show you this upstairs before Cyn showed up."

Sibbi produced a flute from his sleeve. Not just any flute. Boldir's. The one she'd never been allowed to touch. Seeing him holding it made Mila even angrier than she already was, but the mere sight of the instrument brought back good memories all the same.

"Maul found this among the rest of your things. After he'd had it for just a week, he gave it to another of our lot, who went on to die, and when the guy who looted it from him couldn't sell it, he gave it to me. Gave it free too, which is rare among my men. He said that it's cursed, and that I should just break the damn thing. I was wondering if you knew anything about that."

 

Mila shook her head. Of course the flute wasn't cursed. Boldir had carried it with him ever since he'd fought in Falkreath.

 

"I didn't figure. Never heard of a haunted flute before. But these are Redguard carvings, and the western men have some strange traditions, I hear. But to be honest, I was more curious as to how you would respond to seeing it. The lack thereof is a tad disappointing. I take it you don't know how to play?"

 

She shook her head again. Boldir had promised to teach her once. But it had never happened.

 

"Pity. Seems no one here does." Sibbi turned to leave and spoke to Fronier outside. Just as he began, the door slammed shut, leaving her alone once more.

 

***

 

Boldir, Ingun

Faldar's Tooth

Afternoon

 

Bormir's breathing was visibly heavy as he squared off with his opponent. Both of them were large, but his foe lacked a shield. That said, no matter how much Bormir tried to use his to an advantage, the other Nord kept managing to land blows on him. He lifted the hide shield high and just barely managed to deflect the strike, but before he could see beyond it, another came in and somehow landed in his right ribcage area. The wooden sword undoubtedly left a bruise.

 

"They're coming along well." said Ingun Black-Briar looking down into the fortress courtyard, where over three dozen bandits trained rigorously. It had been months since Boldir had decided that they needed to train up if they were going to ever need to take on Maven's men. These people were no Necro Nords, but they were markedly better than they had been before. 

 

"They'd better be." Boldir said. "This is the same sort of training I went through at Greenwall."

Mentioning his old Legion fort was just one of the many things that reminded Boldir what sort of men and women he was working with. Right now, Baldur was probably off training Grim Ones. Here he was doing the same, but instead of Skyrim's best, Boldir was training and arming dangerous criminals. The idea had taken some getting used to at first, but by now, he had more or less grown used to it. The idea certainly did not bother him near as much as it once would've. Either the bandits had grown to be a less terrible sort of company than they'd been at first, or he had grown to be more tolerant of their sort. Boldir figured, or rather hoped, that it was the former.

 

Ingun frowned deeply. She usually was good at not showing her thoughts one way or the other, but lately, she had found that more difficult. Her time among these savages was taking its toll, and as much as she tried to fight it, she still found many her own mannerisms were changing without her consent. "I wouldn't have thought you could actually whip these people into shape. At this rate, you'll have my family murdered and Riften aflame in another month's time." She was surprised by the boldness of her own words. It wasn't like her to taunt.

 

"Aye, your family will die." Boldir answered, ignoring the part about Riften. "But they won't be murdered. Murder is what you're family did to Carlotta. This is justice."

 

Carlotta. The name alone made Ingun shiver. She had never even met Boldir's wife. She'd never so much as seen her. But that didn't stop her ghost from haunting Ingun all the same. He never spoke of the dead woman, ever, unless it was to her, as if to remind her who was at fault for what happened. "And Riften?" she asked, trying to stray his mind away from the thought of his lost love for both their sakes. It was safer to call Boldir out on his plan than it was to let his mind linger on his wife. "You have every reason to hate my grandmother, but the city is full of people who will suffer for what you plan to do.

 

"Nobody else in Riften will be harmed unless they take up arms. I suspect much of the Jarl's guard force will fall as well. Many of them were corrupt anyway."

 

"Do you really believe that?" 

 

"Of course. Maven has half the city in her pocket. The guards are more her's than the Jarl's."

 

"I wasn't talking about the guards." Ingun looked away from the sparring bandits and up at her tall captor. "I was talking about nobody else being harmed."

 

Boldir had to stop himself before he sighed. "I know what you were talking about." And he had, but it was a topic he did not want to think too much about. Mila came first. When she was safe and Maven dead, the city wouldn't be his problem anymore. 

The people of Riften are innocent. he could hear his wife saying. You know that. They don't deserve to be caught up in all of this.

 

Boldir silently agreed, and looked down at Ingun. "I'm doing what I can. When the time comes and we move for your family, these men will know better. They'll have all of your wealth to split between them, and that will be enough."

 

"Even our wealth has limits." Ingun said. "And what is enough for a group motivated solely by greed? Once they're in the city, why would they stop with my family?"

 

"Because I'll make sure that they do." Boldir watched as one of the bandits down below performed a more complicated maneuver than the man ever could've months back. His axe caught his foe's sword and twisted, while he turned and brought an elbow to his opponent's chest, knocking him to the ground and disarming him at the same time. "And Hrokvild will help."

 

Ingun snorted at that. "Hrokvild? He could do it, yeah. But do you really believe he would?"

 

"He will if I tell him to."

 

Ingun doubted that. The bandit chieftain liked Boldir well enough, and seemed to respect him enough to see reason when Boldir presented it, but this was different. For a bandit, what Boldir wanted wasn't remotely reasonable. "Are you willing to bet the lives of everyone in Riften on that?"

 

Boldir didn't answer, he just scowled. He'd talk to Hrokvild. He'd make damn sure that the chieftain was on his side in this before he'd allow them to attack the city.

 

"And what about me?" Ingun went on. "Let's say you win, and manage to take on Riften and kill my family. Am I to join them?"

 

Boldir hadn't thought about that in a while. Ingun was a tool to reach his goal. What he would do with her afterwards was still uncertain. She was a Black-Briar, after all, and his revenge on Maven would only be made more complete if Ingun died and took their entire bloodline with her. 

 

"Hey, Boss, I got the stuff." a gruff voice interrupted before he could answer. "Sorry it took so long." Cynric said, approaching from within the fort behind him. "Wasn't easy getting so many weapons out of the city unnoticed. Couldn't have done it without Runar's little boat."

 

Boldir looked at the slender Breton. He'd sent the man to Riften yesterday with orders to purchase weapons, and to not steal them from the blacksmith. But Boldir had no doubt in his mind that the thief's pockets were no lighter after obtaining the weapons than before. Still, what's done is done. "Good work. We were running low on arrows. Did you find a good axe this time?"

 

"Oh yeah!" Cynric ran back indoors for a moment and then reappeared at the ledge overlooking the courtyard below. In his hands was a large iron battle axe. "Do you like it?"

 

Boldir took the weapon, looking it over and testing its weight. The iron was quality, and the head well-forged. He'd had half a mind to make his own using the forge down in the armory, but the metal quality he had access to here was nothing compared to that of the weapon he held now. It had been a long time since he'd held a true battle axe. It felt good. 

"Go and distribute the arrows among Grollin's boys." Boldir said, nodding to Cynric in thanks. "And let me know if Kosta returns any time soon."

 

"Of course." As Boldir looked back down at the courtyard, the thief shared a brief glance with Ingun. It had been some time since they'd spoken. It had been impossible, the way Boldir constantly kept her close, but she knew full well what he was. He gave her a silent nod before he turned and "dutifully" went to carry out his orders.

 

"Don't leave your shield up so much Bormir! You're blocking your own vision!" Boldir shouted down at a heavyset bandit with a long scar below his eye. "And you, Rorik, you're not even trying to check for openings!" 

Both bandits corrected themselves and saw a quick increase in their performance. Boldir was glad to see they did. Most of these men had known how to fight since they were children. Many had learned from their parents, or had grown up having to learn for themselves to survive. Some even received their training from the Legion or Stormcloaks before their eventual desertion. But none of these men, save Hrokvild and his Imperial friend, Falnis, had been trained in advanced techniques close to what Boldir could offer. Why Hrokvild himself hadn't trained them before, Boldir had a few guesses, laziness being the foremost.

Not now though. Now their band of nearly a hundred fighting men and women was a true force to be reckoned with. Boldir hadn't liked that he was responsible for these dangerous people becoming considerably more dangerous, but at the end of the day, so long as their swords pointed towards Maven, and they could see her dead and Mila safe, he would be content. Already, this had gone longer than he ever would have hoped, but it had to. Attacking the city was not an option, at least not yet. They needed to crush their enemies quickly and surround Maven. 

Given time, Black-Briar would try to use Mila to dissuade an attack. Why she hadn't already, he could only guess. Perhaps she had called his bluff with Carlotta, but wasn't willing to risk Ingun a second time, or better yet, maybe she hadn't found him yet. Though, he doubted that.

Whatever Maven's reason for not using Mila yet, it worked in his favor as well. The more time she gave him, the more time Boldir had to plan on how to move on Riften. Maven may hold Mila, but if they could get the jump on her, take the city in the night and remove power from her hands, she would have no choice but to give up his daughter to spare her own life. And then we take it anyway.

