Civil War Aftermath Chapter 3: Season's End pt2

[TheCzarsHussar]

Riften

Evening

 

"State your purpose here, travelers."

 

"None of your business, we want in the city."

 

"Oh? Well unfortunately Maven takes note of everyone that goes in and comes out of this dump, so unfortunately for you, it is my business."

 

The three cloaked men before the Riften gates exchanged glances but said nothing.

 

"And since you decided to be cheeky, you'll need to pay the toll to get in. Thirty septims. Cough 'em up, milkdrinkers."

 

At that, the man in the middle stepped forward and dropped his cloak, revealing bear furs and a tan colored kilt. "Ulfric Stormcloak will cover my tab. Now let us in the ******* city. And while you're at it, help us find one Boldir Iron-Brow."

 

The guard, who was slouching on the wall straightened up quick, clearing his throat as he opened the wooden gates. "Right, of course. Uh... follow me. Who was it that you said you were looking for?"

 

"Boldir Iron-Brow. Tall guy, even for a nord. A mountain of meat apparently. It's not likely that you've seen anyone bigger. Has long black hair, has a pretty wife that goes by Carlotta, and a daughter named Mila, both Imperials. That's the description given to us. Seen them?"

 

The guard was glad that he was wearing a helmet. It'd make it easier to lie. The man in the bear furs was talking so loud, that he worried one of the street rats running past them might overhear and remember Carlotta's name from the executions. "Hmm, no, can't say I have. Haven't heard of anyone like that before. What's your name, soldier?"

 

The three men stopped walking, which the guard noticed only after a good fifteen seconds of walking and receiving no answer. Turning around to see that the Stormcloaks had stopped, he came back and said, "What is it?"

 

"First, my name's Captain Jjgmir Willcrush-Me. What's yours?"

 

"Willcrush-Me?"

 

"Yea, I crush you."

 

"What?"

 

"Just give me your damn name!"

 

"Why?"

 

Jjgmir said in his heavy accent, "I wanna know the name of the man that's brave enough to lie to a Stormcloak Captain so I'll know whose death I'll need to mention in my report. Listen here, moron. You just said Maven keeps tabs on everyone that comes in and out of this city. I know this Boldir man is here. Not to mention with how dangerous these roads are into the city, it's likely that he came here dressed in his Necro Nord armor, and even if not, from the description, it's rather unlikely you don't remember him. The quicker you stop being so stupid, the quicker we can get out of this asspit of a city."

 

"Thing is, I really don't remember the guy you're talking about. This Boldir fella, he must be someone of note if you guys are looking for him, right? So if that's true, and he's still here, then maybe Maven could help you. She'd be reported if someone of note came in here."

 

"Good, then take us to her," said Willcrush-Me's men.

 

"Very good, I'll get you three rooms and you can make yourselves comfortable while I set up a-,"

 

"Did you hear what the man said? He said take us to her. Now."

 

"Maven is a very busy person. You can't just..."

 

"Take us to her, now!" said the Captain. He'd known of the corruption of this place, but seeing first hand how well Maven controlled everything here disgusted him. How Ulfric could allow such a thing...

 

"Alright. Fine," said the guardsman. Hopefully them asking about Boldir would distract her from the fact that he got caught taking tolls. And from a Stormcloak officer, no less. Hopefully, they wouldn't mention it...

 

***

 

"Wake up."

 

Carlotta's eyes opened slowly, adjusting easily in the the dim candlelight. Standing next to her bed was a familiar sight: the youngest captor, Sibbi Black-Briar's angry mug staring her down. Though this time was different. There was usually a confident arrogance behind that stare of his. Not right now. Right now, the man looked more serious than she'd ever seen.

 

"Come on, up. You've got a job to do, and I mean quickly."

 

"A job?" Still a little disoriented from sleep, Carlotta wasn't quite sure what he could mean. What sort of job could they have for her?

 

"Yes, a job." Sibbi was already at the door, tapping his foot impatiently. "And you'll do it right. I shouldn't have to tell you what's at stake if you don't."

 

Carlotta could imagine. She stood quickly, sliding her feet into the over-worn boots she'd been wearing since her and Mila's capture. It's not more questions for one of those wretched letters, is it? No. It couldn't be. Sibbi had to great a sense of urgency about him. Something had to have happened. She said a silent prayer for Boldir and Mila as she followed her captor out of the little basement room she'd been confined to.

 

"There are three Stormcloak men here in the city." Sibbi said, leading her on through the basement. "They came to Maven hoping that she could direct them to your husband. They claim to have come on behalf of Ulfric Stormcloak himself. So in other words, your friend Baldur sent them."

 

Baldur! Carlotta's chest felt a dozen times lighter after hearing the name. If he was concerned enough to send his own men, he must've had some sort of suspicion. And if anyone in Skyrim could fix things here, it was him.

 

As they came up the stairs and into the more well-lit foyer, Sibbi stopped her mid-march and spun her to face him. His eyes moved up and down her, studying. "Don't look so excited. You are going to make damn certain that they won't leave this city with even a hint of suspicion as to your current predicament. If they do, the girl will be the one to pay for it..."

Sibbi's stern expression turned to a frown. "How long has it been since you last bathed?"

 

"You haven't let me in-"

 

"It's no matter." He interrupted. "According to the letters, you're supposed to be sick anyway. Can't have you looking too clean... Here."

On a table behind him were a plain brown dress and faded blue cloak to drape around it, as well as a belt and some new boots. "Dress. And quickly. The Stormcloaks are sitting tight at the moment, but not for long."

 

Carlotta glared at him for a moment, and when he didn't turn or even look away, she scowled and went ahead to changing out of her dirty, torn up travel-wear and into the new clean clothes. When she was done, she followed Sibbi around through a back door and, for the first time in months, felt the sun beat down on her. Carlotta raised an arm to shield her eyes from a light that seemed a thousand times brighter than she remembered, despite the slight cloud coverage.

 

"Come on." Sibbi demanded. He'd already set off at a brisk walk. "Don't try anything. I've got men all over the path we're taking."

He led her across town, over the canal and through a single neighborhood, to a very familiar sight: The Bee and Barb inn. Not one patron spared the two of them a glance as she was marched upstairs to the very same room they'd stayed in a lifetime ago. Inside were two figures. One was a bald Nord of a thick, stout build, and with a dumb look in his eyes. She knew by now that this one was Fronier. And the one behind him, by the wall, was hard to make out until Fronier saw them and moved aside.

 

"Mamma!"

Carlotta's heart sank at the sight of her daughter, and she felt water forming in her eyes. Mila was thinner than when last she'd seen her, and easily an inch taller. Even more notable was the change in her face. Whether Mila had aged or her own or simply looked older in these circumstances, Carlotta wasn't entirely sure. But it wasn't the face of a child that looked back at her.

The girl's hair was wet, and looked as though it had been hastily washed. And she wore new clothes as well. A gray tunic and baggy brown pants with her own belt doubly wrapped around it.

 

"Mila!" As she moved to embrace her daughter, Carlotta felt Sibbi grab her by the arm and forcibly stop her, and watched as Fronier did the same with Mila. "Fool the bears first," said Sibbi quietly. "and I'll let you two catch up." He nodded back the way they'd come. "Now that the family's all together again, it's time to get started. Best if we do this downstairs, in the tavern, wouldn't you say?"

He let go of Carlotta's arm. "After you. And remember, we'll be watching."

 

***

 

Tap tap tap went Jjgmir's fingers as the three men sat. Honorable guests of Maven Black-Briar herself, yet still waiting to be 'graced' with her presence.

 

"Good mead," said Bolsh optimistically, a Stormcloak with a half shaven beard and a tattoo of a winding snake in its place.

 

Jjgmir lifted the tankard he was given. He'd never had Black-Briar mead before. Taking a curious sip. Looking into the cup, then back to Bolsh, he said, "...this tastes like rat piss mixed with honey and elf ass."

 

Bolsh looked downcast, as though an illusion of happiness had just been dispelled. "Yea... you're right."

 

Tap tap tap. "Alright, that is IT!" Throwing the cup across the room in a loud clatter, he said, "The guards are imbeciles, the town smells like shit, the mead tastes like ass! I want out! Hurry up and give us the location of Boldir already!"

 

Bolsh, ever the optimist tried saying, "Maybe... with juniper berries, it wouldn't be as ba-"

 

"Shut up, Bolsh!"

 

"That is an interesting idea, Bolsh." The Stormcloaks turned their heads to see an obviously wealthy figure in the doorway. The man had long black hair combed back, and a trimmed mustache-goatee combo. He wore an outfit of thick light-green fabric with gold trimmings, with brown fur covering draped around the shoulders.

"Juniper berries... how homely. I will have to remember that one." He came on into the sitting room, and looked at Jjgmir. "Forgive the wait. Any man of the Stormcloaks is welcome here, but free time is seldom something that is we have in abundance." He clapped his hands together. "Anyway, there's no need to waste any more of your time. It is Boldir Iron-Brow, and his family, Carlotta and Mila Iron-Brow that you seek, correct?"

 

The other Stormcloak said, "That's our man. It's a simple private matter. We only came here because of the... 'Jarl's' guardsman who insisted that Maven have our names if we were to enter the city. Why go poking around the place if we could just-"

 

The Captain cut in and said, "Enough with the explanation, Bjorn. Where are they so that we may leave? I'm supposed to be taking the Grim Trials in four days, so we need to hurry. I am NOT waiting seven weeks for my turn."

 

"As it happens, the Iron-Brow family is definitely among our noted guests in the city. They are staying at the Bee and Barb, at least according to our earlier sources." The man nodded. "It will be hard riding to make it Haafingar in just four days. Good luck with the trials."

 

"Oh we travel in style. The High General got his wife to send us in a Sons of Ysgramor longboat to Windhelm. Doesn't get much faster than that," said Bolsh.

 

"Yea yea yea, lets go already. And thank you, but I don't need your luck. Lets go, boys. Double time to the tavern. And no sampling the local quisine!"

 

"Farewell." said the Black-Briar man as they filtered out the room. "And thank you, Bolsh, for the idea for the mead."

 

"People have been adding Juniper berries to your mead for years. It's the general's favorite drink. Surprised Maven didn't know that."

 

"Bolsh! Lets go!" yelled the Captain again from outside.

 

"Right, see ya!"

 

The Stormcloaks wasted no more further time as they stomped through the center of town on the boardwalk. At first, nothing out of the ordinary happened. There was a rat running amongst the crowd, some homeless could be seen fishing out of the dirty water below. Slum shit, in other words. But Jjgmir noticed after a while that the urchins about him started glancing in their direction. Some stared right at them, which for him was most unsettling. "The hell is their problem? You'd think they never heard of the Stormcloaks before."

 

"Keep moving!" said one of the guards, putting his boot to some old woman's backside that gawked too much.

 

"I suppose they'll give her five to ten for lollygagging," said Bjorn.

 

"Not our problem right now. Into the tavern."

 

Carlotta looked up when the door opened. Sure enough, three armed men stepped inside. She could just see the Stormcloak armor underneath the folds of their cloaks. They didn't see her yet, though. The dimly lit corner table Sibbi had suggested did well enough to hide her and Mila from potential prying eyes. That is, if any of the eyes in here weren't already bought by the Black-Briars. Sibbi sat a few tables away, and she recognized three other patrons as familiar sellswords who were employed by the family, and the bartender, who had only five minutes ago been an Argonian woman, was now replaced by an unfamiliar Nord man.

She nudged Mila's boot across from her and whispered. "That's them. You have to play along, understand?"

 

The girl nodded back. She looked a little pale. Hopefully, these men who'd never seen her wouldn't know the difference.

 

Carlotta smiled sadly and nodded to her. "You're a smart girl. I know you'll do fine."

 

The men's eyes darted around the tavern, noticing that here, pretty much no one paid them any mind. Captain Willcrush-Me was a bit annoyed, thinking that the Red-Snow's friends would be waiting for them at the door or something.

 

"I don't see no big fella around here, boss," said Bolsh.

 

"Mm," said the Captain. "Most of these men look like wet khajiit between the legs." Jjgmir didn't bother lowering his voice. "Did they say the big man would be here too?"

 

"Wait, that's the wife n' kid innit?" Said Bolsh. "Prettiest lady here."

 

The captain looked to his left curiously, then moved towards the two in a hurry. "Carlotta? Mila?"

 

Both mother and daughter's eyes turned up to them, the mother's a little bit startled.

"Yes?" Carlotta answered, making her best effort to sound as though she had no idea what was going on.

 

Jjgmir removed his bear head, revealing a mop of yellow hair. Smiling, he said, "Ah, good. We've been looking for you two. We've come on behalf of the High General himself to bring your family to Kyne's Watch. We've got horse, carriage, and one of the fastest ships in the navy waiting for us in Windhelm. I'm supposed to ask some questions first. Most obvious one is how are you feeling? Must be good if you're here in a tavern."

 

Carlotta's eyes widened. Kyne's Watch... It was a long way to Windhelm. It didn't matter how strong these Stormcloaks might be. The carriage would never leave the Rift with her and Mila on it. Maul would see to that.