 

As good as the plan sounded, the problem was that they didn't have the men necessary for such an attack. This had Boldir thinking more and more about the one other lake clan, the bandits of Treva's Watch. Together, the two clans would have the numbers to make this possible. Unfortunately, Hrokvild's men, Faldar's Fangs, hated the other lake clan, and it went both ways. 

Apparently, last year there had been a unification of sorts in the clans of the Rift, particularly to the north. Hrokvild's men at Faldar's Tooth stayed out of it, and treated those who didn't as their enemies. The people of Treva's Watch were deserters from that force, having left after General Brund rounded them up and sent them to fight and die in the Reach. Believing them craven, Hrokvild had hunted these deserters, creating an infamous name for himself among all other bandits in the area. He hadn't expected them to actually come together and form a new clan north of his own. Now, the two fought like rabid trolls. At least they had, until Boldir began directing Faldar's Fangs to attack Black-Briar wagon convoys and Rift patrols instead. Hrokvild hadn't liked the way he'd tried to take command of his men, but when the chieftain saw the value in gold that it brought in, and realized how much damage this did to Maven's business, he'd laughed and joked about promoting Boldir.

 

"Hey Filnjar!" Boldir's thoughts were interrupted once again by one of the Fangs appearing behind him, where Cynric had been. "The chief wants to see you." The bandit nodded at Ingun. "He didn't invite her. She can stay with me while you meet him."

 

"No." Boldir responded, glaring at the much smaller man. "She stays with me." The bandit brokered no argument as Boldir walked past, Ingun in tow, and headed for Hrokvild's quarters.

The fortress proper ran underground, and was an overall huge complex, but the chieftain's quarters were actually atop the walls, inside the main tower. The big rounded room was better lit than the rest of the fort, with windows running all the way around it and a hearth in the center. And it was dotted with all sorts of trophies and mementos from the chief's best kills and raids. There were skulls, weapons, teeth, pelts, gold, gems, books, and most any other type of trophy one could think of. 

As he crossed the room, Boldir noticed that a troll pelt covered the floor. It seemed to be new. Of course, right now, most of his attention was drawn instead to the wounded Imperial man on his knees atop said pelt. He had been stripped down to just his loincloth. Behind him stood Hrokvild, his beloved ebony war hammer resting on his shoulder. 

"Beautiful afternoon, eh, Filnjar?" asked the large bandit chieftain cheerfully. "'Cept perhaps these clouds that've moved in." He glanced at Ingun and nodded his head in a mock bow. "M'lady."

 

"Who's this?" Boldir asked, eyeing the wounded man carefully. His fingers were clearly broken. And each one of them jutted out at a different, grotesque angle. 

 

"This?" Hrokvild barked a laugh. "HA! This sorry looking fellow is a messenger-turned-guest. Came to tell us about our venerable dread father, Sithis. Unfortunately for him, I already have a religion. But it's no matter. Here at Faldar's Tooth, we accept people of all kinds of faith." Hrokvild lowered his hammer down to the man's chin and lifted his head up. "Isn't that right, friend?"

 

The man scowled and opened his mouth to answer, but to Boldir's surprise, there was a bloody stump where his tongue should've been.

 

"You're not still angry about that, are you?" Hrokvild shook his head and looked at Boldir. "Our new friend is Dark Brotherhood, see. Carried a poison dagger and some scrolls, but I wasn't going to take the chance that he might be a caster. I never really figured out if their types used their hands to conjure up spells, or their words. So I took both, as a precaution of course. He put up a good fight too. Killed two of our men after they spotted him, but when Falnis arrived at the scene, it was all over."

Hrokvild reached onto his desk behind them and grabbed an open letter. "Here, I have a feeling you might want to read this and try to come up with an explanation before we talk about what comes next."

 

Boldir unfolded the letter and read what it said:

 

As instructed, you are to eliminate Boldir Iron-Brow by any means necessary. The Black Sacrament was performed months ago, and the last sister to make an attempt on his life failed. You must not. We have already been paid for this kill, and Sithis demands a soul.

-Nazir

 

On the back was more writing, from a different hand. 

 

Boldir Iron-Brow

Very tall, strong build, black hair and beard, burn scars

 

"Anything to say, Filnjar?"

 

Boldir met Hrokvild's gaze. "I lied about my name."

 

"No shit? And here I thought you had a twin running around pissing off dangerous rich people as well... Well... Why did you lie to me?"

 

"Because I don't want my name getting out." Boldir saw no reason not to be honest in regards to his reasoning. Hrokvild was not always the most understanding of men, but he was no fool. "You're content to live as an outlaw, but I'm not. When this ends, I plan on returning home."

 

Hrokvild stroked his red beard as he studied him, apparently deep in thought. "Mmm." he finally started. "I'll keep it to myself for now. Don't think it means that you can make a habit of lying to me.... And what of our guest? I was going to feed him to our wolves, but then I figured that you might want to deal with him."

 

Boldir shook his head. "His life isn't one of the one's I'm after. But... I would ask him something." He knelt down in front of the broken assassin. The man's pained eyes lazily met his own, and they stared with all the emotion of a rock. "Answer me truly, and I will give you a quick death. Refuse, and what he said about the wolves will come to pass. I'm sure you saw the kennels sneaking in here. They weren't for dogs... Now, I killed the last of you who came after me. I thought that would be enough to prevent more attacks. You won't be the last, will you?"

The assassin half-heartedly shook his head.

"I thought as much. Is it possible to stop the attacks?"

The man nodded.

"Will killing the one who hired you work?"

The assassin looked thoughtful for a moment, and then shrugged. He lifted a broken finger to crookedly point at his tongue, as if to tell Boldir that he had more to say.

"Do you mean to tell me that you don't know if that will work, but there is another way that you know will?"

He nodded again.

Boldir thought for a moment, and then nodded to himself. "Does it involve the one who hired you changing the target?"

The assassin nodded more vigorously now. 

"So I would have to convince one of the Black-Briars to write this Nazir character, and tell him to kill someone else."

There was one last nod.

Glad that he had figured it out quickly, Boldir stood and pulled the assassin to his feet, dragging the man behind him as he exited the tower. Hrokvild followed with a grin, Ingun, with a more thoughtful expression.

 

Once they were back out on the wall, Boldir threw the assassin back to the ground and in one swift motion, raised his new iron battle axe and brought it down, cleaving the killer's head from his shoulders. "You can feed him to your wolves now, if you'd like, Chieftain. But when you are done, I'd like a word of my own."

 

Hrokvild shrugged and grabbed the bleeding corpse by the arm. "No need to wait. Walk with me, Mage-Killer. The Black-Briar girl can come too, since I already know you'll insist." He motioned for Boldir to follow, then started along the fortress battlements,  effortlessly dragging the headless assassin behind him.

"There aren't many men who I would let get by with lying to me, you know. Especially not without some sort of punishment."

 

Boldir didn't say anything. He just looked down at the training men below.

 

"But you have contributed a lot since you came here. I don't want to believe that a man willing to spend months training my lot has anything to hide, but this name thing has me thinking... you've been living like an outlaw for some time now. It's as though your goal in life is to see Black-Briar in the dirt."

They walked atop the wall running over the front gate, and the wolf-cage that joined with it. Hrokvild dropped the corpse at the edge of the wall and gave it a slight kick, sending it tumbling down amidst the seven ferocious beasts. It had only just hit the ground when three of them were atop it, each tearing at a different limb. One snapped at his brother when the smaller wolf appeared and tried to take a bite out of the leg he had claimed. One of the hands was ripped off when one of the wolves decided to gnaw and tear at the wrist.

"Hahaha! Did you see that? I named that one Tsun for a reason, you know! ... Anyway, Maven, you hate the bitch. So do a lot of people, but you do more than most. Why?"

 

"She stole something from me." Boldir did not want to go into any more detail. He decided to go ahead and push the topic towards what he'd originally wanted to speak to Hrokvild about. "It's no matter now. What matters is getting to her. Something we don't have the numbers to do."

 

The chieftain rolled his eyes. "Not this again. Look, Treva's Watch is all cowards and scum. We're better off without them."

 

"If what your men say is true, they number at well over a hundred. Closer to two, from what I hear. Riften has high walls and lots of arrows. Cowards and scum make the best sorts of targets. The skill of your people won't be much good when over half of them have been shot before we even see the other side of those gates. Better to let them die in your stead so that you will be fresh for the city guards and Black-Briars' own men."

 

"And their chieftain, Gerlith Ash-Eater? The man and I have a history. I've nearly killed him on three occasions, and had a very good and different reason each time. There's not a force in Oblivion that'd get that man to send his milk-drinkers to die for my benefit. And I'd sooner spend my days pissing the shit stains off a privy pot than working alongside that son of a whore."

 

"I don't expect you to work with him. Killing him seems like it would solve things just as well." Ingun and Hrokvild both looked surprised by the suggestion, but he went on. "He is a Nord, is he not? Ulfric Stormcloak won half of Skyirm in a duel. A clan of bandits should be child's play."

 

"Aye. It would be, if the craven bastard would leave his walls and face me like a man. He knows better!"

 

"Did Ulfric give Torygg such an option?" asked Boldir. "No. He walked into his home and gave him only two. We need to do the same. Is this plan starting to sound better now?"

 

The bandit chieftain smiled, his grin both genuinely happy and malicious at the same time. "Aye. I'd say it is."

[TheCzarsHussar]

The Brothers Horn-Hand

Ansilvund

 

"Kill them."

 

As the man gave his command, the Imperials and Gjoring turned their attention to the draugr that came towards them from the right, making sure to duck behind the pillar in the room. If the could manage to stay there, they could be safe from some of the spells. Jurik followed Roggi's pace, making a nod for him to enter the fray with the others. From what he could see, the mage was more concerned with the others, giving him an opportunity, but he had to time it correctly. Who knew what monstrosities he could summon should he see him?

 

Mivanu tried to stay out of sight, going through her bag hastily. She hoped to Mara that she hadn't used the last of those potions, or somehow lost the few she had. In the bottom of her bag she found a few of the tags she gave to the various potions; they had fallen off, making a number of them impossible to identify in the middle of battle.

 

Roggi dove in, timidly stabbing at a Draugr to gage it's strength. Batting the sword aside, the undead warrior attacked fiercely with his greatsword. Roggi ducked to avoid one slash, took another off his shield, all the while moving around the Draugr. The Nord's steel found the mummified flesh of the Draugr's calf, but it only slowed the assault. After blocking another blow with his shield, Knot-Beard charged with a bellowing war cry, knocking down the Draugr as they both fell to the cold stone in a twist of living and dead limbs. The living regained form first, and slid the iron sword deep into the chest of the undead Nord, silencing those sapphire eyes.

 

Gjoring was momentarily distracted when he saw Roggi jump ahead of the line he and Cidius had made for the battle. Amiel followed after him, diverting the attention of another draugr that had suddenly found Roggi to be a good target. Amiel's claymore hacked of its arm, but it continued to swing its axe, forcing him to take a step back. Was he alone, he could have dispatched it easily, but he had to mind his surroundings. One wrong swing and he'd get an ally killed.

 

Cidius trapped the blade of one of the creatures between his dagger and axe, letting Gjoring chop at its neck, sending it to the ground.

 

"Rise!" a voice, not from the man near them, but a more distant one, chimed through the room. From behind the man came two more of them, but they were different: They were larger of size and were better preserved. Their armor looked to be of finer make. Their helmets had horns going down at the side, as if an earlier design of the common style of iron in Skyrim. At the same time, the necromancer mumbled to himself and made gestures with his hands, focusing on a dark purple orb of magic. The dead they had dispatched were starting to move again.

 

"****," Jurik breathed. He couldn't wait for Mivanu any longer. She'd have a lot to explain after this. He ran his hand over the head of his hammer as he charged in. The rune appeared just in time, letting him have a swing at the newly arrived dead. It staggered, but quickly spun around and smashed its shield in his chest. Jurik fell backwards, only hanging on by grabbing one of the room's support beams. The draugr's swordtip was headed for his stomach.

 

"Jurik!" Gjoring shouted, spinning around and tacking the draugr with his shield first, sending it off balance. Amiel and Cidius had their hands full with the other one, who was swinging its battleaxe widely, and now they had to do it with only the drunk to help them. Amiel cursed to himself. He wished he had come across former legionnaires, not unstructured fighters like this. There was no strategy at play here; just responding to what was going on.

 

As Gjoring kept the creature busy, Jurik returned his attention to the mage. He couldn't be allowed to complete his ritual. A simple lightning bolt was charged in his left hand.

 

Roggi looked towards the mage, then towards Amiel, before choosing to help the latter. He and Cidius had the powerful Draugr distracted, but the wide swing of the undead's axe meant he couldn't get in close. So he dropped to a crouch and held his shield up. Unfortunately, he wasn't the quietest stalker, and the Draugr's next swing knocked him to his butt, and knocked his shield away from the protecting position he'd had it.

 

**

 

Vantius

 

"Ahh!" Vantiues screamed, falling to his knees and pressing his hands against the side of his neck. One of the bastards had hit him with a spell! It wasn't something that would kill him, but he could feel that his skin had gotten a painful burn from it. His own spell to raise the defeated dead faded away, leaving only the two stronger ones to deal with them. One of the Nords held his own against one of them alone, while the other one was forced to deal with three others. But where was the one that had cast the spell?

 

"What in-" Vantius never got to finish the sentence. The bloody spellcaster had ran past the draugr and up the ramp to where he was while he was.

 

**

 

The Brothers Horn-Hand

 

Gjoring threw a glance and a smile in the direction of his brother. The mage was dead; now they only needed to deal with these two. He shouldn't have let himself be distracted, as he felt his axehand take a smash from the draugr's shield, forcing him to drop his weapon. In response, Jurik took charge and jumped at the creature from the ledge, feet first. They both fell over, but it gave Gjoring the time to pick up his axe; he planted it firmly in its neck. It didn't stop moving. Gjoring, in response, started to hack at every body part it tried to move, before it was laid to rest by Jurik's hammer crushing the head under the helmet.

 

When the drunk was knocked to his bum, Amiel used the opportunity to tackle the creature to the ground. Cidius followed shortly, stomping with all his might at its hand, rendering it useless. Another well-placed kick to the helmet made it stand down for a few moments, letting his father sever its head from the body.

 

"Phew..." Jurik was breathing heavily as he walked over to Roggi and offered a hand to help him up. Looking around, he had to say that this place did look more like a cave than an old nordic ruin. He had never been deep into one, but it was clear from the lack of stonework that if there was an old ruin here, it was to be found deeper inside. "You're pretty brave, rushing in at the draugr like you did."

 

Roggi chuckled, but glanced over his shoulder when he heard a noise. "Huh, I thought it was pretty dumb after the fact. I'm lucky they're a little slower than we are. You're pretty handy with that hammer yourself. And a mage to boot, haha."

 

"What the ******* hell was that!?" Amiel hissed at Gjoring. "You broke the line, you bloody amateur! Gah, I should never have let you guys in on this."

 

"Calm down, granny," Gjoring just waved off the outburst. The Imperial stared at him in disbelief in return. Cidius could see his father's swordarm twitch. Jurik could see that Gjoring was ready to spin around and smash his shield in the old man's face. "You'd be dead if not for Jurik, and Jurik would be dead if I didn't do that. So go **** yourself, snowback."

 

"Calm down!" Jurik and Cidus raised their voices at the same time, making them exchange a glance. Despite the tension, it did make them smile. Mivanu looked to Roggi, shaking her head.

 

Roggi put a hand on each of Gjoring's and Amiel's shoulders. "Come on you two. We're all alive, so let's just pull ourselves together and get through this. Who knows how many more surprises this place holds."

He then took a step back and adjusted his belt and shield, and looked to Cidus and Jurik to lead the way.

 

"The Imperial has a point," Mivanu mumbled to Jurik, who nodded. Yeah, he did. They weren't fighting as a group. It was easy when it was just him and Gjoring; they knew each other, and what the other one most likely would do during the fight. Roggi, Amiel and Cidius wasn't part of their normal routine and it had showed. They had dealt with a similar situation, albeit with bandits rather than undead, by themselves and done so just fine. Now they had just stumbled on each other's shoes.

 

"Why didn't you join the fight sooner?" Cidius asked him. he didn't seem to have heard Mivanu, or, if he had, he ignored what she had said. "You don't strike me as a coward."

 

"It's... kinda how we do things," the answer was a bit hesitant. Jurik wasn't quite sure as to how to best explain it. "I'm... I'm fairly powerful, I guess, but I'm not skilled enough to maintain my magic in combat for too lengthy periods. So we have to fight in a way that gives me time to asses what I need to do for each situation. So... so he - Gjoring I mean - tend to try to draw as much attention as possible, giving me time to prepare."

 

Neither Cidius or Jurik seemed to have noticed Roggi's look, but Amiel had brushed his hand off his shoulder. "Alive, yes. But that did not go as well as it should have. If I were your commander, I would have you all on half rations for a week for being incompetent."

 

"Teh," Gjoring scoffed at him. "I'd just take half of your then. Doubt you could beat anyone else here if your life depended on it."

 

Roggi frowned and crossed his arms, sighing at the bickering soldiers. "You two fight more than a pair of rapid dogs, you know that?"

 

"We wouldn't if we had just taken some time to plan how we fight!" Amiel nearly shouted.

 

"We know how we fight, dumbass!" Gjoring shot back. "I keep them busy, Jurik keeps them dead. It works, because my brother has his magic."