"I am feeling better." Carlotta admitted. "Better than I had when we sent the last letter to Baldur at least, but-"

 

"You threw up this morning." Mila interrupted, sounding concerned. "She's seen the healers at the temple, but hasn't gotten better yet."

 

"Well, no offense to the venerable healers of Mara, but the Queen and her second are likely the best healers in Skyrim. It'll be in your ma's best interest if she comes with us, little one," said the Captain, with a light and kind tone most unlike him.

 

"Say, where's your husband, miss?" asked Bolsh.

 

"He said he was going to the market." Carlotta lied. "Though that was some time ago. He may have gotten side-tracked."

 

 

"Right here, love," boomed a voice from behind the three. In came a wall of silver metal of fine make, unmistakably crafted by that of Eorlund Grey-Mane. His footsteps were heavy and deliberate as he made his way to the trio, removing his bucket helmet and revealing the long black hair they were told about.

The Nord took a seat next to his wife, placing a long kiss on her cheek and ruffling his child's hair. "What's this all about, Carlotta?"

 

"These men were sent by Baldur." she answered, collecting herself. It took all of her will not to squirm at Maul's touch. "They came to take us to Kyne's Watch."

 

Maul's eyes widened briefly before closing again into his heavy sigh. "I should have known. I should have been more straight forward in my letters. Boys, sit down please."

 

Jjgmir really didn't want to, and thought this would've been a simple matter. But he heard stories of what this man did in the war, and for that, he'd show the utmost respect. "Of course, Boldir."

 

Waiting for them to take a seat, 'Boldir' said, "Well, as you know from Baldur, my wife is indeed sick. But that isn't the main reason we've stayed behind, and neither is the dangerous road. My daughter, she loves it here, loves being with her family, her grandparents, her uncles and aunts. And while Baldur is my brother as much as any blood relative, my wife has real sisters and brothers. She should be able to live near them, and her parents too. I can't take take them from that. I can't take Mila away from grandparents that love her. We're staying. And he should stay too. Build a life in Kyne's Watch like we talked about, for both of us. You tell him that. And tell him we're happy. Right, love?" Maul rested his head against hers, hugging her close to him. Hand at her thigh.

 

"Yeah." Carlotta said quietly. She couldn't believe this. How had things come to her lying to Baldur for their kidnappers? "We're staying... And we're happy here."

 

Jjgmir shared a glance with the other three. What they said, they supposed made sense. But from what they've been told, both by the general himself, as well as a few Stormcloaks that dealt with he and Boldir personally, the two were inseperable. But family came first. Every Nord knew that.

 

Still, Jjgmir couldn't go back to Kyne's Watch without being sure. "And you, little Mila? You would really stay here in this dump instead of going to see the snow of the North? You've got a famous uncle and aunt who'd love to see you again. I understand wanting to be with your grandfolk, but we came a long ways just to see that you five were reunited again. Your uncle mentioned you like ships. We've got one of the fastest ships in the navy for you to ride on to the town, a town with its own port."

 

Carlotta looked over Maul's shoulder. Sibbi was watching closely. Maul was watching closely. She turned and looked closely herself. "Uncle Aerin's friend has a ship too." she said. "I don't want to leave." Mila looked sad, which, as real as it might've been, fit the role.

 

The three Stormcloaks looked crestfallen, but slowly stood. "Alright. We get it," said Jjgmir.

 

Bolsh was still sitting, counting his fingers. "One, two, three... Hey boss, don't you mean six? You forgot about the kid. Wouldn't you like to hold the new baby, Mil-"

 

"That's enough, Bolsh! Their minds are made up. I'm sure it wasn't an easy decision for them."

 

"No, it wasn't," said Maul, managing to give a surprisingly good impression of a sorrowful face. "You tell him I said to take care, and I'll see him again some day. Oh, and tell him he owes me some of that Baldurbrau. I'd love to have a taste, maybe try my hand at making some of my own. Give the Black-Briars a run for their money."

 

"I wouldn't if I were you, Boldir. But I'll tell him. You three take care. Come on, guys. Lets go."

 

As they turned to leave, Jjgmir heard a chair scoot out and then found Mila's arms around him. "This is for Baldur and Rebec. Okay?" the girl said, backing out of the hug with tears now forming in her eyes.

 

Jjgmir wasn't one to let things take him by surprise, but that certainly did. His face seemed to always naturally frown, but it was especially apparent now.

I get it. The parents don't want to move, but Mila certainly does. She had to lie I guess. Poor girl. I'm sure they have their reasons though. They know Baldur and Rebec are busy and wouldn't want to tempt them to come.

"I will. I bet the High-General will come to visit some day when he's not busy with the Necros. And the baby probably needs to get a little older before they can travel. Hang in there, kid. You'll be fine."

 

"I know." Mila answered with a little smile at the corner of her lips. She went back to her spot across from her "parents" and took a seat.

 

Carlotta's own smile was forced, though not notably so. She hid it well, but it broke her heart to see Mila having to play along with this act. And the hug was even worse, given the likelihood that it was not acting at all. When her daughters' eyes met hers, she gave the slightest nod. You won't have to keep doing this. she silently promised. I'll see you free if it kills me.

 

Jjgmir, Bolsh and Bjorn left then without a word until they made it out of the city. Even Bolsh kept his mouth shut, feeling sorry for the child and general both. His silence didn't last forever, unfortunately for Jjgmir. "So... whose the lucky man that gets to tell the general we came empty handed?"

 

"All of us, idiot. He'll see that anyway when we arrive with no big ass Nord behind us. Don't say another word the whole trip or I'll tell him you annoyed him away."

 

With a heavy sigh that could have cleared the snow from the Throat of the World, Maul pushed Carlotta away from him and stood in a hurry. "Gods, you smell worse than the damn Ratway. Your kid is lucky that the Stormcloaks didn't expect anything. That was risky. If I didn't know any better... Anyway, I'm out of here. And don't pretend like you didn't love every second." Just before Maul left the tavern, he turned around and said, "You owe me a drink, Sibbi," then slammed the door behind him.

 

Black-Briar chuckled as he headed over to the table, but Carlotta could plainly see the relief written across his face. "That ought to keep them out of our hair, eh? Stormcloaks have an annoying habit of getting in the way of things.... Anyway, I'm glad we didn't have to kill them. That'd have been a mess I wouldn't want to clean up." He headed over to the bar and motioned for his planted man to give him some of his family's own mead before looking back at them. "You two did well. I'm a man of my word. I'll give you a couple minutes to catch up, but we need to get back before long."

 

As Sibbi turned back to his drink, Carlotta did the same to Mila, who was already out of her chair, coming around the table and embracing her in a hug. Carlotta returned it lovingly. Her daughter squeezed tightly onto the folds of her new cloak, tightly enough that Carlotta could feel her slight shaking. "It's okay." Carlotta said quietly, with a steady voice. "You did very well."

 

"I thought he'd catch me." Mila whispered, her voice fearful. "But he didn't. He didn't."

 

"It's okay child." Carlotta said in her most motherly tone. It felt strange on her tongue after so long with only Black-Briars for company. "It's over now. Who did you think would catch you?"

 

"The one I hugged." Mila spoke in barely a whisper. "I stole his dagger. It's still in my sleeve."

 

"You what?" Carlotta had to force herself not to be obvious and look over her shoulder to see if Sibbi or any of Maven's men had somehow heard. Instead, she subtly shifted her hand down to Mila's arm and did indeed feel something metal underneath the folds of her sleeve. She whispered. "Mila, if they find you with this..."

 

"I had to. How long have we been with them? We'll need it to get out!" Her words were strong, but it was obvious that she was still afraid.

 

"I wish it could be so easy." Carlotta said, finally breaking away from the hug, and sliding the steel dagger from her daughter's sleeve as she did. Mila didn't resist.

"But you're right. It could help. Though I'm going to be the one carrying it. I won't let them catch you with it."

With her back still to all of those who might be watching, she carefully switched the dagger down to her own right sleeve. She'd have to pray to the gods that Sibbi would allow her to keep on wearing these clothes, otherwise, there was no telling what would happen. Still, better for her to get caught with it than Mila. "We'll get out of this. Okay? Boldir's still out there. They're still trying to get him, which means he's still trying to save us."

Carlotta wasn't sure if Mila knew about the fake assassination, or if she was aware that her "mother" had been thought dead for months, so she didn't say anything about that.

 

"He is. He's working with bandits." Mila revealed. "And Cynric is pretending to be his friend and he's not. He's gonna betray him. That's why he needs Baldur to come-"

 

"Hold on." Carlotta was caugh off guard by how much Mila seemed to know. "Where did you learn all this?"

 

"I saw Cynric. " Mila's eyes turned from scared to angry in an instant. "Days ago. He told Sibbi all of this. I wanted to kill him! He-"

 

Mila went quiet when Sibbi stalked up behind them. His right hand was at his hip, gripping the jewel-encrusted hilt of his sword, and his left, a mead bottle. "You two are talking awfully quiet." said the Black-Briar. "It has been was a tense day. I'd appreciate it if you didn't make me suspect you for plotting." After a brief pause, he shrugged and whistled loudly. "Alright everyone, we're done here! Fronier, take these two back to their rooms. Ingthad, go find and tell the owners that we appreciate them for so kindly renting out their tavern."

 

As everyone set out, Carlotta couldn't help but spend more time looking out into the city than she had when they were coming. There were so many canals, and places to run and hide. But no way to escape, and no one to help them. Only three men marched them back to the manor. It would be easy enough for her to take one of them by surprise with the Stormcloak's dagger. The others, however, would stop her in a heartbeat. Could Mila escape in that time? Maybe, if she herself fought hard enough. But the girl would be caught in no time without help. That made Carlotta think of Boldir, and the bandits Mila had mentioned, and then Aerin, and the way he had rallied so many people of the city together. Where had all those people gone? Was Boldir planning something with the bandits even now? As they were brought back into their prison, Carlotta prayed to the Nine that the answers would, for once, favor them.

 

[TheCzarsHussar]

Rebec, Baldur

Kyne's Watch

(Part 1)

 

Ear ringing mind numbing screams. That's all he could hear, it seemed. His wife lay on the bed, child still in her stomach and the bed red, bloodied. But the screams didn't come from her, not any longer. Her neck wound wouldn't allow it. The screams were coming from nearby. Another woman with a brown mop. Two, in fact. Hands tied, hanging from rope, hung from the ceiling. Whips lashing at their flesh til there was no longer feeling. Rending it from their bones

 

The screaming stopped, the women long dead. All four females, two in the bed. All that was left was the blonde headed man, still whipping.

 

Baldur bolted up from their bed, head damp with sweat and a hand at his aching back. The fires were dim, but there was enough light to confirm the form next to him was indeed his wife, and there was no blood anywhere on her. He took a moment to breathe deep, calm himself. He was used to this by now, nothing different besides what his mind was revisiting. He stood to see that all was well with the child also, and was disturbed to find Stuhnir in her crib, snug at her side.

 

"We forgot about the damn wild animal we were keeping in our home!" said Baldur. But when Stuhnir poked his head up at the disturbance, little golden eyes cracked open, he knew his worrying was for naught. He still took the fox out, however, waiting for him to scoot back under the bed.

 

He laid back beside Rebec, watching to make sure he hadn't disturbed her. That was unlikely. Her snores were ever persistent, as was the river pouring from her mouth. He smirked every time seeing that, seeing Rebec so infant-like and peaceful. It was the one benefit that came with waking up in the middle of the night from incessant dreaming, whether it was from Hagravens, Thalmor, or the accursed chaurus. He recalled the time at the beach when he told her he'd sometimes watch her sleep.

 

He never mentioned that it was because he'd sometimes have fits of nightmares like a damn child, or that it helped him to keep nightmares away when he'd eventually go back to resting himself. Even when his back aches occasionally returned, they too would be gone in the morning from the peace that seeing Rebec slumber brought.

 

It wasn't as easy this time, however. The image of her so wounded from birth, the blood. He'd always remember how she sounded during such a difficult labor. But luckily, the stronger memory, the more persistent one was the image of both her and his child together on his chest. That was the one that allowed him to finally return to sleep.

 

Rebec stirred once as Baldur returned her side. Getting up every few hours to nurse Ragna was much like the watchfulness she'd always had when out on the water, or back in the war camp. She slept hard but could jump up in an instant if needed.

 

The past few days had been a happy blur. Despite the hard birth and the fact that her body felt pulled inside out and stomped on, Rebec had taken the queen's advice that she get up and walk around as soon as she was able. She sucked in the cold Skyrim air, glad to be alive, and overwhelmed that their baby was also alive. Little Ragna slept most of the time, but when she was awake, she was vigorous and demanding. With Vigge's help, Rebec had found a way that they could both enjoy the air and the sounds of the sea. The sailor fashioned a sling, which could be adapted so that Ragna could ride in front when mother and baby were just walking, or she could rest on Rebec's back so the admiral had her hands free to work. Ragna seemed to love their walks. She would incline her head towards the sea, as if looking for the source of the sounds.

 

That day Rebec had spent a long while walking on the beach, back and forth, never so far away from Kyne's Watch that she couldn't call for help if need be. Ships were pulling in and out of the quay, and there was the sound of hammering from construction of the new ship yard. Rebec recognized most of the ships from the shape of their masts and flags, but others were unknown to her. The little hamlet, barely a dot on the map and with few non-military inhabitants, was already becoming a port of call. Strangely, Rebec felt no pull to be out there on one of the ships. She liked watching them, and was proud to see the progress she and Baldur had helped start, but when she sailed again it would be with him and their daughter.

 

The salt in her nostrils had helped Rebec sleep that night, and as Baldur returned to her side, she turned over and curled close to him, then when Ragna made no noise, Rebec fell back into deep sleep. At some point, she found herself on the beach again, only this time with no baby sling on her back. There was a little girl crouched down in the sand, using a mead mug to shape the towers of a sand fort. The incessant chatter and silky amber locks left little doubt that this was Baldur Red Snow's little girl, now a precocious three or four years old. Rebec watched, fascinated, then her maternal instincts kicked in.

 

"Keep an eye out for mudcrabs, sweetheart," she said. "If you see one, just run. They look fun to play with but they're not."

 

"Okay, mama." The little girl went back to her tower and started singing at the top of her lungs. It was off key and she didn't know enough Tamrielic to say the words, but that didn't stop her. Yes, this was definitely Baldur's daughter.

 

Rebec was about to bend down to help Ragna build her sand fort when out of the corner of her eye, she noticed another child standing on the beach nearby. At first she thought it was Sofie, but no, this girl was smaller and a few years younger. She was slight, with brown hair. She watched them steadily but didn’t approach.

“Hello there,†Rebec called. “You can help, too, if you want.â€

The girl didn’t answer. Rebec felt a sudden prickle on her neck, an uneasiness. She had an inkling. Approaching slowly, the odd feeling in her throat became a lump and her heart turned over. The girl was thin, with an elfin face, and a bashful stance that was just like Toki’s. The eyes gazing steadily back at Rebec were brown, but otherwise they were her own.

“Jala,†Rebec whispered. “Oh gods, it’s you.†She started forward, but the girl took a step back and put a hand up, warning Rebec not to approach.

She was here, but not really here. Rebec had known that it must be a dream, or a ghost, but she didn’t care. Tears started down her face. “My sweet baby. I’m sorry. We tried so hard to save you. I would've given anything. I’m so, so sorry.† A hand went to her mouth as the tears fell harder.

The little girl still hadn’t said anything, but she gave a little smile.

Rebec forced herself to calm. She reached out a hand. “Are you hurt, honey? Are you cold? Can you... do you get enough to eat where you are? Is your father with you?†She realized the uselessness of these questions even as she asked them. Jala couldn’t eat, and if she was cold then it was a cold that Rebec could do nothing about.

The girl looked past her mother, towards where Ragna was still singing to herself and playing. Glancing back, Rebec smiled through her tears. “She’s your sister. Come on, you can meet her.â€

The look in Jala’s eyes was knowing, as if she were a grown woman in the small body. Her eyes shifted back to Rebec. “I love you, mama.†The words were so soft that Rebec didn’t know if she had heard or imagined them.

Then the figure turned to go. Leaping forward, Rebec reached out but stopped just short of touching her. “Jala! Don’t go. Stay with me. I know your pa is dead, but Baldur will be your new papa, he’ll love you like his own. We can be a family, all four of us. Don’t go, baby. Stay with me."

They both knew that she was asking the impossible. It took all of Rebec’s will not to grab the little girl and never let her go. Somehow she knew that when her arms closed around her, nothing would be there. Jala stopped and looked back. She smiled at Rebec, a sweet smile with a bit of mischief in it.

“Who are you talking to, mama? Why are you crying?â€

Rebec started as Ragna appeared at her side and took her hand. “I’m alright, pup. This is your...†When she looked back, there was no sign of the little girl. Jala was gone, this time for good.

In the longhouse, Rebec woke suddenly as the baby Ragna’s hungry cries echoed off the log walls. She leapt to her feet. The procedure was practiced now, automatic. Ragna was at the breast before her mother was even fully awake. Rebec was shaking a little, and her cheeks were still streaked with tears.

 

The baby's crying was hard to get used to. It gave Baldur a nervous pit in his stomach every time Ragna did it during his sleep, though he was slower to respond than her mother was. Eventually his arm moved, feeling the warmth of the furs next to him, but not the body that left it.

 

His head turned, eyes still mostly hazed. He smiled when his vision was greeted with the sight of his wife nursing their child, but the smile quickly faded, seeing the distraught in her face. It wasn't uncommon to see her occasionally tear up at the sight of Ragna, though he got a feeling something was different. Might've been the same nervous feeling in his gut from the baby, however.

 

Closing his eyes again, he said, "Out of mead, are we?"

 

Rebec tried to smile. She actually did smile, it just didn't feel like it. Brushing a hand over Ragna's downy hair, she thought back to the dream. "Baldur. If Jala had lived, would you... What would you think about that?"

 

Sighing, Baldur cracked an eye open again. "Sheesh, Reb. Put me on the spot like that so early, heh." He smiled a bit nervously and forced himself to sit up. Blowing the hair out of his face, he said, "Well. You and I probably would have never even met. You might even still be married to Toki. But if you mean would I take her death away if I could, despite that..."

 

Baldur paused to blink a moment, playing it off by pretending to wipe the rheum from his eyes. "I wouldn't wish a child's death on anyone. Especially not you. If it means that you'd never know such trauma, then I would, I suppose."

 

"I don't think Toki and I would've stayed together. It wouldn't have worked for long. I mean, if she were with me when you met me, would you be able to... you know, love her? Be her pa."

 

"Ah, I see," he said. He honestly wasn't really sure if he possessed the steel to go through something like what he'd said before, but this was an easier answer to give. If only because it didn't involve giving anything up.

 

He cracked a few knuckles as he thought, taking a moment to search for the right words. "You heard what Maz told you. Part of why I was pissed was because it was taken out of context. When you first told me you had a child with Toki, I won't lie. I was jealous. Angry, even. And it made me feel small. I wanted Ragna with you for selfish reasons I don't need to go into again."

 

Sighing, Baldur looked down at his hands to concentrate. Keep from getting emotional. "But the more I think about it, the more I think that what I really wanted was what Boldir has. Your child will never know me. She'll never be mine in any sense of the word. That's what really hurts, I think. That somewhere out there in the Aurbis, there's a part of you, a little girl with your face that doesn't know me from a hole in the ground, and she never will. I don't know that Jala would have ever loved me like she would her father, but I wish we could've tried. I know I would've loved her like my own."

 

Rebec listened intently, keen for any sign that Baldur was just telling her what she wanted to hear. His words before, about feeling hurt that their child had not been her first, was what prompted her doubt that what she had told Jala in the dream would actually be how it was.

 

By the time Baldur finished, Rebec had closed her eyes and nestled her cheek on Ragna's head. She was crying again, the tears squeezing out of her closed lids, but this time it felt different. The sincerity in Baldur's voice was plain. He would have loved Jala and they would've all been a family, just as Rebec had promised the little girl in her dream. In time, Ragna would hear about her half sister so that she would always be remembered. In a sense, they were all a family, though incomplete. There was now a home her poor little girl, a place where she was loved, no longer just in Rebec's bitter, guilty thoughts that she never spoke aloud.

 

"Thank you," she said in a whisper, never meaning it more.

 

Baldur raised an eyebrow, but eventually he thought he got the gist of what was bothering her. "Come here, both of you."

 

Rebec stood and walked to the bed. In the jostle, Ragna lost the teat and let out an angry protest until she found the spigot again. Settling on the bed next to Baldur, Rebec blinked back her tears. Her nose was dribbling now, too, but she had her hands full and couldn't do anything about it. "I saw her, in my dream just now."

 

Baldur wiped her cheeks and her nose, kissing her on the bridge before resting his head against hers. He tried holding it back, but couldn't help getting bleary eyed himself at the thought of Rebec seeing her dead child in her dreams again. "Did she look like her sister any?"

 

She smiled gratefully. At one point she might have been embarrassed, but she and Baldur had been through too much to bother with that. "I think she was smaller than Ragna will be. Toki wasn't a big man. She was so sweet, though." Rebec glanced at him. "I know it was just my own imagination. I don't get Sovngarde visions like you do. I have to work things out, because I'm so happy now and she never had that."

 

"Who's to say it wasn't? We don't fully understand the nature of dreams, and we never will. Why bother doubting them when there's absolutely nothing to say it's not real?" Baldur looked at her and said, "I know it's not fair, love. But there's really nothing to work out. Jala never got this, no, but where she is now, she won't even care. The last thing she'll want is her mother feeling guilty while she's at peace in Aetherius."

 

"Maybe. I just wanted a chance to talk to her. Tell her all the things I never got to. I didn't even get to half of them, just babbled like an idiot." She turned her head a little, enough to kiss Ragna's temple. The baby was mostly done now, her arms waving as she took a few last greedy drops. Eventually she stopped and looked up, head bobbing a little, eyes on Baldur.

 

Her eyes instantly brought another smile to his face. "I think this is the first time she's looked at my face directly. I feel like I should... say something, but..." Baldur evidently hadn't gotten comfortable enough with baby talk yet.

 

"She hears your voice." Rebec shifted, brought Ragna around and handed her to him.

 

Holding her against him, he said to them both, "I feel kind of useless to her. I can't feed her, and I haven't been able to do much for her besides change a diaper." Baldur seemed a bit confused, and Ragna must've picked up on it, since she started to move around as if restless. He looked to Rebec, then back to Ragna and did the only thing he could think of. Rocking her a bit in his arms, he said slowly, "Pa-pa loves you, pa-pa loves you, there is no ooone, above you. I love you... You and your, pre-tty ma... ma. Papa loves his little girl. More precious than all the world... Pa-pa loves you, pa-pa loves you..."

 

Rebec got up to splash water on her face. Looking back at the two of them, her heart melted. Ragna was a good-sized newborn but she was dwarfed by her father's broad chest and big arms. Baldur's gentleness with her was a sight to see.

 

"Oh, she needs to be burped." Rebec had no sooner said it and reached for a cloth than Ragna let out a loud belch and a splat of up-chucked milk onto Baldur's chest. Laughing, Rebec instead dipped the cloth in water and started a clean-up.

 

Baldur grimaced a second, but only a second before a smirk crossed his face. It was nothing compared to having to clean her after sporting a full diaper. He wiped the mess from her mouth with his thumb and said, "Tough critic. I don't think she liked the lullaby."

 

"I don't think her functions work that way. She probably needs changing, too." Rebec didn't move to take her back, giving Baldur the hint about who should do that.

 

Baldur looked at Rebec with suspicious narrowed eyes. Looking to Ragna with the same eyes, as if the two were conspiring together. Ragna just sat there, making little baby noises, waiting expectantly. Baldur took a whiff at her bum, and sure enough, his precious bundle indeed dropped a bundle of her own. "First the burp, now this. You told her to do that didn't you?" said Baldur, taking her to the table. "Gods, it's Namira!"

 

Rebec laughed. "It's good for you. Builds character, papa." She propped the pillows and lay back. "You're not useless to her, you know. Just think if another Forsworn attack happened like that last one. I wouldn't be able to run out with axes flying like before. Without you..." Her voice trailed off.

 

Baldur ignored the subject, only nodding at her to let her know he heard what she said. "Ah gods, she isn't done yet." Baldur remembered what his mother said to do, lifting her legs up and gently pushing them back to get the rest out. Ma told him he'd need to clean the cloth for the baby so that they could be reused, but after cleaning the child and drowning his hands in water, he settled for taking the soiled remains outside and thu'uming them to ash.

 

Returning with Ragna who discovered how to suck her fingers, in new clean cloth, the baby and Baldur both settled in next to mama again. "Character my ass. Or hers."

 

Rebec was laughing again, this time from diaper disposal via YOL. "You're going to get used to this or else it's going to be a long few years, especially if we have more than one of these little scrappers." She reached over and rubbed Ragna's back. The baby was sleeping again, her cheek smashed up against Baldur's chest. "They're so tiny and helpless, but they're like little emperors. Rip you apart- literally- then rule the roost."

 

He turned to face her, scooting his head close so that he could nuzzle her. "You think we'll have more? I mean, would you even want to?"

 

Rebec hesitated. The memory of her ordeal was still fresh. Then reality set back in. "We're going to have more, you know that. It's inevitable, unless I start taking that nasty potion again, or unless I got messed up inside from Ragna. You know we can't keep our hands off each other."

 

Grinning, he said, "I know it, our parents know it, Skyrim knows it. Heh, our children will know it too. I don't like you taking that potion. Not with me. But if we have to, we should, for your safety. We should see what mother has to say about it."

 

"Things happen. I've had two babies now, both times have had their problems. At least this one turned out the right way. Like you said, she's as strong as a dragon. My teats sure know it, when she clamps down."

 

Baldur winced in sympathy at the thought. "I can't imagine letting some little thing nibble at my nips like that. I'm right here if they need some good rubbing," he said, grinning slyly.

 

Rebec smiled wryly. "Oh, you volunteer for that duty, do you. Have you written to Boldir that you're a papa yet? I wish they'd come see us already."