 

Roggi turned and walked back the way they came, kicking over a few of the Draugr, and picking up the few coins that spilled out. A few of them were caked in black, dried blood, but he pocketed them anyway. One had a ring, but it was so old, scratched, and dented Roggi figured it wasn't worth it's weight in rocks. 

"You guys keep it up, and you'll wake the dead, heh heh."

 

"Gjoring, just... just stop, will you?" Mivanu rolled her eyes. She then turned to Amiel. "And you; you're not the boss. If you have something to contribute, don't shout it like you're still a Legion officer or whatever you were. We're adults, for Mara's sake."

 

Roggi rejoined the group, standing with arms crossed beside Mivanu. "Take your anger out on the next enemy instead of each other, I say."

 

"By the Three... Let's just get this over with. You two can kill each other after we get paid, if you please," Jurik pushed Gjoring aside, waving for Mivanu to join him at his walk. Cidius followed, nodding to Roggi, saying that he was glad he had the gusto to distract the draugr like he had, allowing himself and his father to kill it. Amiel and Gjoring made up the rear guard, neither talking nor looking at each other.

 

"What happened with the potions back there?" whispering to not make another big deal, Jurik asked the Dunmer. She threw a glace to her satchel.

 

"Some of the tags had fallen off. I couldn't figure out which was which on the fly. I think I have it covered now though," she handed him a flask. Its content was of a familiar deep blue color. For the next fight."

 

"Hang on to it. If I have it, I'll either have to drink it or break it during the fight. Wasted if I don't need it that time."

 

"Yeah, that's true."

 

"So, Roggi," Cidius said. "Where'd you learn to fight?"

 

"Hacking at trees." Roggi motioned to the notched edge of his iron blade. "I think an axe would serve me better though. More like swinging pickaxe, and I have lots of practice at that. But mining is poor work, and I like mead too much, heh heh."

 

"Hang on a moment," Cidius said and turned back. He jumped down the ledge the necromancer had stood on and went over to the larger draugr Gjoring had fought and picked up its sword. Half a minute later, he was back with the others and help it out for Roggi to take. "The old Nord swords may look crude, but they're well made. You should take it. Probably will do you a lot better than that blade."

 

Roggi took the ancient Nordic blade in hand, looked it over, then drew out his chipped iron one and tossed it aside. "Thanks. Feels better than mine, anyway. And it's sharp, too."

 

"it's not an axe, but, yeah," the Imperial smiled. Jurik looked at them, shaking his head with a smile of his own. Cidius seemed like a good guy to keep around. He wasn't quite sure of his father though. If he didn't get along with Gjoring, there was nothing to be done.

 

"Before we go deeper, I think Amiel has a point. That battle should have been much easier to win," Jurik held up his hand to make them halt. "And there are surely more to come. The man I killed didn't own the voice that preceded the two larger draugr that came for us. And he shouted to someone he called 'Anine' as we got here. There are more of these people around, meaning more draugr to fight.. He sighed. with a look to Gjoring that told him to keep his tongue. "Amiel, you're a Legion veteran. Any suggestions?"

 

"Well," Amiel seemed to smile now, and his attitude changed almost immediately. "You're clearly our artillery, with that magic of yours. Gjoring looks to be very skilled with his shield. I think we should use a modified version of the approach you two already use, to not waste your talents. Perhaps make it so that Cidius and I will aid whomever of you need the most aid. We're not much good with shields, but we can fight defensively when we need to. Especially in small formations. I trust you..." he nodded to Jurik. "... to know where you two want us. Where are you most comfortable in the thick of battle, Knot-Beard? I don't mean to be rude, but you seem less skilled than the Horn-Hands and ourselves, though you certainly don't lack courage. Taking the attention of the large draugr like that was not something many would do."

 

Roggi grinned at the compliment, and gave a small shrug. "I'm new to this, so I'll go wherever you guys want me. I'm alright with my shield though, so there's that."

 

"You can help me with drawing attention then," Gjoring said. For a moment he tapped his index and middle finger at the edge of his axe's blade. "You said you'd think an axe would be better for you? I've been trained with both swords and axes. If you want, we can swap to see if you like it more."

 

Roggi stroked his knotted beard, but ultimately shook his head. "Best not. Cut things a little close last time, so I wouldn't want to take the chance that it'd throw us off."

 

"Suit yourself. I'll just have to pick up a blade like that for myself later then," Gjoring laughed.

 

**

 

Jurik walked behind Gjoring and Roggi as they entered a new room. There was a ramp going down to a section below, where they could see a bonfire that was still burning, and there was an enchanting table.

 

"Help! intruders, this one needs your help! These necromancers are going to kill this one if you don't set him free!"

 

Everyone in the group rushed forward, looking straight down from their vantage point. On a table marked with various symbols in a red color that looked a bit too much like blood for Jurik's preference, they could see a Khajiit. He was naked, with a uniform dark brown color to his fur and a small scar on his nose.

 

"What the- who are you!?" Mivanu said.

 

"H'Reni. And H'Reni would appreciate answering questions after he gets off this table."

 

"Roggi, do you mind?" Jurik asked. 

 

"Nope," Roggi said, sheathing his new sword in a simple ring sheath, and drawing an iron dagger from his boot. 

"How'd you get caught up in here, Henry?" he asked, sawing at the thick ropes binding the Khajit's legs.

 

"This one was sent to investigate rumors of necromancers. While... scouting H'Reni walked into the wrong room at the wrong time," as the catman spoke, the rest of the group followed Roggi down the ramp.

 

"Any why is the Dominion interested in this old place?" Cidius asked. Amiel nodded in agreement with the question.

 

"Dominion? This one is not working for the Dominion. This one is a freelance mercenary."

 

"I don't care who you're working for," Gjoring said. The man walked over to the passage further into the ruin, looking for any moving shadows or perhaps the sound of feet, but nothing. It appeared they were alone for now.

 

"I don't know..." Jurik started. He had to admit that the possibility of this catman being part of the Dominon was something that made him uneasy. They didn't have a very good reputation to begin with, as liars and thieves, and being part of the damned Dominion didn't make it better. If this one was one of them, he'd be doing the universe a favor by killing him. On the other hand, if he wasn't, killing him wouldn't do anyone any good. "I don't think we should assume who he works for just yet."

 

"This one is humbled by the restraint these Nords show," as Roggi finished cutting H'Reni loose, he jumped to his feet and gave them a polite bow. "Now H'Reni needs to find some clothes, before he shames the entire room."

 

Roggi threw a thumb back the way they came. "The made Jurik killed had some robes, if you can't find anything in here."

 

"Pah, it is probably filled with worms. These necromancers are disgusting. This one think his... give H'Reni a moment, and he'll fetch them. Bloody cold, this land."

 

"You should go with him," Jurik added to Roggi.

 

Roggi nodded The Nord followed as they made their way back to the dead bodies of Draugr and necromancer. Sheathing the dagger in his boot, and drawing his new Nordic sword. "So, hired mercenary eh? Hired to do what?"

 

"Find artifacts for necromantic purposes."

 

Roggi arched an eyebrow. "Your employer is a necromancer, huh? And you're okay with that?"

 

"Not that this one know of. Just a mage interested in the necromancer Lu'ah Al-Skaven. H'Reni is supposed to meet him in Windhelm if something is found."

 

The cat tore the robe of the dead man down the front, making it more like a long jacket, instead of going through the effort to pull it off him. When it was off him, H'Reni used his claws to tear off a bit from from its fold, making himself a belt to keep it together. This also made it shorter, letting him move his legs more easily, and with less danger of tripping in his own clothes. "There, that's better. This one will have to rely on his claws until I find my dagger and sword. The blades these draugr are too long and heavy for comfort."

 

Roggi considered offering him his dagger, but decided against it. He still wasn't sure if the Khajit could be trusted. And he could slide the dagger in between Roggi's ribs before he could even consider drawing his own sword. 

"Right," was all he said, waiting for the cat to lead the way back to the group. He didn't want H'Reni behind him either.

 

**

 

"i'm telling you, we shouldn't trust the Khajiit," Cidius said as H'Reni and Roggi walked out of earshot.

 

"Who says we do?" Gjoring and Jurik shot back in unison. They exchanged glances, having to hold back a laugh at the idiocy of talking like they just did. Gjoring continued. "I'm not going to kill someone just for being a prisoner of these snowbacks."

 

"That attitude is probably going to get people killed, Nord," Amiel added. "You don't trust Khajiit."

 

"And many Nords would say you don't trust Imperials," Mivanu retorted. "So would many Dunmer, Redguards, Orcs, Argonians, Khajiit, Bretons, Altmer and Bosmer. I don't care for the beastmen, or most humans, but I think Gjoring is right. We don't kill someone for being off the wrong race. We, at least the Horn-Hands and I, have always been better than that."

 

"Let's decide Hreni's fate after we're done here," Jurik raised his voice to a degree, signaling that he would have no more arguing about it. Amiel and Cidius raised their eyebrows, but went along with it when both Gjoring and Mivanu seemed to accept his judgment. "If he's a mercenary, I'm sure he'd want in on this contract too, and we could use another fighter."