 

Baldur's smile sunk. "I have. I'm still waiting for another return letter. I'm starting to think he doesn't want to come. Maybe his girls don't fancy the idea of the cold here. Even with the tavern. I'm starting to think I may have to open it without them. This was supposed to be our town, Boldir and I."

 

Baldur looked to Ragna again, snoring steadily on the rise and fall of his chest. His eyes watered up every time he looked at her beauty. The main thing he was looking forward to seeing was how much she'd look like her ma, even though Rebec showed favor to Ragna looking like him. He never thought that either of them would come to this point, back when Boldir and Baldur spoke of their dream town.

 

"We mentioned it back before the battle of camp Romulus, but we joked about it some before then as well. This was a few years before then, when I was first called 'Baldur the Unkindled'. I got my first command of men, just a small band of twenty soldiers. The Imperials were well in command of the Reach area by then, and we were assigned by Ulfric himself to disrupt their supply lines if we could, and steal as much silver as we could manage to without reinforcements. Said that if we wanted a chance to prove ourselves, this was the time.

 

So that was fine and dandy, except I was rather young, and in command of men my father's age who didn't take kindly to having their lives risked so carelessly by putting the likes of me in charge, just because I happened to be in the right place and time to save the king from dragonfire. So, being the young fool I was, and after having almost ten meads in me, I decide that I'd gain their favor by clearing out a whole camp myself.

 

I waited until the sun started to disappear, and all that you could see was ghost-like fog and their campfire. The camp had about three times our numbers, and they were resting for the night with their horses and carts. And luckily, these legionnaires were mostly Nords. Meaning they were superstitious. And more importantly, they had some drinks in them as well.

 

In the Reach, there's many tales of the Daedric Prince Nocturnal stalking the fogs and shadows, looking to taint the virtue of handsome strong men and make them her husbands, just like she'd attempted to do to Hrormir. She'd stalk the Reach, invisible amongst the void ghosts cast from night-drenched forest. Lurking in darkness to steal man's shadow and do things more fitting for Molag Bal within their spirit.

 

I waited until they were all gathered by the fires, eating and singing. Then I threw in a tune of my own.

 

Warriors resting, roasts roasting in fire, strong men, killers, all deadly, each,

I seek amongst all present in this place, profligates all in dark palace, the Reach.

Stay as you are, cast long shadow! From your fires, so we may consummate,

Caress mine fine long bosom and skin, ripples of wrinkles o'er my chosen mate.

 

The Nords were all drawing their swords, looking around for the source of the sound. I moved around from place to place, casting my voice through the forest so they'd have no idea where I was. The Nords were arguing with the Imperials now, saying 'It's the Hag! She's come to steal us from our wives and make us kiss her wrinkled teet like poor Hrormir for eternity!'

 

The Imperials weren't buying it though, and one of them stepped forward now and said, 'Oh please! It's just some soon to be dead fool trying to play a joke on the Emperor's Legion! Come, Hag! If you've come to steal my shadow, then lets see you do it!'

 

I was out of ideas at this point, since they'd pretty much called my bluff. That's when I heard the most eerie and curiously enamoring tone come from across the camp, somewhere within the dark twisting branches of the forest. I had no idea who or what it was, and I was almost as spooked as the imperials were. But I used the distraction and covered my hair in muddy marsh swamp gunk, as well as my body. I crawled forward on my stomach, leaving behind a trail of gunk that looked like liquid shadow in the dark, then when my mud covered hands were close to the Imperial's shadow, I said, 'Yes! My love! Become apart of me! Serve my shadow!' When I did, the music from whoever turned frantic and harsh.

 

Whether or not the Imperial felt for it when he turned to see me, I have no idea, but the campfire went out before I could find out. One of the Nords kicked sand into the flames and yelled, 'Put it out before she gets our shadows! Run!'

 

Panic spread through the camp, the horses all charged an took off, and by the end of it, I was left alone in the dark with a whole shipment of silver all to myself. A torchlight lit from where the sound came from earlier, and by the time I reached it, I finally recognized who it was. Boldir, of course. He looked at me, covered in mud, and I looked at him, and said, 'Brother, I want you at my side always, from this day forward.' He smiled, shook my hand, and we were friends ever since.

 

I cleaned up, and when we came back to the others and told them we took the whole place ourselves, I had no more trouble with commanding the men. Especially when they saw that one of the soldiers tripped and landed on their own swords in fear. They thought we were just that intimidating to them."

 

Rebec laughed. "You with your honeyed tongue and Boldir with his stubborn bravery. Now that's a good story, even if I imagine it's half horker shit. I guess I stuck my nose into your plans. Or rather, my poon." She grinned and added, "I'd say we should go to Whiterun ourselves, but I don't like the idea of that long trek with Ragna so small."

 

"Heh, well, the first step in the plan was getting some poon, so. Maybe we could get a carriage to take us. Get some Necros to guard us, and we can lay in the back, cover it with a tapestry and rest with the child in the back the whole way there. We'll do it when she's gotten a bit bigger. And as with all my stories, I swear on my hair, it's true," said Baldur, smiling proudly. "You thought I was horkershitting about a lot of things. Toralf can confirm a lot of my stories as well, including the Nord with the Tail. He's been wanting to talk with you."

 

"I'm supposed to believe Toralf any more than you?" Rebec smirked and crawled back under the furs. "You can put the little captain back in her ship whenever you want to go back to sleep." It was obvious that she was ready for sleep herself, but after a moment her eyes opened again and she called under the bed. "Hey furball, where are you? Come warm up my feet."

 

"Stuhnir," said Baldur, since the fox didn't answer to furball. When Baldur returned to the bed after placing Ragna in her crib, Stuhnir was rolled over in his spot until he threatened to smush him. Stuhnir hurried to the foot of the bed then with Rebec's feet and with Baldur's arm over her side. Thinking back to what Rebec said about Jala, he said, "Sweet dreams, love," hoping genuinely that she'd get another chance to say what she needed to say.

 

She was already asleep, cold feet and all, and there were no more dreams to trouble them that night.

 

***

 

The next day, on the two girls' walk, Rebec caught sight of a black smudge on the horizon just as they heard the long horn call of the Black Wisp. She ran, giddy as a schoolgirl, and waited as the ship pulled up to the dock.

 

Mazoga was at the helm. She wore her Nordic armor and kept her hair shaven back to a forelock, the scars from her trials criss-crossing her face and scalp. The orc's grim expression changed when she saw Rebec and the bundle on her back.

 

"Stendarr's mercy, look at this," she said as she strode up to mother and baby. "I see you got a new first mate to replace me, Admiral."

 

"Hello Maz." Rebec smiled proudly and glanced over her shoulder at the sleeping baby on her back. "She's not mastered the rowing calls yet, but we're working on it. How's the ship running?"

 

"Fast and sleek as always. Caught a hard storm rounding Iliac Bay and got pounded into an abandoned skiff. The skiff split apart like so many toothpicks. Not a scratch on the Wisp."

 

"It won't be a Breton storm that gets her if anything does," Rebec agreed. "A Sea of Ghosts storm or nothing. Come on, let's go find some of Baldur's mead stash. I still can't drink it much, but you need a warm-up."

 

The rest of the crew were milling around them and exclaiming over the baby, so it took a while, but eventually the two women made their way back to the town.

 

***

"When am I gonna get to talk to that wife of yours, eh? I feel like y'er hiden her from me!"

 

"I am," said Baldur. "Why do you want to talk to my wife so bad? I should tell you the stories of what I did to others that took interest."

 

Toralf raised a hand, grinning with his yellow smile. "It's not like that at all, pal, promise. Though I must say, not a bad pick. You always did fancy the ones with wide hips."

 

Baldur's eyes narrowed at the compliment. "Then what is it that you want?"

 

"I'm just.. curious is all. I wanna know what the woman that pulled a complete 180 on you is like. That's all."

 

Baldur said, "With your thief skills, I know you can find her easy enough. Why haven't you found her yourself?"

 

"Because... no offense, but she's kinda... I don't want her getting the wrong idea. That's all," said Toralf.

 

"Oho, I get it. You're scared from that threat. Don't steal and you'll be just fine," said Baldur. No sooner had he said it had Toralf picked an apple from a passing merchant out of town. Baldur's head turned at the sound of the familiar crunch. "Toralf..."

 

"It's just an apple. She's not gonna chop my hand off for that, is she? If so, you'd better return the one you took too."

 

"What? I didn-" Toralf shoved an apple in Baldur's mouth suddenly, forcing him to take a bite.

 

"There. Now if I go down, you go down, partner in crime, hehehe."

 

Rebec and Mazoga rounded the corner in time to see the apple swipe. Glaring, the admiral approached them. "You've got credit with that merchant, I guess," she said to Toralf.

 

Toralf jumped. "Oh, hello Mrs. Red-Snow! Of course I do, go ask y'self." Toralf pointed a finger at the man's waist. "See? He'll find some missing apples, but a new pouch of gold jingling on his belt. I prefer to cut out the middle man. Apple? Ah, baby!" Toralf tossed her the apple and slinked behind her to where little Ragna was before she caught it.

 

Rebec glanced suspiciously back at Toralf as if he might try stealing Ragna next. She doubted the man would want diaper duty, however. Glancing back at Baldur as if he might be in on mischief, too, she said, "The Wisp is back, you see. I wanted to show Mazoga the new inn." Rebec waggled her eyebrows to indicate they wanted some of the good stuff.

 

Baldur smirked and said, "Ah, I got you. We'll need to go in the back. There's been some people protesting in the front, begging me to open the place up already. I just might crack, but not yet. Say, why don't you and my friend go get my keys and we'll meet you at the tavern? I need to talk with Mazoga. Necro Nord stuff."

 

Rebec's eyebrow lifted but she just shrugged. "Alright. What're you doing behind there, Toralf? By the gods, if you're looking at my ass..." She didn't wait to see if that was the case, stalking off towards the longhouse.

 

Mazoga saluted smartly, having forgotten to do that before, and said, "What is it, High General?"

 

Baldur thought about telling her to be at ease, but then thought better of it. "We need to talk, you and I. Come to an understanding. You remember what you said to my wife a few months back? About me."

 

The orc pulled at her tusk, puzzled. "Can't say as I do."

 

Baldur stopped walking and faced her, arms crossed.

 

Mazoga stopped as well, and lifted a hand. "What? I mean... what, sir. Look, it's been a long trip and I'm tired. I'm guessing by your expression I said something wrong. Just tell me what it is so I can get to the mead."

 

Baldur's hand went to his head. "The damn fort! When I thought you were unconscious. And you weren't. Then, instead of coming to me about what you saw, you went behind my back and told Rebec instead. Why?"

 

Mazoga thought a minute. "Oh, the dream. 'Went behind your back'? You were telling it out loud to an infirmary of sick people. I saw Reb later and it came up, that's all. I was surprised you hadn't already told her."

 

"There was no one else there but you and Daric, in case you forgot that too. Both of you unconscious. I assumed. It was stupid, yea but..." Baldur tapped his fingers on his chin. He decided to refrain from saying maybe he hoped someone was listening.

 

Sighing, he said, "I'm under a lot of stress. Get me? Sometimes, I have dreams, nightmares, and they're so real that they stick with me when I wake. Sometimes I need to relieve that stress with something. At that time, after the Forsworn attacked, and friends and family were brought to battle, it got to me more than usual. I'm not telling you this for sympathy or anything of the sort. I piss on sympathy. I'm telling you this so you will understand why I'm ordering you to never do what you did again, if you see my composure break."

 

Baldur away as if to reflect, then quickly added, "Which it won't. Hnh, of course I didn't tell her! Why would I want Rebec worrying over nothing, just to think the husband that's supposed to look out for her child can't handle some ******* bad dreams?"

 

Mazoga looked at him incredulously. "Boss, the last thing I need is to be in the middle of a marital issue. But everybody can see you and Rebec practically share a brain these days. Do you really not think she already knew something was up with you? I just assumed she did or it would never have come up. I mean, the admiral's sometimes in a world of her own, but she's not stupid."

 

He hesitated a moment, then said, "Maybe. You might be right. But, next time, tell her to ask me. If anyone's going to tell her about an issue I have, it should be me and no one else. That's it, I won't hold you up any longer. Go on and get your mead."

 

Mazoga gave him a strange look but decided it was best to drop it. When she was well out of the general's earshot, she mumbled, "Men."

[TheCzarsHussar]

Daric

Early Morning

Kyne's Watch

(Part 2)

 

Looking at his hands, he said. "It's not so cold here anymore. Huh." The Breton boy stood silent a while, thinking about that beneath the grey of the Northern clouds. He was half Nord after all, but also, Daric had gotten used to this place. In the Summer, this was the place of midnight sun, where Magnus' gaze never left them for long. Daric mentioned once that he thought it odd that the one place Magnus was almost always present was also so damn cold. Baldur said to him:

 

"What people forget about the sun is that it is the source of all magic, including that of frost. Skyrim is cold because Magnus has nothing but contempt for the people who sided with Shor in the days of the Dawn. He's seen here so often because he knows Shor's chosen lie in the North. And while he despises all of creation, he despises us the most. So he sits, and stares, like a slighted lover with a bleeding heart. And that hate filled stare focuses his icy contempt on the land of Skyrim, especially here. That is why it is cold in the North. That's why Atmora froze over. Perhaps it will here too some day. But we go on. Just like the slighted man's lover, we Nords ignore the cold of his glare. Just as our master ignores the cold of death that the elven gods brought him."

 

When Daric asked why they so rarely saw the sun in the Winter, Baldur said "Well, the lonely bastard's gotta take a break sometime. You try glaring for that long without a good long blink." 
 

That made him laugh then, like most of the silly explanation. He didn't give the account much thought, but now, Daric couldn't help but feel like maybe there was some truth to it. He realized somewhat dispiritedly that it was because he thought he could relate to Magnus. Not in any literal sense, but more in the loose connections Baldur made so liberally when he got to talking about the gods. He and Rebec created something, and since then he'd been left to mostly watch their happiness from afar.

 

"Pff, what did I expect." Daric felt a strong breeze at his neck that normally'd send a chill up his spine something fierce. It hadn't now, but he threw his cloak over his head regardless. Looking at the blue sash beneath it, he said, "What am I even doing."

 

Not having an answer for that, he made his way to the pier, playing Magnus once more and gazing at the distant castle with gloomy wishful eyes. He almost fell asleep there, half covered in the falling snow and looking like the frozen kings of Atmora, though much smaller and noticeably lacking in beard. He had the hair though, wild and long. In his resting mind, those kings called to him in their ancient and mighty tongue, bellowing forth to him with deep dreadful cries. It was so loud that it woke him from his brief slumber. Though when he woke, the noise persisted and grew closer.

 

***

 

Theodore stood on the ship's aft castle, as the carrack bobbed up and down, a cork in a sea of white wine, which looked the pale part on this overcast day. The King of High Rock tugged the green cloak closer to his chest, the spotted sabercat fur warming his red cheeks where they touched. The cloak, along with his  gold doublet with black outlined bull's head sigil, offered ample warmth, yet they weren't enough. It was bitterly cold, even more so here than in Farrun, from which his flotilla had departed. Alongside this carrack sailed another, the former Sir Charien's, now Duke Charien's, personal vessel laden with goods for the fledgling town, as well as two dromons of the navy, serving as escort. Theo's escort, Sir Maric, stood in his ebony armor, that and his relentless protection making him a veritable shadow.  

 

Glancing at him, Theodore noticed his dark brown hair appeared almost black in this light. What the king wouldn't give for his own hair to grow back, if only to offer some protection from the cold. Theo's captain of the guard kept his short, though, barely covering his ears. He'd shaved, though Theodore noticed a red mark where the knight must have nicked himself. Part of shaving on a moving ship, of course. Turning his attention to the ever approaching shore, the lookout in the nest gave several loud blasts of his horn, and Theo could just make out movement on the shore answering the call. Hopefully the Nords were early risers, which he suspected they were. Though will this sunless day, a man could no doubt sleep well into the afternoon.

 

The ships slid ashore gracefully, and ropes and planks secured the king's ship to the dock. Two knights descended first, their plated armor on top of layers of wool and leather no doubt keeping them warmer than Theo. Next he came, with Sir Maric and another guard right on his heels. No one was there to greet them, not yet, but he could see figures approaching. A few Nords lingered about, including a long haired urchin looking boy, a teenager perhaps, who looked to be just waking up.

 

"Sir Maric, everything all right?" the king asked, noticing his guard captain seemed off put by something. Theodore himself was quite fine, having taken a potion to stave off any sickness that might crop up, and to hold his cold at bay. "There isn't any danger, is there?"

 

Clearing his throat, the knight said, "No, Your Grace. Just-it was nothing."

 

Theodore looked at him with an arched eyebrow before looking back off to the approaching welcoming committee. A slight smile traced his lips. He had been looking forward to this meeting for quite some time.

 

The other Stormcloaks up with Daric were already helping to secure ships to docks while Daric had the others run off to get the Red-Snows, knowing that they'd want to be the first to get here before the crowd of people looking to buy goods. Being who he was, the two Stormcloaks with him let him speak as he greeted the guests.

 

Daric stood in their path, sizing them up and not doing so subtly. His eyes settled first on the large man made up like a spring chicken. He must be in charge, Daric thought. Besides the way he dressed, it was obvious from the way he carried himself, even among men not under his command and in foreign land.

 

Then his eyes went to the warrior in ebony armor. He knew what the others would say. That the Breton impresses no one with his fancy armor, and that the Breton was looking to have a nice corpse when he died. Daric smirked himself at the joke, then realized he may have taken too long to address them. "You come at an odd hour, though I suppose there's no accounting for time of arrival at sea. I am Daric the Dexterous. Stormcloak soldier and apprentice to the High General. State your business."

 

"Our esteemed general keeps a Breton squire? Interesting. Well, brother, I am King Theodore Adrard of-"

Suddenly, Sir Maric rushed forward, quick as a cobra. He gripped this Daric the Dexterous by the shoulders, staring him in the eyes. "What is your mother's name, boy?"

It was then Theodore noticed Sir Maric was shaking. He didn't know what to make of any of this.

 

Daric was taken off guard and staring wide eyed at the crazed ebony clad man. Against his reason, likely from instinct one learned after being in a real battle, Daric had one of the blades gifted to him in his hands and pointing at the knight. "What has possessed your lackey, king? Unhand me!"

 

The two Stormcloaks drew their weapons as well. "Don't be stupid. You are guests, but you'd best explain yourself now."

 

"Sir Maric, your manners seem to have left you. Let go of the boy," Theodore ordered, looking at his other guards to let them know not to draw their own weapons. Sir Maric did as commanded, and shamefully bowed his head, though his eyes never left Daric.

"It seems to me, though, that he didn't mean you any harm. If he had, I doubt his fists would have been his weapon of choice. Now if you gentlemen would put your steel away, I believe we might have an explanation." Theodore watched, hoping these Nords were logical. Obviously Maric never meant any harm, otherwise he would have just choked the boy, or stabbed him, not gripped him by the shoulders.

 

Daric half heard what their king said, but was too absorbed by the hard gaze the crazed man was giving him. What was it that he said? Something about his mother?

 

"Sorry, it was just a reaction," said Daric. He sheathed his weapon and heard the others do the same. He was a bit surprised they drew their blades, but was glad his brothers had his back. "So what's the deal, Ebonarm? Never saw a Breton Stormcloak before?"

 

Theodore watched Sir Maric, who lifted his chin but continued to stare. It was slightly unsettling, his gaze, but there didn't seem to be any malice in it. Theo looked to the child, who looked somewhat bewildered, though almost everyone besides the king looked bewildered. Looking back to Sir Maric, it was then he realized what caused his guard's reaction. Smiling slyly, he listened as Sir Maric explained.

"This isn't my first time in Skyrim. I came here when I was not much older than you, to adventure and seek fame. I wanted to earn this armor I wear. It's my family's, passed down to me by my father, Sir Daric Maric. Your grandfather." Sir Thoms Maric took a step closer, and seemed to contemplate placing a hand on the boy's shoulder, but decided not to.

"While I was here I fell in love with a Breton woman, your mother. She was married to a Nord, but he was abusive and she didn't love him. I wanted her to come back to High Rock with me, but she feared her husband would hurt her. So she left, then I left." Running a gauntleted hand through his hair, he continued, "Heh, we always joked about naming our kid Daric, after my father. Turns out she did it anyway. You're my son, Daric."

Theodore nodded, as he had guessed right. The resemblance was there, though one had to look close. They both had Bretic features, the high cheeks lithe build, but they shared the same nose, eyes, ears, mouth. The hair helped to disguise that, no doubt, since the boy's was long and the knight's short, but Theodore knew if Sir Maric were to grow his out, it would fall in the same way.

 

Steam from the boy's nose poured forth like a bull in an illustration, breath growing more rapid, more intense. Daric's face grew redder and redder, his ears burning and face numb. The Stormcloaks looked at each other, lost for words as Daric backed away from the ebony clad man past him. Tears streaming from his eyes, he looked angered, but he couldn't place why. "This doesn't make sense. There's surely other... why would my mother..."

 

"Uh, perhaps we should leave these two alone while I take you to see the general and admiral, king?" said a Stormcloak.

 

Theodore said "Yes, that would be best, I think."

Glancing back at Sir Maric, he saw the guard had sat down, as if he had just had a huge weight taken off his chest, but he was so worn out he must sit. His eyes glistened with budding tears, twinkling like sparks in a mages hand. Theodore pitied him, as he could not imagine having a son he didn't know existed. Especially if said son grew up with an abusive father in a land that labelled him milk-drinker and dandy.

The king, along with his other three guards, followed quietly, the only sound the frosted breath of the group, and the soft crunch of snow underneath. Elsewhere he could hear Nords chatter as Sir Charien peddled his wares, though the audience was small this early. Theodore looked back to the leading Nords, focusing on the conversation to come, though this little episode with Sir Maric was quite intriguing. Especially if the general cared considerably for his squire.

 

The docks of Kyne's Watch had not yet attracted the sort of hawkers and whoremongers of the usual port town, but they were getting there. A few traders were already coming out to see what the Breton ship had to offer.

 

Eventually the Red Snows came walking up the quay as well- all three of them. Rebec wasn't used to conducting business with a baby strapped to her back, but Ysana was occupied with mayoral business and Vigge was too hung over to babysit. Thus, baby Ragna was also in the welcoming party that met Theodore and his entourage on the docks.

 

Rebec eyed the finely-clad Bretons waiting for them and said to Baldur, "What's all this now? Keg of mead says they're back to tell us our port taxes are going up again."

 

"I sure hope that's not it, or I put my old armor back on for nothing. But if it is, Ragna and I are going back to bed. You love talking with foreigners about taxes apparently."

 

"Someone's got to mind the coinpurse, especially with imperials around. And Bretons might as well be imps for how they hang on to their coin." Behind her, Ragna let out a string of babble and a spray of saliva. Glancing back, Rebec chuckled. "See, she knows. That's my girl."

 

Chuckling as they approached the group, Baldur said, "Hello all, I am Baldur Red-Snow and this is the High Admiral. What brings you here?"

 

Theodore grinned and bowed his head. "A pleasure to meet the two famed Red-Snows. As well as a third Red-Snow, I see. I am King Theodore Adrard of High Rock, and I come to discuss joining your alliance, though I decided to stop here and gather a few more supplies before making my way to Windhelm."

He didn't mention the letter, knowing full and well Baldur was smart enough to grasp his real intentions, even with the cover story being perfectly viable.

 

"Ah, my mistake! A king has come to grace us with his presence eh? And from High Rock, no less? Boy, times have certainly changed indeed," said Baldur, playing his role. "Well then, I suppose we should invite you to our new tavern, the Howling Harpy. It's still not opened yet, so we'll have the whole place to ourselves to discuss. Sound good?"

 

"Lead the way, General," Theodore said with a sly edge-of-his-lip curling grin.

 

Baldur lead the group through the town, and was glad that the High Rock King made it here so early. There were still a few early birds around, gawking at the group making their way into the large tavern that seemed more like an entire mead hall. But they didn't bother Baldur with more than some grumbling.

 

When they got in, Baldur found Toralf and his khajiit friend sleeping on the ground with a few mead bottles scattered about them. Baldur let Toralf feel his steel boot in his butt. "Wake up, you miserable lout!"

 

Toralf answered half awake. "Huh? Is it time for breakfast?"

 

Baldur gave him another kick in the arse. "Were you stealing my mead?"

 

"Godsdamnit, that hurts! Gods, of course I wasn't stealing your mead... well, not the good stuff anyway..." Another kick brought Toralf to his feet. "Hey hey, I was gonna pay you back. But, I gotta say, coin's gettin kinda tight, lass. No opening means no work, which means less coin to spend on mead. Why don't you open this place up already? What's the big hubbub?"

 

"You want work? I've got work for you right now. You're in the company of a King today, so get ready to cook till you drop. Hey you! The puss in boots! Yea that goes for you too. Get up and get to work." Baldur pointed to the tables for Theodore to sit as he whipped his working crew into shape.

 

Rebec hadn't appeared terribly impressed at being introduced to the "king" of the Bretons, but as she freed Ragna from her harness and took a seat, she asked Theodore, "So what's the news to our west? Anything we should be concerned about? Pirates, Thalmor patrols?" Breton politics didn't make the list.

 

Theodore motioned for one guard to remain by the door, while the other two spread out around the room, closer enough to react if something was amiss, but not so close that they could hear a conversation. Plus, Theo always wore a blade somewhere on his person, should the need arise. The king himself sat his plump rear in a chair, which he still easily fit in. He wasn't as fat as Duke Geves, thank the Nine. 

 

"A pleasure to meet your....friends, general. I hope they cook better than they put down mead, harhar!" Today, at least for now, Theodore was the drink loving oaf, until such time he and Baldur could get down to business. Turning to the High Admiral, he watched the baby for a few moments before responding. "Pirates are being dealt with, the Direnni are being treated with, and the Empire is being...well, I wouldn't call it an Empire any longer. Secession looks good on all of us, it seems."

 

Baldur turned his attention from his friends as they made their way to the kitchen. With a big grin, he said, "So, the rumors are true? The 'Empire' is now only an Empire in name? I suppose I should have seen it coming, but then, everyone thought High Rock would simply use their status as the last province to squeeze them for what you wanted."