 

**

 

"Don't you look snazy," jurik said sarcastically as he first saw the teared up robes on H'Reni, with a smile to accompany it. H'Reni, in return, just grinned. "What's your skill?"

 

"H'Reni is skilled with light swords and daggers, and his claws. But this one is not comfortable in heavy steel and iron, or with large weapons. Light and fast, leaving the enemy with no chance to fight back."

 

"That worked out marvelously, didn't it?" Cidius snorted.

 

"Ulfric Stormcloak has the power of the Thu'um, but he was still captured. Being skilled doesn't make H'Reni, or anyone else, invincible," the cat brushed him off. Cidius nodded, conceding the point. He knew that something as simple as bad luck or momentary distraction had gotten good people killed many times.

 

Roggi went over to Jurik's side, leaning in close to whisper. "He's here after some artifacts too. Said. A mage hired him. Could be our same mage."

 

"Interesting," Jurik mumbled back, before he took a step in H'Reni's direction. "Say, Khajiit, what brought you here? If you're a sellsword, who's the contractor?"

 

"Some mage interested in Lu'ah Al-Skaven, as this one told your friend. Told this one to meet him in Windhelm should something of interest be found."

 

Mivanu, the Horn-Hands and the Imperials exchanged meaningful looks. Amiel was the first to take the word. "Sounds like we weren't the only ones hired for this job."

 

"H'Reni has been rescued by someone who came here to do the same job? Perhaps the mage didn't have faith in this one. And, when on the table, the thought crossed my mind," the brown catman gave a polite bow to the others. "This one would love to split the reward, if we can manage this place together."

 

"I'm not sure this is encouraging or suspicious," Mivanu whispered to Gjoring. "The cat could be of use, but why would the mage hire more than one group at a time?" He shrugged in return.

 

Roggi thoughtfully toyed with the knot of his beard. "Maybe when he saw a sneak thief didn't work, he opted to go with warriors. Especially if he thought H'Reni had failed. Turns out he'll get the best of both."

 

"H'Reni is an assassin, not a thief," the cat put on a tone of disbelief towards the accusation, exaggerated. To Jurik's mind, he seemed to grin a lot, which was a bit unsettling. His teeth looked to be dangerous, like that of the few other Khajiit he had met in his travels. But he bushed it from his mind. Surely the claws would be a larger problem should be try to kill them, and the fact that everyone else was carrying weapons made him realize that on that note, H'Reni didn't have a better starting position than the rest of the group. Should Amiel or Cidius turn on them, that would be more dangerous as it stood now. They were armed and armored with steel. And yet, this hadn't been intuitively obvious to him.

 

"The assassin better prepare himself for a fight then," Gjoring said. "I doubt the necromancers will just let us walk in, take a few things and leave again."

 

"Oh, I don't know. If we gave them your body in return, they might. Your brutish strength would be appealing for a servant," Jurik said, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder before he took the lead into the passageway into the deeper parts of the ruins.

 

Roggi gave a chuckle at Jurik's jest, taking a spot behind Gjoring and his brother as they went deeper into the ruin. He was aware of H'Reni behind him, disquieting as it was, but hoped Amiel and Cidius would protect him if the cat turned traitor.

 

**

 

A couple of minutes later, the group found themselves on the stonefloors of the old Nordic style, with rows of grave shelves along the walls. They were empty, and there were no signs of draugr on the floor. Ahead of them the passage had collapsed, but Jurik didn't think it was something that it had happened recently. A notable amount of dirt was by a portion of the wall, revealing the position of a tunnel that had been digged. It was narrow and forced them to walk in single file, but it was also short. Whoever had dug it had obviously known the layout of the tomb. Only a couple of minutes later, they entered a room with a high ceiling.

 

"Hmm, looks like we're into the ruin proper," Jurik mumbled. To their left a sturdy looking wooden staircase was the only way ahead. As he headed towards the stairs, he heard a rumbling noise below him. A hand grabbed his shoulder and forcefully pulled him back. From the floor he could see the part of the floor her had stood on rise before him.

 

"Woah there, little brother," Gjoring laughed and helped him up again. He had pulled Jurik back the moment he had seen the odd circle on the floor. "I thought you were supposed to be the intelligent among us?"

 

"Funny. Good thing you're such a rude brute with no sense of personal boundaries."

 

"I can attest to that..." Mivanu mumbled with a chuckle. Amiel rolled his eyes and he and Cidius took the lead of the group, leading around the risen floor and up the staircase. Once they reached the top, they could see that the way ahead now was back into the tunnels cleared out. They headed down another wooden ramp, not a proper staircase, and down into another narrow corridor to their left. It went down, taking a few turns.

 

**

 

They walked for a while, without any alternative paths presenting themselves. Soon after, the passage ran into a larger room. The largest thus far in the ruin. An old bridge of nordic style was at the center of the room, balanced on a pillar in the center of it. Underneath the right side of the bridge, to their view, there was dirt going up to it, making a natural wall. To the left there had been dug out a way to go beneath it. In the passage, they could see 2 or 3 of the draugr that had joined the fray earlier. On top of the bridge there was a man, an Orc, wearing the same robes as the man Jurik had killed earlier. He was tall and broad like most orcs, but his hair was white and withered, and his face was wrinkled.

 

"I am the Anchorite of this group, and I say that you will go no further. Your bodies will make for fair compensation for the life of Vantius."

 

The draugr began to move, and several more walked after them. Jurik could count at least ten. He could also see more robed people on the right side of the bridge. "Gjoring?"

 

His brother ran forward, along with Amiel and Cidius, bottlenecking the draugr under the bridge. In that small space, the undead had little room to swing their weapons. Jurik, H'Reni, Roggi and Mivanu stayed behind, looking for what the Anchorite would do in response to Gjoring and the Imperials move. One of the draugr already fell to their blades. The Dunmer handed Jurik a potion, which he gulped down in a hurry. Moments later, he could feel its magic flow through his veins. As he cast his spell, he felt its effect came easily.

 

"Hmm," the Anchorite seemed honestly surprised, but then he smiled and mumbled something to himself. A dark purple orb appeared in his hand and he pointed it to the ground behind the warriors. A tall figure in black and red armor appeared, shouting "I smell weakness!" as it drew its sword.

 

Jurik was on the creature immediately, planting his hammer in its chest.

 

Roggi went back to help Jurik, holding his shield up as he sidestepped in an attempt to work behind the summoned creature. However, Jurik's hit knocked the Dremora backwards, leaving Roggi no room to get behind him. Instead he just swung, hoping to catch him in the ribs. But the blow was repulsed, and Roggi driven back by the stronger demon.

 

Jurik, playing of the momentary distraction Roggi had caused, moved his hammer to land another blow. However, it disappeared and his hammer struck the stone behind it. A scream of pain filed the room. Looking up, he could see that H'Reni had jumped up the bridge and had his claws deep into the Anchorite's throat. He blinked.

 

"****!" Gjoring cursed as one of the draugr got in a solid hit on his shield, knocking him backwards. Amiel and Cidius had to move back along with him, to avoid the now plentiful swings coming from the now more mobile undead warriors. "Jurik! Roggi!"

 

The shout made Jurik discard their usual approach and he ran to join the fray with the others, planting his hammer in the helmet of one of the creatures. When Gjoring shouted for help, it was past the time for 'I keep them busy, Jurik keeps them dead'. From the 'thud' behind him, he assumed that H'Reni had come back down. 

 

Roggi moved in as well, and was able to get in a good cut on a distracted Draugr. But the creature's next swing nearly ripped his shield off, the battle axe biting deep into leather hide. But the swing was a long one, so Roggi's sword drove right into the undead's thigh. It went to a knee, and Roggi nearly decapitated it, but the ancient Nord leaned back and only dust poured from what would've been a human's cut throat.

 

"Fall back!" Amiel shouted. The draugr were beginning to spread out, to surround them. He and Jurik let the others step back before they did, swinging widely to keep the dead back. Ancient Nords armed with shields moved forward, making this harder to do.

 

So that's what they're doing, Jurik thought. The other necromancers are directing this battle from afar.

 

"Roggi!" Gjoring rushed forward again. The damned drunk hadn't been able to retreat properly because of the damned axe stuck in his shield. Gjoring's shield smashed into the chest of one of the beasts that approached the Knot-Beard, sending it to its back. A sharp pain followed in his side.

 

"Gjoring!" Jurik's scream echoed through the room. Kicking in the leg of the draugr in front of him he opened for his hammer to finish it off. Two more stood in front of him, separating him from his brother. He could see the blade sink into his brother's side. Jurik started to summon his cloak. His heart beat faster for every second.

 

"Bloody hell," Amiel mumbled to himself. "I'm going to hate myself for doing this..."

 

The Imperial charged past Jurik, tackling one of the beasts to the ground.