 

The admiral still appeared skeptical. "How can you be so sure of all that? You Bretons only ever got together to fight orcs or Nords."

 

"You speak the truth, Admiral. But I will command total, complete unity of my vassals, and of the Breton people. Insurrection, with either the Thalmor, the Empire, or anyone, will be dealt with accordingly. The Empress and her consort wronged me and my people, and I won't abide their behavior any longer. My methods would be described as brutal by some, effective by others. I'll let you decide for yourself." Theodore leaned back in the chair, smiling a small smile.

 

"She wronged you?" asked Baldur. "How so? Not many are aware we've actually shared dialogue during her time in Skyrim."

 

"I visited Cyrodiil for her coronation. She promised me my son would be Emperor. But she called him a bitch as she did so. And then rescinded her promise without so much as an apology." Theodore leaned in closer to the table, resting his elbows and clasped hands on it. "There's more, of course, but first tell me of your conversation with her. Think of it as a trade."

 

Baldur leaned back in his chair, rubbing his beard with his gauntleted hand. "Nothing as juicy as your tale, I'm afraid. I barely remember our interaction outside of her little maid servant being afraid of her own shadow. My wife even gave the servant lessons on how to have balls. Besides that, we killed together. After we had our meeting with the Imperials, where I eventually met her pet wizard in the woods, we took the Thalmor leader they captured and hand delivered to us as a gift, then she tore his eyes out. I was tired by then, having already ripped a mer's lungs out, so we settled for letting that one hang. She was our temporary prisoner then."

 

"Ah yes, the Court Mage. He factors in as well. In all actuality, they set up the secession perfectly. I had a letter detailing her promiscuity, and his sudden rise lent credence to the idea he drove Grim-Maw insane, killed Tullius, and put in place his lackey Ceno, who was in Skyrim with him and placed his own personal whore Lillin Quentas as Spymaster. All I had to do was make people believe." Theodore twirled the corner of his mustache, still grinning. "What do you two know of the mage?"

 

Now it was Baldur's turn to lean in. His face grew noticeably more serious then, and his eyes seemed more alert, more animated. "So basically, you want to know how much of that exactly is true. Right, it's about time we got to that. I think I can help you. I can confirm that the mage didn't drive Grim-Maw insane. The fool was already unstable since Camp Romulus. As for the mage... it'd probably be best if you tell us what you heard first. I can probably shed light on things easier if I wasn't at a disadvantage."

 

Theodore looked back over his shoulder, ensuring the room was clear. He too grew more serious, folding his hands like a man at prayer. "As I left the Imperial City, General Ceno received two letters. One was from Snow-Strider, detailing what happens with Jon Hard-Heart and General Tullius. He also told me to keep my son out of Cyrodiil, as it was dangerous. The other was from Grim-Maw, and it said Snow-Strider was to marry the Empress, and that the mage had her bound to his soul. I didn't believe it, until Ceno told me Tullius also suspected the binding. And given his rapid rise, I believe it to be true."

 

Rebec's face during this discussion resembled what Ragna looked like when she was about to spit up. The problems of the throne in Cyrodiil interested her even less than those in High Rock. She didn't interfere, however, until Baldur had said his piece. Then she addressed Theodore. "So you don't like the imps and we don't. What are you going to do about it, and how does it affect Skyrim? I care less and little who insulted who and how sloppy the so-called emperor's bed furs are."

 

Baldur smiled and said, "You'll have to excuse my wife, she likes to cut to the chase faster than I do. Which means every now and then, we miss the greater implication. If we're to be allies, we need to have everyone's cards on the table, and be aware of any and all dodgy magics from mysterious dodgy mages. I know a lot about this topic. And to promote better relations between us, I'll tell you everything I know. So sit back and relax. Though I don't think it'll be quite what you expected."

 

Baldur stood from his seat then, fixing the bear hood on Ragna which slouched forward as she slept. Evidently she didn't much care about Imperial goings ons either. "You say that Ceno got a letter from Lorgar Grim-Maw? Well, I've gotten a letter from him as well. A good while ago before my daughter was born, and before I got these three slash marks on my Necro Nord armor." Baldur traced his fingers over the mark on his torso for effect. It was very obvious that no man's hand, even as big a man as himself, could match the marks, not that any man could leave marks like that on steel.

 

"Lorgar sent me a very interesting letter, one that detailed and confirmed exactly what you told me. It said that the Witch was a powerful powerful mage. It said that he bound the Empress' soul. It also said that the mage was a thousand years old. It said he'd been told, and that he would unfold, the truth of Cyrodiil, that this was his role. The situation was dire, for the Empire, for the mage was consorting and porking vampires! It said many things, mostly about his flings, but I'm afraid, Lorgar's a pathological liar." Baldur smirked at his little rhyme he broke into for effect.

 

"I'm afraid we've been had," he continued. "When you told me that you suspected a binding, I had to hear you out because it confirmed what Lorgar said. And I can't work with someone that dangerous while I'm trying to fight the elves. Not when he's an Emperor and I have to watch my back at risk of becoming a slave. But, when you mentioned it was Lorgar... I knew. He even claimed, that my publisher, Magdela Bathory, was a vampire herself, and while it was true she'd been his lover, she's a consort. She's been many people's lover. However, not all of it was inaccurate information. You may have heard of the information broker that betrayed me to the Thalmor? Well, Lorgar also claimed that this man was a vampire. And that is something I can confirm to be true, because I saw Samuel's power myself in the caves that he ambushed me in, and he shifted his face right in front of me. A powerful illusionist. I had my suspicions about it, but I doubt he realized."
 

Continuing, he said, "What disturbs me, is that Lorgar the werewolf knows and confirms it. This tells me three things. One, Lorgar is in contact with this information broker, and two, unlike most, he's involved enough that he gave up this information, I suspect to give more credence to his other lies. I guess he'd figure I'd more easily believe him after seeing what his Samuel can do. And there's a third thing as well. I believe Lorgar is working for the Thalmor. And from the very beginning."

 

"He was in the company of one when they captured my wife. A very high ranking official, and he was apparently able to not only order him around, but prevent their men from torturing Rebec, or worse. Even Tullius couldn't do that. Next, Lorgar waltzes into our city, by himself and practically gives himself up to my second, Boldir Iron-Brow, then when I arrive after recovering from a strike to the back from Lorgar's arrow, he gives up his camp location with no physical coercion on my part at all. Next, after the Imperials invade, he let it slip at our peace meeting that he and the Empress were on good terms even before she decided to betray the Thalmor, and if you remember, the Empress was a Thalmor supporter back then. Not to mention, after my rescue from Thalmor captivity, he claimed to have discovered and detailed the interior of the fort and what cell I was in, himself, and gave this information to Tullius and Marius for my rescue! How could any Imperial soldier have done that? The place was locked up tighter than a virgin's asshole. And finally, after everything is said and done, he's promoted to Spymaster, which is ironic since that's exactly what I think he is, and he starts causing all sorts of issues. They think it's incompetence. I think it was sabotage. And that bullshit about the mage? And the vampires? He claimed to want help with it all, mainly the witch. But if it was help he wanted, why did he try to kill me not too long after sending that letter?"

 

Baldur took a swig of mead from one of the bottles Toralf left behind to clear his throat, then finally said, "And one last thing. It was Lorgar who sent me the letter about Marius and that he died. He knew that Marius and I were on better terms than most Imperials. Said that it was Samuel that did it. And that Marius was killed by vampires. Marius, ambassador to Skyrim and Cyrodiil, murdered by a Thalmor supporter, and Lorgar knows the truth while no one else does... hmn... I sent a letter with a poem that was meant to publicly damn Sam, and not only did it not work, but Samuel was released from prison almost immediately, and he sent me his own letter, bragging about it. As if he wanted me to try something from the start. Wanted Lorgar to send that letter."

 

Baldur threw the mead bottle across the room at the wall, eyes blistering with anger. "The Empress' life was almost taken several times, and Lorgar made a move on the man that was keeping her alive and that would be Emperor. Why? Because she was magically bound? Because somehow, a Nord wizard managed to pull off what no other mage in the history of the world has managed to do and decided to pull a Jagar Tharn? Or is it because Lorgar the Thalmor bitch was ordered to?"

 

Theodore listened intently to the tale. For a while after Baldur finished Theo just sat, thinking. Most of it made sense, but he had his doubts. "So you believe, that from the very beginning, Grim-Maw was a Thalmor spy? Interesting. That explains his absence now, as we would never be able to find him behind their lines. Plus his erratic actions. And so you think the story about the mage is a lie, as well as Bathory being a vampire? I confess, I've met with the Bathory family many a time, and never noticed anything odd, but of course the Order has ways of keeping it's members hidden."

"But I have my own doubts. Snow-Strider rose from her tutor, to court mage, to Emperor in less than a year. Politics can work like that, it is true. Yet, our fair empress was content to marry my son, until suddenly something changed her mind. And instead of her writing to inform Ceno of Tullius' betrayal, he wrote. Why would he do that if he was not in control? And then there's her promiscuity and homosexual tendencies, that just up and vanished. Lorgar could very well be a spy, and it is likely, but I do not believe he was wrong in this. Have you met the mage yourself, Red-Snow?"

 

Sitting back down again, Baldur said, "We've met him directly, yes. He came to retrieve the princess himself after we had our meeting with the Imperials. I know you've seen Dales for yourself. I confess, I don't keep up with the politics of the Imperial City, but I know you know that many would seek to get on good terms with an unmarried princess if it meant they could possibly make it to the throne. And Dales was... a very impressionable individual. Like a child. Look at how well she rewarded Lorgar, a likely Thalmor spy simply because they were friends."

 

Baldur recalled something the Witch mentioned once in a letter from Karsh. "Oh, and of course, she was sure to comment on their shared love of Altmer literature. Ugh. Honestly, if I were really worried about this binding thing, which now that I know the only source is Lorgar, I am not, then I would be sure to bring it up now before their wedding. I can't afford to deal with someone like that, as I said, and neither can my king. This isn't something I rely on guesswork with, King Adrard. I think that what you're seeing is the product of the Empire in its weakest state, with its weakest leader, and with its strongest enemy barking at its doorstep. That's my honest assessment."

 

Theodore remained leaned on the table. He frowned, slightly. "Ah, I see. There is one thing I must ask you, general. Why did you call Snow-Strider the Witch earlier? In all my time in the Imperial City, I never once heard that name used in reference to him. I do agree, the Empire is weak, weaker than ever before. They aren't even an Empire any longer. Yet she threw away a chance to unite High Rock and Cyrodiil permanently, and for what, a mage with no land, no army, nothing? As impressionable as she was, even an idiot child could see the fallacy of that."

 

Baldur shrugged his shoulders and said, "Ah, that's what we call most mages. You'll hear Ulfric refer to Thalmor as 'Witch Elves'. Sorry, I know Bretons favor magic. I should refrain from calling mages witches if I'm to work with the rest of you in this alliance. But then, what do you call someone with his skill in magic? Even I had to admit it was impressive seeing what he could summon on the battlefield. That's the only reason I gave this binding story any attention at all, and also why I needed you to come here. Couldn't risk Thalmor getting a hold of my letters and changing them. Our alliance is new and fragile. Mistrust over something like this is exactly what the Thalmor want.

 

As for why Dales did what she did, I have no idea. You were just a humble general like myself though, right? I certainly didn't expect you to become the King of High Rock. But I honestly couldn't explain her strange behavior. All I know is Lorgar's credibility isn't there. I took the liberty of looking into one of his claims once I learned more on Magdela after she published my book, and a traveler had a copy of the city newspaper. There was a crazed Vigilant who attacked her, gave her some magical test for Vampirism, and she apparently passed it. The Queen would probably know more about such tests, but I took an interest also because I heard disturbing news about her being in bed with Thalmor. But she gave up all her contacts when the time was right. It wouldn't surprise me if the Thalmor wanted to get back at her somehow."

 

And there it is. Even if he knows something, he's either playing me false, or sincerely distrust Lorgar. At the least, I now have a lead on Bathory, even more so than her escapades with Snow-Strider. Now I must rely on the reporter. And my cousin. Unsettling thoughts indeed. 

"You have me convinced, General Red-Snow. I should have known better than to trust the word of Grim-Maw. After all, even the common folk know him to be unhinged, at the best of times. And it surprises me not he's a werewolf. Those teeth practically give it away."

Shaking his head, Theodore said, "Why does everyone believe that I was only a general? Haha, people listen to the strangest rumors, as I know too well, but I suppose I didn't do much to warrant attention. In truth, I was, and am, Lord of Camlorn. Lord General was another title I wore, and I was intended to lead our armies. As king I can appoint others to do that now."

Theodore turned his now smiling facade to Rebec, who was obviously the less politically inclined of the two. "High Admiral, I trust the tax cuts were to your liking? I'm sorry they are only forty percent and not the forty five we agreed upon, but I cannot control everything, sadly. Our trade agreement is crucial, I believe, in teaching Cyrodiil a much needed lesson. None of us are slaves to them, nor to their goods."