 

Dropping his shield, as the axe was still lodged in it, Roggi kicked the Draugr off Gjoring, throwing the larger Nord's arm around his shoulder. He lifted him up, dragging him back towards Jurik and the others. 

"I've got Gjoring, help Amiel!" he said to no one in particular.

 

Jurik's spell took hold, creating the shock field around his body. "Amiel! Out of the way!" The Imperial jumped to the side, setting course for his son instead, who was fighting a creature of his own. Jurik rushed forward, deflecting one of the creature's blows. While dead, they must have retained some of their intellect, or perhaps the necromancers were cautious, but they seemed hesitant to brave the aura. Using the opening, he struck at their knees. They didn't die, but wouldn't join the fight again. Behind Gjoring and Roggi more undead were amassing. Weaker bodies, but more plentiful. There had been no way for them to win this. Jurik ran for them, hoping his cloak would be enough to keep them at bay.

 

Mivanu, with the help of H'Reni was going through the pack for potions. She had several healing ones, and knew which ones they were. H'Reni, however, seemed to be on the lookout for something else.

 

Cidius and Amiel dispatched the draugr they had separated from the others and came running to Roggi's aid. They moved too slow for comfort in their heavy armors, more so than Jurik who was wearing nonrestrictive chainmail. To their right they could see one of the robed women walk out on the bridge. pink light emanated from her hands and she pointed it to Jurik. His magic vanished without a trace.

 

"******* hell," Amiel cursed. This was really not his day. Right now he wished he had been more friendly with the Nords. Wouldn't make them feel as shit about what was going to happen next. Or perhaps it was better if they did, so they got some knowledge into their thick skulls. "Jurik, get the hell out of there!"

 

Jurik had to swing his hammer with width and speed to keep the horde off him. Somehow his cloak and hammer spell had just disappeared. He cursed the necromancers in the name of Kynareth, Mara and Talos. He started to walk as he heard the shout. A hand was put on his shoulder, pulling him back. It was Amiel. "Go! Get your brother out of here! I'll keep them as long as I can!"

 

"But-"

 

"Don't argue; just do it! Cidius, carry his unconscious body out if you need to!"

 

"Yes, father..." the man didn't seem at all enthusiastic, but followed his father's orders all the same. The Imperial grabbed Jurik by the arm, pulling him towards the exit. "Come on, we need you to help keep Gjoring safe on the way out..."

 

H'Reni had come to Roggi's aid in carrying Gjoring, while Mivanu was forcing a potion into his mouth. He didn't seem to be much awake, but his feet moved to their best ability to let them move quickly.

 

"Hurry up!" Amiel came running for them. His nose had been broken and he had scratches all over his armor. "Maybe I can hold them in this tunnel for a while. Just... just get the **** out of here! What are you waiting for? That was an order, soldiers!"

 

Roggi shuffled along with Gjoring, glancing back over his shoulder as Amiel held the Draugr off. He wanted to help, as little help he could give the more experienced soldier. But he knew from the tone of his voice, he'd brook no argument in this.

 

Mivanu noted that some of her potions were missing from her satchel. What the hell had the cat taken, and why?

 

"Come on, hurry..." Gjoring said, trying to move faster.

 

**

 

Gjoring was starting to get exhausted. It was painful to move, but they were almost out now. Once outside he could rest. until then, nothing mattered. Not his pain, not his loss of blood. He'd be damned if he got Jurik or Mivanu killed for his inability to pay attention to his enemy. A sting of regret came from his stomach, when he thought about how he had treated the old Imperial.

 

"Jurik," H'Reni said, drumming his fingers against one of the support beams. "Can you knock this down with that hammer? I think we need to cause a small cave-in to be safe on the outside."

 

He nodded. Yeah, that was a good idea. Two heavy hits later and the tunnel started to fill with rubble.

 

**

 

"Argh!" Gjoring let out groans and moans as Mivanu disinfected his would. Luckily the blade hadn't been poisoned, so it was a simple matter of cleaning it. H'Reni had showed himself quite the capable alchemist, at least as far as poisons went. He had quickly determined that there was nothing to fear from the wound on that note. It would still require time to heal though, and a lot more healing potions. Jurik was preparing some bandages. Roggi and Cidius had been asked to stand guard.

 

Roggi stood beside Cidius, afraid to speak, lest he upset the man who just lost his father. He awkwardly shifted from one foot to the other, anxious to get moving. Who knew if there was another entrance around here. Any minute dozens of those undead could come storming out. And with Gjoring hurt, it would be slow going. 

Eventually he mustered up enough courage to say "I'm sorry, Cidius. Your father was the bravest man I ever met."

 

"He was an simpleminded idiot, a blind patriot, a control freak who ran my sister's life into the ground... and he was a man who always did what he thought was right. I guess this was his way of proving that."

 

Roggi simply nodded. "Right. My father was a worse drunk than me. Stumbled into a mine one night, belly full of mead, fell down a shaft. Mother died not long after. Parents have a way of making you love them, even with their faults, you know?"

 

"Yeah, i guess they do..." Cidius didn't look at Roggi. He didn't want sympathy, he wanted something to do to keep his mind busy. He head learned to deal with grief a long time ago.

 

**

 

"You know, you're gonna get yourself killed someday," Jurik teased. Gjoring had been bandaged, but still had trouble standing and walking on his own. The blade had penetrated deeply and Mivanu feared there'd still be internal bleeding. They had to get him to a proper healer in Windhelm, but for now he seemed healthy enough to make the journey. She hoped.

 

"And if I stop being so damned noble and selfless, I'll get all of you killed," Gjoring smiled back. He tried to laugh, but it hurt too much. He raised his voice. "Roggi; you're too brave for my well-being! Now make a toast for today's battles!"

 

"Aye," Jurik added, laughing for both himself and Gjoring. "Come on, Roggi. You've got the most practice. Give us a toast, and remember to add in how much of an suicidal idiot my brother is!"

 

"And make it so it reminds him to be more careful!" Mivanu added. "Something truly shameful you can spread across the lands as we travel. Like getting this badly hurt by skeevers or something."

 

"Hey," her man said. "I thought we were supposed to embellish our tales, not make them more embarrassing?"

 

"Only when you're not wounded, dear," Mivanu gave him a kiss on the forehead. "When you get wounded, I need to give you an incentive to not do it again. I bloody well ain't gonna lose you to a Sovngarde wench just yet!"

 

"All right, all right." Roggi raised his bottle, looking at each of them in turn. "Here's to us. New warriors and old, men and women and cats. Here's to Gjoring and his pricked prick, and H'Reni, our new pet. And most of all, to Amiel, may he rest easy in Aetherius. Now let's drink until the sun rises in the west and sets in the south, or something!"

Roggi tipped back his bottle, draining it in one go. He only hoped Amiel was in Aertherius, and not strapped to a table. He deserved a good rest, that much and more, not to become some mage's expirement.

 

"Hear, hear!" all but Gjoring raised a cup. Even Cidius. They'd shared a bottle between them into some cups they had brought while Roggi was coming up with his toast. Thankfully Roggi kept his own stash, or else they'd run out on the way to this god's forsaken place. Mivanu had slapped her man's hand away from the bottle, reminding him that alcohol made the blood flow easier through his veins and that that was the last thing he wanted right now.

 

"Come on," Gjoring said. "If I can't drink, it's imperative that I get to a healer. I won't be happy 'til i partake in this toast! So let's get going!"

 

"Is he always like that?" Cidius asked Jurik, who nodded. "Huh. Some of you Nords I will never understand."

 

[TheCzarsHussar]

Endar, Tacitus

Imperial City Palace

Morning

 

Thy power spend, thy form in flames,

Curse my foes, and curse their names.

Vest thy power and consecrate

This weapon's art to damn their fate.

 

...How brutish.

 

Endar closed the old tome, having already committed the page number and most of the text to memory. It had been some time since the High General had requested that he look into the art of soul binding, and it was only just now finally yielding some fruit, rotten as it was.

Endar had found numerous obscure examples of such magic being used in the past, and even a few rare cases in which two humanoids had been involved. He'd written some of his own contacts; ambitious wizards and necromancers he'd met over the years who actually specialized in soul magics, but the few of them who had ever actually attempted pulled off a soul-binding on themselves had only done so with animals, and were not in any state to respond to him in a civilized manner. This was of no serious consequence to him though. They were amateurs, the lot of them. Endar was fairly certain that the oldest and most experienced, an Altmer named Gwindolil, had not even created a cross-planer soul vessel until post-Oblivion Crisis. And fellow "misplaced Telvanni," Rythe Orealo had confessed that he had never pursued that line of research, despite naming himself a master necromancer. The likes of these people would not be fit to attempt even the most basic of soul-magics. No, it would take a true master wizard to turn up anything in this study. It would take him.

 

And now, Endar was actually on to something. He believed that he may have found a way to break a soul bind. Unfortunately, he had no subjects to test it on, as there were no people willing to offer up their souls. At least none who were readily available, to his his knowledge. Even more unfortunate was the method it would require, which he was felt may be even less favorable than having the bound souls. By his own theory, the souls could be, more or less, ripped back apart at the potential expense of an unforeseeable portion of either or both participants' essence. An undoubtedly painful process. That was not the worst of it though. In order to do this, a more powerful force than either of them must take hold of the soul and claim it as their own. To get this right would require the death of one of the participants, the entrapment of their soul using a colossal black soul gem (which in turn requires a strong third party to willingly sacrifice his or her own soul), and another third party dealing with the Ideal Masters of the Soul Cairn, which would involve the very unlikely attempt to get it back from them. If this somehow proved successful, a very complicated necromantic ritual would have to be performed to return the now-freed soul to the mortal world, and give it a host body. If the person's spirit has already devolved too extensively, then the best that can be done with them is to bind their wraith to an enchanted soul gem and pledge it to the cause of revenge against your enemies (which will damn them but make them useful before the end). If it has not, then the host body can be their own body, or that of another. After all of this, the reborn mortal would probably live out the rest of their relatively short life with the dark memories of the Cairn haunting them all the way back to the grave.

 

It could be worse. Endar thought. He wasn't certain how, at the moment, but he figured that it could. He flipped through his eighteen pages of notes and diagrams on the concept. They were written in Chimeris for the sake of security, though it was unlikely that anyone would have understood them anyway. It had been over a week since he'd finalized this theory, but Endar still found himself looking over it extensively. If there were any possible alternatives to using the Ideal Masters, the rest could be made much easier, assuming the splitting of the souls didn't immediately ruin the spirit of one of the subjects.

He closed his notes and shelved them, turning to look over his other projects. The sunbird research was the most extensive by far, with notes and sketches pinned up all over an entire wall of his study. This topic had gone well, up to a point. If he could see one in person for more than a few seconds, it would be invaluable. For that, he needed something stronger to work as an anchor than a basic welkynd stone. It was unfortunate that all greater variants of the stones owned by the Ayleids were lost. He had an idea to get around this, but it would just take a little time to get underway, as it would require leaving the city, and preparations for a potentially long trek would have to be made. And those couldn't start until Elara returned to the city from her task in Cheydinhal. In the meantime, he would just have to work on the other projects he'd taken on. Soul binding was shady business, and the sunbird work was a secret only known to a few people in the palace, but the Wild Hunt research was his alone. That Bosmer, whatever his name had been, Moris, or something like that, had not shown up again since he'd first asked him to look into it, but Endar didn't need someone to check up on him. It was an interesting field, and relevant, given the war everyone keeps saying will happen soon. He opened a new journal, bound in dyed green leather, and set back to working on yet another of his many projects.

 

***

 

Tacitus walked up the winding staircases of the White-Gold Tower. He rubbed the brass knuckles of his molded hand, wondering if he'd ever get to use it. He may very well have had his last chance against Corio and the Sunbird, but he'd fled. While all his men died behind him, he fled. Only the Rancor had survived the Sunbird's horrific onslaught, and just barely at that. And now his ships prowled the seas for pirates, but didn't dare attack any Thalmor ships. That must wait until the war began, and that's all that he looked forward to.

 

You look forward to seeing Silana again, a part of him said, which caused Tacitus to wince.

 

No, he would not think of her. Not after the way he'd run from her, from Anvil. She was gone, he'd never see her again, and it was for the best. He didn't care about their social standings, nor what others would say. But he knew there was no room in his heart for love, not without sacrificing some of the hate. And he couldn't stop the hate, that's all that drove him to keep going, especially when he wasn't raiding, like now. He returned from Anvil, and now sought out the Dunmer mage. It seemed that, since he was handling the Sunbird research, he was the man to report to. The leaders knew of course, though Endar would want the specifics.

 

That's why Tacitus climbed the steps to Endar's chambers, dressed in simple black pants, boot, and vest, which hung over his white shirt. It was his regular outift, and he didn't wish to change it just because he was High Admiral now. He wouldn't let this office change him. Tacitus put thoughts of clothing aside and knocked on the door, frowning as he did. He wasn't overjoyed to be in the company of the elf, but at least he wasn't Thalmor.

 

At the sound of the knock, Endar closed his journal on Valenwood and looked over at the scrying crystal on his desk. So, the Admiral returns.

Endar had not expected to see the Imperial again for some time still, but he was glad the man was back. Better to hear what he had to say in person than the vague reports Endar had received shortly after the apparent sunbird attacks in the south. He put his book back on its shelf as he cast a spell to unlock the door while calling out. "Enter."

 

Tacitus opened the door, and was surprised at how cluttered the office had become since he'd last been here. "You've been busy. Figuring out how to beat the Sunbirds, I hope."

 

Endar flicked his fingers and ignited the cool blue flames of his wall sconce. With the wall to Tacitus's left fully lit, all of his sunbird research hanging on it became more clearly visible. "I have. And you? Word is that you've encountered two of the vessels yourself."

 

Tacitus' eyes scanned the wall, but they flickered away from it soon after. It was incomprehensible to him. "Just one. But it was enough to destroy the other eight ships in my flotilla, and nearly mine as well. Just one of those things has enough power to decimate our fleet."

 

"Just one?" Endar looked a bit disappointed. "I suppose the stories were embellished then. Though I an sure that you would be pleased to hear that I not believe that just one could destroy your entire fleet. At least not as easily as it would seem. Did the vessel change positions at all? And do you recall how many times it fired the cannon?"

 

"It faded out and reappeared about half a mile away, cutting off two of my ships' retreat. And it fired about half a dozen times, though the last few shots seemed less powerful, and it didn't give chase."

Though whether that's due to Corio toying with me or not, I couldn't say, Tacitus thought.

 

"Then it sounds as though my assumptions are true." Endar looked over the old diagrams on the wall. He'd made copies, and plenty of them. Some were unaltered, but many more were covered in notes and small details where he believed there may have been a flaw in the older designs. "These designs are old, and do not account for a second power source, which must be required to focus the sun's energy between the mirrors, not just anchor it." He looked at Tacitus. "I am glad to have news of this from a credible source such as yourself. From what you tell me, it seems that even with the Thalmor's superior power sources, they still use up a good deal of energy to reach the output they desire. Grand welkynd stones, if that is what they use, can regenerate themselves at a faster rate than almost any other raw physical magicka a source that can be found on Mundus. But that can't happen as they're being used, and they need a resting period to do so. If one were to burn out entirely, it could result in catastrophe. The vessel could be destroyed, or even trapped in Aetherius."

 

"Yes, magic and stones and whatnot, but how do we beat it? Can we make them burn themselves out, or is there some other way?" Tacitus asked. All that mattered was how to beat them. How to beat Corio.

 

"For man so unlearned as yourself, you are surprisingly close." Endar said, traveling across his wall to a blank stretch near the far side from the door. "The crystals will be their one weakness. They make the sunbird possible, but they also limit it. And, better yet, if we can target these from afar, we can bring the entire vessel down... or up." The wizard shrugged. "I'm really not yet certain what the result will be. I have been studying regular welkynd stones for weakness as of late, but they are fragile things. Poor representations of the sort no doubt held by the Thalmor. But I have a plan for that in the works as well. At the moment, Admiral, there is little else I can give you on this matter that would likely hold your interest."

 

"Unlearned eh?" Tacitus ground his teeth but didn't say anything more about the comment.

"Well. Guess I should tell you I haven't tried out your fist." He held up the dwarven metal hand. "Never got a chance to. Hope it works a well as you claim. It'll help me surprise those Thalmor, that much is sure."

 

"What a shame." Endar's eyes went down to Tacitus's false hand for the first time since he'd arrived. It wasn't a particularly important experiment the Admiral was 'helping' him with. Not like the sunbirds or wild hunt, but it was a good side project nonetheless.

"I've a feeling you are correct in your belief that it will "surprise those Thalmor", but for that to happen, it needs to be used. Have you at least utilized the effect for anything else?"

 

"I haven't had the need to make anything catch on fire or explode recently, so no, I haven't used it. I was saving it for the special occasion of that final raid, but we never even had a chance to board." Tacitus scowled while thinking about his men burning and exploding, but cast it aside. No use dwelling on the past.

 

"It is no matter." Endar would've been willing to use others for this experiment, but in his current position, there was a short supply of amputees looking to fight. Plus, Tacitus was looking to kill Thalmor in particular, the thought of which quietly delighted Endar. "I am in no rush, and I presume there will be other opportunities... Say, what was this special occasion of yours, anyway? It sounds personal, as though you'd already met one of the enemy crew."

 

"Their leader, General Corio, did this to me." Tacitus lifted his arm again to indicate what he meant. "I didn't know he was going to be there. I was saving the fist for that raid because we has the chance to capture a high ranking merchant's daughter, and a large supply of arms. It was a trap all along, though."