 

Rebec turned from where she'd had her back half towards the men. At first she had listened dubiously to Baldur's tale, but eventually turned away and cradled Ragna close. Mainly she was afraid her expression would give away something, though also foremost in her mind was the fact that they had brought a baby into all this mess. The Breton king's appearance in Kyne's Watch underscored the fact that they weren't going to be able to stay out of it, either.

 

"The merchants like it well enough," she answered Theodore stiffly. "So long as it holds. It's the main reason this town has grown as fast as it has. Just so you know, we don't have any illusions about all this. My husband drops the word alliance pretty easily, but you and I know this is a small puddle on a hot day. Soon as the Thalmor threat is over, you'll be looking to stab us in the back. If not before. But I guess we got to be as neighborly as we can be in the meantime. You hear anything about naval battles in the south?"

 

Theodore sighed, leaning back as he interlocked his fingers and placed them on his belly. "It's been decades since the Nords and Bretons last fought against each other. I bear you no ill will, sincerely. I harbor resentment only for Cyrodiil. A lasting peace is an honorable goal, and that is what I seek. I feel as if I should be more worried about you Nords. Your glory seeking is well known, and what better way than through expansion? But I do not think you'll do that, just as I hope you think I won't backstab you. As for naval battles, yes, there was rumor of the Imperials running into a trap of some sort. Their High Admiral survived, though."

 

"Seems they're always getting themselves into a fix. Ceno was the one who sunk my boat, you know." Her eyes burned with resentment and she gestured at the wheel affixed above the mantle. "That's the steering, right there. Baldur fished it out of the Sea of Ghosts. That bastard mage was just doing his job, but that old admiral of theirs can rot in Oblivion for what he did to us. I don't know as much as I'd like about this new one, though. What sort is he?"

 

Theodore inspected the wheel, as well as the mead hall, which he noticed seemed to be constructed mostly from her old ship. A nice touch, to be sure. "I imagine that made allying with him quite awkward. The new admiral, I unfortunately never met, but my cousin, the Breton ambassador, says he has changed considerably since his release. Before he was a patient man, quiet and gruff. Now he's borderline reckless, driven by hate. Ruthless, he writes, but so far effective. Apparently he and the Thalmor General Corio have developed quite the rivalry. Lost a hand to the general's torture."

 

Rebec's brow lifted. "We know a thing or two about that. Baldur does, I mean. Still, that sounds promising. Hate and recklessness were never the imperials' strong suits and they could do with a little fire. Now I guess you ought to tell us how you got to be the big man in High Rock. Meaning not just big in your gut." She had to admit that she was mildly curious how he had managed such a feat, if it really were true.

 

Theodore crossed his legs one over the other, and shifted his clasped hands to his knee. "Oh, it's quite a tale. I returned home from Cyrodiil prematurely, because my father-in-law, the king, was dying. You met him, yes? Well, Bretic inheritance rules that the eldest son is the heir. In lieu of a son, a daughter's husband. So my wife's sister's husband, Lord Rolston, became king. Unfortunately, for him, he attempted to poison me. Then he was found guilty, and I executed him. But his wife, my wife's sister, fled, and rebelled, along with Wayrest, Jehanna, and her city of Evermor. I went to war with my allies of Daggerfall, Shornhelm, Northpoint, and Farrun. We defeated and assimilated the armies at Wayrest, besieged Jehanna, until Lady Birian opened the gates to spite her husband, and ultimately we captured Evermor as well."

Frowning, Theodore finished the tale. "Sadly, we were taken by surprise by Reachmen and Orcs on the eve of the Evermor battle, so now I must go to war with them. Thankfully, though, our losses were not too severe. But I was not able to make Lielle Rolston, the Pretender, pay for her crimes, as three sellswords raped her and pushed her from a window. I killed two of them, and the other fell as well."

 

"Well that does sound like a Breton story." Rebec chuckled. "Except for the part where two of you agreed on anything. I'd say the orcs and gods-cursed Reachmen attacking is a stroke of luck for you. Nothing brings people together under a new leader faster than an outside threat. That's how I got to be a Stormcloak, which wasn't my life's ambition by any stretch. So now you're off to see Ulfric? Our queen will be pleased, I guess. She's a mage, like you lot."

 

"They, and the Thalmor, are one reason I anticipate having a lasting peace in High Rock. Like you said, threats unite people." Theodore nodded at that. Threats, by definition, were generally bad, but could be used for good as well, just as the admiral suggested.

"Yes, I plan on going straight to Windhelm next. In truth, though, I am hardly a mage. I can conjure a flame," he said, the tips of his fingers on the right hand suddenly bursting into flames, but lasting only a few moments, "and heal myself, but that is it. Most nobles can use some magic, and our wizards are second only to elves, but in truth many fight with steel. I use a greatsword myself."

 

By now Baldur had Ragna in his hands, which practically swallowed her up in his Necro Nord guantlets. She started whining and seemed like she might cry during the conversation, so he took her for a small trip around the tavern. Not far enough that Baldur hadn't seen the magic though. Baldur said without even thinking, "Watch the twinkle fingers, your kingliness. Bad luck in this place. Considering what got it here." Baldur was internally surprised. Must be his parent mode on. Just as he said that, Toralf and the khajiit burst forth from the double doors with pots filled with fish stew, rice, shrimp and krill, horker fin... the Kyne's Watch seafood special, essentially.

 

The amulet at Rebec's neck glowed a faint blue before fading out. "I'd say these timbers are pretty safe now. Been charred and steeped in the Sea of Ghosts, which swallowed many an uppity imperial, if not that Ceno. I guess Kyne took pity, and he did help turn things around in the end, but still. Bastard." She was then more interested in food than chatter. Ragna's fussing was a warning that she wanted her meal soon, so Rebec needed to attack the stew while she had hands free.

 

Theodore sampled the food, not especially hungry. He'd eaten not long before they came ashore. That, and this food, while good, was less refined than he was used to. But he made sure to try some of all.

"What news from Skyrim? I hope your war with the Reachmen is going well," Theodore asked in between slurping spoonfuls of stew.

 

Baldur sat between the khajiit and Toralf with Ragna, who accidentally kicked the cat's mead over, soaking his lap. Toralf tried fixing him a bowl, but he pointed it in the direction of Rebec. "Thank you friend, but I'll eat later. The Reach, it goes as well as you'd expect. It's reaching a climax according to Galmar and Brund. The war front's working its way to Markarth itself. Which is good. If their main force is going to try and take the city, we can cut them off. Worst case scenario, they somehow manage to take the city, and they die slowly. Best case, they die bloody at our walls."

 

"I wouldn't think they have the capabilities to form a true siege. They should keep to the caves and gullies and hills, fighting their guerrilla war. Thankfully, my Reachmen aren't as numerous as your Forsworn, and the Western Reach more easily traversed. When I traveled from Evermor to Farrun, we marched through the Reach, and they are nearly completely beaten."

Theodore moved his half eaten meal over to the side, and pulled out a flask to wash down the seafood. The red wine was tart, but Theo liked tart wine. "What other news from Skyrim? Any other important events?"

 

"Depends on what you consider important, but nothing so important as your war or ours in the Reach. We're just getting battle ready, and I've been building up my new force. I currently am looking for engineers to help me with a little pet project I'm working on for Valenwood. It'll require mage scientists and some explorers, ones that know a thing or two about Ayleid ruins and traps. Rebec mentioned how the Redguards used different portable concoctions like concussive bombs with their black powder. It got me thinking about what such things we might be able to utilize inthe war, and in big enough quantities to be feasable with our catapults. Then I recalled that the Ayleids used to use alchemical ingredients as weapons as well, and that they even had traps in their ruins with some sort of poison gas. I want to reproduce that. A problem we'll face in Valenwood is obviously the woods. We can't risk burning them, or we'll risk running into the wild hunt, but we can't just march in on the Bosmer's territory without some sort of advantage. If we had something that could clear them out without damaging the woods too much..."

 

"It would be no less than the elves deserve, for joining the Dominion," Rebec interjected, gesturing with her spoon. "The ones like Menel who opposed them either left or are dead by now, so burn the whole damn place down. Which you're likely to do anyway, by the sounds of things."

 

"Not unless you wish to lose the entire war due to our men being slaughtered by monsters. No, there will be absolutely no burning. In fact, anyone who does will be punished by death. It's that serious," said Baldur.

 

"As much as I'd enjoy setting their province aflame, I do believe the general is right. From what I've heard, the High General Ceno has his engineers at work on siege engines as well. You'd probably should look to Cyrodiil and contact him for Ayleid experts. I'm in the hunt for a mage, to join my Council of Lords as Court Wizard. Another reason I hope to keep High Rock in check, is half the lords have their position due to me, and the other half sit on my council," Theodore said. He looked back over his shoulder at his guards, then to Toralf and the Khajit.

"Would you mind taking some stew to my men? I imagine their stomachs are rumbling at the sight of us eating."

 

Baldur looked back at them, completely forgetting they were even there. Baldur didn't like ordering around his friend, but Toralf smiled and patted him on the back, already bringing the Bretons their share, along with their Nordic wasabi. Baldur didn't have the same concerns for the khajiit, however. "Hey, they're gonna need some of my mead if they use the sauce, Jabreel. Give them some Baldurbrau, would you?"

 

As the catman got up, Baldur ignored his grumbling and said, "We've got our own war machines already. Better suited for trees, as they arch up, rather than being shot like giant crossbows. But we'll all need them to be utilized quickly when the elves bunch up in the trees. We'll also use boulders to knock them down. We shouldn't burn them, but a tree with a stump will regrow and shouldn't interfere with their Green Pact much."

 

"I doubt they'll like it either way, but we aren't in this war to make friends. And even if we tried. I doubt they would have us."

Theodore's lipped curled slightly. "Obviously you've put a lot of thought into this. You expect to be general of our alliance, I presume? What makes you more qualified than others, if I may ask?"

 

"What makes him qualified? He's the best damn schemer in all of Skyrim, that's what," said Toralf. "We fought together as mercs, so I can vouch for that!"

 

Baldur felt a pit in his stomach at his friend calling him 'schemer', same as when Rebec had spoke earlier. "Thank you friend, but dealing with bandits and the occasional rival merc gang hardly qualifies me to be general for the entire alliance," said Baldur. "First, I won't be running things alone. And obviously I answer to Ulfric. But I'll also be in council with you and High General Gracchus Ceno, possibly even Governor Jeleen, or whoever he appoints to his general. But even so, if I'm going to be considered the leader, my credentials should be looked at and analyzed."

 

Ragna started stirring in Baldur's hands, though she wasn't crying. Just making unintelligable noises while she watched him talk. Baldur looked down and gave her his leather covered finger to occupy her, which she decided to nibble at.

 

"Anyway, I don't really enjoy blowing my own flute unless it's in song, but I'll have to do this regularly in the near future. I've been trained to fight and to lead since I was a child by my father, Ulrin Red-Snow, a Captain that was very well respected in the legion. They've been trying to make him a Legate for a while, but unfortunately he never made it, as I killed him. Before that, I was a mercenary as Toralf here mentioned. My first real job I took lead to me infiltrating one of Skyrim's largest bandit forces, uncovering a plot by the Thalmor to use them to attack and weaken the legion here, turning that bandit force on another, then wiping them both out eventually by attracting the legion.

 

Afterwards, I tracked down every high ranking Thalmor agent in Skyrim who was after me, lead them into a trap, and killed them all except one, which you know as 'Corio'. He filled the role that Elenwen did later, who replaced him for whatever reason. Perhaps his injuries. That alone isn't enough to qualify me, but I know better than most how the Thalmor think. As a Captain, I fought and eventually wiped out the entire elite legion force in a matter of days, though as I told you, I have my suspicions that Lorgar willingly betrayed them. And after that, well I'm sure you've heard stories of the war. The Imperials will tell you that we came to an agreement when they came to their senses suddenly.

 

But, that's a rather convenient excuse. They didn't come to their senses when they owned half of Skyrim, and they were prepared to utilize much more men this time. But after our welcoming party in Pale Pass, the hunger from me burning our crops around it, the diarrhea, since I made sure we left the grapes only, and the dehydration that likely followed... I think that anyone could see that their coming of sense wasn't entirely internally inspired. And of course, the Pale Pass was cut off thanks to my second. I can't take credit for that achievement though. All I mentioned to him was that I had a plan to do so, but before I could relay it, he took it upon himself to do so. We think alike sometimes, and we were lucky to have him.

 

All of that doesn't necessarily make me more qualified than anyone else to lead. But it makes me qualified. What's more important is that you need me to lead. You need my king to lead. You need Skyrim to lead. The reason is something you understand well, and that's politics. General Gracchus Ceno is more than capable of leading this alliance, but can you be certain that you can trust him to do so with your men's lives on the line? Perhaps you personally can, but your people likely won't. You did just secede after all, and it would not look good on you to follow his lead. The same is true for Jeleen, who whether he wanted to or not, couldn't get his people to follow the Empire because of their history. I had to assure them we wouldn't follow their lead, and put down a rebel force within the Alik'r desert just to make sure their province didn't break into civil war over this. So the Empire can't lead.