 

"So it turned personal then." Endar's brow lowered. "And with a Thalmor General, no less. I'm assuming this was during your time as their prisoner. A ghastly position to be in. I speak from experience. I spent some time behind Thalmor bars myself."

 

"Were you tortured?" Tacitus felt comfortable asking, as he knew first hand the kind of pain it did. The physical would eventually fade away, but your soul would bear the scars forever. At least, his did.

 

"Tortured? No, not unless you would consider pompous, arrogant attitudes and generally poor treatment torture." Endar tried to recall the worst of the many discomforts that the dank Valenwood prison had brought upon him. The bread he'd been given definitely stood out as particularly bad. Not quite the worst he'd eaten, but bad enough that he'd had no intention of taking a second bite. And, as if it hadn't already tasted horrid, it had been a little burned as well. "My standards for comfort are not high, but that place was well below them. I did not stay any longer than was necessary."

 

Tacitus’ look told plainly enough just what he thought of Endar’s imprisonment. Judging by the mage’s office, and habit of keeping a steward, he judged his comfort standards were higher than most. “No, I wouldn’t consider that torture in any shape or form. Pompous and arrogant would’ve been a nice change of pace from brutal and cruel. Why’d they capture you?â€

 

Not noticing the look he recieved, Endar answered. "Daedric affiliations... Or something of that nature at least. I forget the exact charge. It was Peryite's summoning day, and I'd had no intention of missing it again, so I attempted the ritual closer to a settlement than the local Overseers might've deemed appropriate."

 

"You tried to summon a Daedric lord? Why?" Tacitus asked, face scrunched up in confusion.

 

"As I said, I had missed the chance in the past. Thrice, actually. I did not seek to deal with the Daedra. That can lead to unforeseeable consequences, even for those well-prepared. I just wanted to attempt to speak with it."

Endar noticed the look Tacitus was giving him now. "Don't be so surprised. Mortals speak with Daedra all the time, even the lords, if they know how. My research at the time involved three of the Princes, and Peryite, being the lord of plagues, was chief among them. Unfortunately, the Thalmor interrupted the ritual before completion."

 

Brushing off the absurdity of the mage’s claims, Tacitus resumed his usual grumpy appearance, and crossed his arms across his chest. “What were you planning on asking a Daedric lord? Inviting him to tea?â€

 

"Tea?" Endar's own face scrunched now, but in disgust. "I do not drink tea. Nor do I wish to insult a Daedric lord by offering up such a disgustingly overrated beverage. No, I sought knowledge of diseases, as do most who come to the lord of pestilence. I was studying the afflictions and curses of Daedra on human and elvenkind. And their origins. Princes Molag Bal and Hircine were also the targets of much study."

 

“Oh I see. That makes much more sense than offering them tea. Just a friendly discussion about killing mortals with painful diseases.†Tacitus shook his head. This mage was insane at worst, delusional at best. It’s a wonder he hadn’t blown the palace up while the admiral was raiding.

 

"Killing them, yes, and curing said diseases as well. Or twisting the circumstances to turn them into something with an actual benefit." Endar's eyes met Tacitus's. "Were I in my homeland, I would be sitting in a fungal tower and having all that I need for my studies brought to me. Alas, this is not the case, and so to fund my research, I must find practical uses for much of it."

 

“That must have been a difficult life indeed. Now you’re stuck with one measly servant and the Empire’s assets at your disposal. If only you were back in Morrowind. Why did you leave, anyhow? Sounds like you had a cozy place atop you mushroom."

 

The mage frowned. "I left to study abroad. There is much to learn in this world that simply cannot be found in Morrowind alone. My fellow Master Wizards welcome the knowledge I record." This was a lie, one that Endar had told so many times that it may as well have been true. In actuality, he had not been a part of the Telvanni in many years. But he'd gone this long and gotten this far off the premise that he was still among them. He'd found early on that others saw his "membership" added to his credibility as a wizard.

"Though I wouldn't consider myself "stuck". My current conditions are as grand as they've been, and the Empire's assets are very welcome."

 

Tacitus mouthed formed a slight oval, as he comprehended the Dunmer's complete lack of understanding sarcasm. He snapped it shut and went on. "So what other research are you currently undertaking? Trying to commune with the gods? Or maybe summoning yourself a girl? Assuming you swing that way, of course."

 

"Is this genuine interest, Admiral, or are you just being polite?" Endar asked. "Because I have many projects in the works that I could tell you about, and few enough people here actually have the intelligence to care enough about my sort of work to desire hearing of them."

 

Tacitus' crooked toothed grin looked not out of place with his general raggedy appearance, and generally made him seem more truthful than he was. "No, of course I want to hear. Your adeptness with magical research interests me greatly."

 

Endar raised a brow at that, and then nodded. "Well then, if that is the case..." The wizard turned over to his table and opened a drawer and began rummaging through it. "Besides my current main focus on the sunbird research and the little magicka channeling research you are assisting with, I have hundreds of studies and projects in the works, all ongoing, and at various stages. Enough that you will not likely live to see them all completed, I'm afraid... Now, while in Kvatch, I spent a great deal of my free time studying pocket realms. It was research conducted for a friend, but intriguing nevertheless. Did you know that there are at least four such realms in Cyrodiil to this very day? Closely guarded by those who control them of course, but the records are all there, and they are still very much accessible... Ah!"

He pulled out a green leather-bound book about an inch thick and placed it on the table.

"I would imagine that man of the sea such as yourself might find my twelve unconventional uses for saltwater to be useful. Only six of them require a mage of basic skill in alteration, five, if you're resourceful."

Endar stroked his beard. And looked back down into his desk drawer, which ran a lot deeper on the inside than it seemed to on the outside. "You wouldn't likely care about the healing applications of troll dung or the Wild Hunt. But what about imps? Once tamed, the little vermin can become some of the most useful creatures in the Heartland. I have them ranked as sixth, actually, and have three of them myself."

 

Tacitus took the green book in hand, looking it over with his usual set in stone disapproval, momentarily forgetting his feinted interest. “Anything useful for a none mage? Or must I twirl my hands like a fancy dancer to make use of them? As for your imps, no, I didn’t know they could be useful in the least. And I doubt I’ll ever make use of one, except for target practice. I’m looking to pick up the crossbow, since I’ll no longer be using an actual bow. Unless you have something in that drawer that’ll regrow my hand.â€

 

"As I said, six of the uses in here require no magic." Endar frowned and took the book back. "As for your hand, no. I regrettably have never pursued any studies that could contribute to what you see to want. The closest I can currently come would involve flesh magics, which, while greatly advanced by Relmyna Verenim at the end of the Third Era, have unfortunately been neglected in Mundus, and have never advanced to the point of working with nonliving flesh."

 

Tacitus thought about grabbing the book back, just to see the mage's reaction, but decided not to. "Maybe troll dung holds the secrets. Or unicorn dung. Or maybe my dung has some magical properties you can use!"

 

Endar frowned. "If you seek to mock important work, would it not make more sense to waste the time of someone who is not actively working to help you?" he asked, returning the tome to the drawer and closing it. "Believe it or not, there is a point to which I can discern with full confidence your poor attempts at wit from actual interest."

 

"Hmph." Tacitus thought about antagonizing him further, but he was right. They were allies, after all. "Fine. I'm sorry I guess. I'd just appreciate it if my men didn't have to die to further your research. Even if it might help in the long run. Damn elv-damn Thalmor."

 

"I have not asked any of your men to help with my research. Only you. And asking for your account of the sunbird you saw and giving you a useful tool are hardly the sort of involvement that would harm anyone besides our mutually hated enemy." Try as he might, Endar could not think of any instance in which he'd caused harm to one of Tacitus's men, or even encountered one for that matter. Not that the prospect bothered him too terribly.

 

"The only reason I can give you any information is because we were attacked. My men died, were slaughtered, boiled and cooked by magical mirrors while I watched. That's how my men were involved." Tacitus pointed his finger at Endar's chest, practically growling. "So don't take this lightly, elf."

 

Endar looked at the finger, his expression as bored as ever. "I don't question their involvement in their deaths, Admiral. I question my own. I suggest pointing your finger at someone who was actually involved."

 

 

"They'll get theirs, gods willing. Just be sure you do your part in figuring these sunbirds out," Tacitus retracted the finger, but his glare lingered as he made to leave. "Anything else you need to know?"

 

"I am curious about one thing. That Bosmer who accompanied you earlier this year, Morri, or whatever his name was, do you know what became of him?"

 

Tacitus' brow wrinkled. He hadn't thought about Maori in quite some time, not until now. "I don't know. I presume he left. Mentioned Skyrim, I think. Why?"

 

"Because I had a few questions for him, relating to updates in another field of research. No matter. It is of little consequence."

 

"Well, he's likely gone in any case. Let me know if you learn anything. For our sake I hope you do. Especially if the sunbirds can go over land."

 

Endar nodded slightly. "I will share anything relevant."

 

Leaving without another word, Tacitus made his way to his office, where he knew a large workload awaited.