 

The Redguards aren't well known for being tools of unity, and no offense to yourself, neither are the Bretons. The Nords of course have had our fair share of civil wars, though that was after our first and last Empire fell from succession issues. But the difference is we started this alliance. We were the ones who made the Imperials accept our independence first, which opened a window for you to do so as well, and we brought them to this alliance, as well as the Redguards. And while seeing your victory in High Rock shows you are also a possible choice, you have the same problem Cyrodiil has with the Redguards, in that the Empire likely wouldn't accept you leading after betraying their trust. That's how they'll see it anyway. But also, not to bring up old blood, but it wasn't all that long ago that the Redguards and Bretons fought and lost against the Nords in a land dispute at our borders. As military leaders, we are tried and true. And Skyrim has earned the right to lead. I've earned it."

 

A schemer, eh? We have more in common than I thought.

Theodore's lip curl turned into a full fledged smile. "You do have the necessary requirements, and raise valid points as to why Skyrim should lead. And I imagine the Imperials will have a a serious stick up their arse, which will make it all the better. Same with many of the nobles, in all the provinces. Taking orders from a former bandit will drive them up the wall."

Chuckling, Theodore continued, "I have killed none of their soldiers, while you killed a great many. The irony is, they likely trust you more. Heh. Now what about the navy? Will you lead, Admiral?"

 

Rebec stirred uncomfortably. It took a moment for her to say the word. "No. That's not possible now. I'll be turning over battle command to a successor, probably Sigrid Kovirsdottir. I can still help with strategy, but with Baldur on the front lines, our daughter should have at least one parent out of the fighting. Don't worry about our navy, though. Sigrid is capable and solid. My second, Mazoga Thorn-Orc, is the best fighting sailor on the seas. It's taking a while for our ships to recover from the blockade, but we'll be ready."

 

"Oh, my apologies, I shouldn't have assumed. Of course one of you will need to care for you child. My wife is also pregnant, our second, and likely last. What's your girl's name?" Theodore asked, looking affectionately at the baby.

"As for the navy, do you expect the Imperials will accept this second of yours as commander? Or even the Redguards, since their admiral has many years of experience."

 

"Our daughter's name is Ragna Red-Snow," said Baldur, grinning at her. Her blue eyes were large and alert, and she was still mouthing at Baldur's finger. "She was born in Azura's dawn, which is rare to see this time of year here. I take that and her mead colored hair as a sign of a blessing. I can't speak for the navy, but I know I have no need for us to lead. I'll have a goal set out for them that needs to be achieved for our long term strategy, but as to who sees about making it happen, I care not. Rebby? How would your mother's friend respond to working under the Redguards?"

 

"Sigrid probably would. She's the right one for this fight. More trouble might be the Sons of Wulfharth. They were imperial milksops back in the day, but have been independent for a long time. Still, I think Eilif will fall in line, once he gets tired of challenging me. I don't want them to be too passive anyway. Goes against the Nord grain, which the imperials always forgot."

 

"I'd have to throw my lot in with the Redguard. Though, because of his recent raiding, I could see the Imperials making a case for it. We shall see," Theodore said.

 

Almost in the midst of his sentance, the doors burst open, letting the cold winds and a layer of snow leak in. The linky form of Daric with his wild hair blowing, with the tall form of Thomas Maric behind him made their way towards the table scene. Daric darted his eyes around the room, a lump forming in his throat at seeing Rebec there and the others. Then Baldur's head turned with the baby in his arms, his eyes curious, then... something else when they settled on the man behind him. "Daric? Who the hell is this? One of yours, King Adrard?"

 

Sir Maric stepped forward, his cheeks flushed, though whether that was from embarrassment or the cold no one could tell. He brushed some snow off his hair, clearing his throat as he did. "I'm Sir Thomas Maric, King Adrard's guard captain. Daric is my-my son. As we both just learned."

 

Daric watched Baldur's reaction carefully, closer than he'd ever looked at him before. His face seemed perfectly calm, but his flaring nostrils betrayed that. His eyes seemed to narrow at the sight of Thomas as well as his mouth worked, as if trying to chew a coin. After an awkward moment, he finally said, "Is this a joke boy? Your father is in Falkreath."

 

Sir Maric's eyes matched Baldur's, and the tension between the two was palatable. "I came here years ago, when I was twenty or so, to adventure, earn my family's armor. I met Maddy, Madeleine, Daric's mother. We were in love, but when I asked her to come with me to High Rock with me, she was too scared of her husband to do so. We always talked about naming our kid Daric, after my father. I didn't even know she was pregnant, when I left. Yet by the gods good graces he's here. By your good graces, High General."

 

Toralf whispered in his khajiit friend's ear just before the cat man took off to the kitchen.

 

"Rebec, our daughter is hungry. Can you come get her please?" said Baldur.

 

Ragna started waving her arms more furiously, since she had lost Baldur's attention. Rebec stood up to save them all from a newborn tantrum, taking the bear-fur bundle out of her husband's arms. She glanced from Daric to the newcomer. "He can't be any worse than the thing that wrote that letter, boy," she muttered to the Stormcloak. Then she retreated to a quiet corner to nurse the baby.

 

Baldur stood as soon as his hands were free, putting his hand on Daric's shoulder. Daric looked at the two men, so different in appearance, yet somehow the same in their gaze.

 

Baldur said, "Well it's nice that you decided to show up, finally. Come to catch up before you leave soon?"

 

Theodore saw Thomas' jaw clench tighter than a vice, as he spoke through gritted teeth. "Like I said, I didn't even know he existed. No way I could have known. I'm sure you've done your fair share of sleeping around. You could very easily have a son out there and not even know it."

 

Rebec looked over sharply and opened her mouth to say something, but clamped it shut again.

 

"I don't give a skeever's ass about some other woman's child," said Baldur, face tensing as well. Daric could tell he didn't appreciate the comment, especially not within earshot of Rebec. But it was something anyone who knew Baldur would have questioned. Baldur said, "I'm that child's father over there because I'm raising her, not because I shot one in her mother. Do you get what I'm telling you? What is it that you want?"

 

"I want my son. But I won't force him to do anything. He's a man grown, and it's his choice. Unless you mean to force him to be yours. Is that it, Red-Snow? You want him as your own? I may not have been here for him until now, but mean to be there until I die, if he'll have me." Sir Maric's gaze wavered as he glanced to his son. It obviously pained him how ignorant he was to his son existing, as any parent would be. Especially given the fine young man he'd become.

 

"He already is my own! You don't force that. It's you that come here on the northern winds as my father-in-law would say, declaring you this boy's father. I told the last one that he'd have to pry him from my cold dead hands. You prepared to do that?"

 

"Enough," said Daric, brushing off his hand. His voice was uncharacteristically stern, as if to confirm the manhood Thomas mentioned. "You haven't even glanced my way since that baby was born, Baldur. You've helped me a lot, and you've been a great mentor for me, but I'm not your son. I'm not."

 

"Daric."

 

"I'm still talking, Baldur." Daric's eyes were closed, but his face was just as tense as the two men. "Just be honest, here. Do you really see me growing up here? What about when you have your own son? How's that going to work? Did you even talk with Rebec about it?"

 

Sir Maric's mouth dropped open. Theodore too was surprised at how Baldur and Daric were reacting. But the knight's face hardened again, suggesting he was ready to fight for his son. The king would see it didn't come to that, at least not to death blows, but the two men looked like dogs fighting over a bone. And the poor boy that was that bone had had enough.

 

"Talk about what?" Rebec stood and approached, baby on teat and not caring if anyone minded. She looked from Daric to Baldur.

 

"Your husband claims that I'm his boy. Well, you're his wife. What say you to that? You and I barely string a few sentances together, but you think you could call me your own?" asked Daric. Shaking his head, he said, "Even if you could, that's never been what I wanted. I have a mother, and I can't forget her."

 

Baldur didn't look to see what face Rebec was making. He was too busy comparing this to what they talked about with Jala.

 

Rebec mostly appeared confused. "You want us to adopt you? As in, officially, not just with you hanging around drinking up all the mead like Menel and the rest?"

 

Daric looked between her, Baldur and her child, looking almost as confused as she did. Hearing her say the words in the open was strange. Stranger than the man behind him claiming to be his pa. Hearing it now, it was embarrassing, to have even considered such a thing. "No. I don't think that would have ever worked. Being his apprentice was enough. I wanted it once. For Baldur to be my new pa. But to be honest, lately I've been thinking about going to the Reach alone to fight anyway. But I wanted an answer first. And I still want it now. What changed when Ragna was born? Why has he been avoiding me, like I'm some ill omen or something? Explain that to me. Was it because of you? Did you want him to spend more time with his real child?"

 

Now Baldur appeared to be embarrassed as well. Daric could only guess that either he was right, or it was because he knew Rebec had no idea either he or Daric thought about adoption. Baldur and Daric never actually spoke about it, but he knew.

 

Sir Maric shifted his weight from one foot to the other, obviously uncomfortable. He didn't know what to do with his arms, so they shifted from crossed to behind his back to crossed again. He'd never felt more awkward.

Theodore meanwhile was quite enjoying the spat. He was listening, of course, but had risen to explore the inside of the hall, noticing the skilled woodwork that went into it. Quite a cozy little tavern.

 

"Same things that would've changed if your own ma had another baby, I'd say," Rebec replied, defensive. "He can't be off getting himself piss faced every night. If you think that means he doesn't care about you, you're letting your Breton blood make you daft. No offense to the kingly company." She nodded to Theodore, then turned back to Daric. "Now maybe we ought to talk about this somewhere more private. You look like you could use some mead, anyway."

 

"I don't want any damn mead!" yelled Daric. Looked to Baldur, he said, "He's been deflecting my questions with mead for weeks!"

 

"Daric," said Baldur.

 

"What?"

 

Baldur looked from him to Rebec, then back to him again. He knew full well what Daric was talking about. Maybe Mazoga was right. He should just say it. But with the king around, and his father. And Rebec...

 

Sighing, eyes closed, he said, "It looks to me like your mind's made up. I don't know what you want me to say, boy. It sounds like you've found your real father and now you want me to give you an excuse to leave. Well I won't. Sorry. Be a man and own up to the decision you've already made."

 

Daric's eyes widened in surprise, but narrowed in anger again. He could tell from the frustration in his breathing he had something to say, but wouldn't. "Fine. In all honesty, I just used this situation to force the both of you to take me seriously. And for that, father, I'm sorry," said Daric. He was talking to Thomas. "I didn't think I could really do it, but I am. I'm going to Falkreath for my ma, and then we're leaving."

 

Thomas grabbed his son and pulled him in a tight hug, only realizing too late how uncomfortable it would make Daric being squished against the ebony chest plate. And how uncomfortable it would be for Baldur, but he didn't care on that point. He had a son, his son, by the woman he loved, and they were going to be a family.

"No, Daric, we're going to Falkreath. Together," Sir Maric said, glancing over at Theodore who nodded his assent.

 

Baldur could feel the color rising in his face so much that he started to sweat. He remembered the last time he got like this. Back in Hammerfell when he saw Bel for the first time. Against his will, his hand instinctively reached for the same chipped axe that Daric warned him about the day of Ragna's birth.

 

Daric saw his face and recognized the signs... And when he saw Baldur's hand reach for his weapon, Daric almost yelled "No, don't!"

 

But before he could, Baldur's arm was extended towards his father. Holding a note.

 

"Take this. It's a letter, from his last father."

 

Sir Maric released his son, and grabbed the letter. Theodore could see the wariness in Maric's eyes, especially after Baldur nearly grabbed his axe.

"Thank you," was all Thomas said, passing off the letter to his left hand as he stuck out his right again, offering a hand shake. An olive branch, of sorts. It was obvious to anyone these two men loved Daric, and it was because they loved him they were willing to fight for him. But the boy had chosen, and that was that. There was no need for anymore animosity.

 

Baldur begrudgingly took his hand, but wished that he wouldn't have offered it. If the king weren't there, he'd probably use it to wrench him forward and give him Boldir's iron brow. But that didn't happen, though the handshake was quick.

 

He wanted to hug Daric too, but settled for a warrior's embrace, like a handshake, but with their forearms locked together. "Travel by night, rest by day. Especially if you go into the Reach. And comb that hair of yours like I told you. Keep your swords oiled and be mindful of your footing in battle. Don't spend all your coin on women, be wary of the ones that seem too interested. They'll rob you blind. Try to read something new every day if you can, and the same goes for writing. And keep your hair long. I don't care whose seed you dripped from, you'll always be a Nord. So don't let anyone change who you are."

 

Daric's eyes were watering, but he quickly recovered and nodded. "I don't know who I am. That's what I'm going to find out. But thank you. I'll remember that." Daric turned his head to Rebec then, still with the baby in her hand feeding as he extended his hand out to her as well.

 

Rebec felt a little lump in her throat as well, which she put down to motherhood making her soft. She'd grown used to Daric being around, though, and they had lost too many friends. Taking his hand, she said,"You'll be back. Stubborn little shit that you are." She grinned and squeezed his hand before releasing it.

 

That made him laugh a bit. Rebec's crudeness always made him laugh. Remembering it and realizing he'd be leaving their antics behind made his heart sink almost as much as it did when he left his mother with that monster. Daric realized that he wanted her to be mad at him. Wanted someone to be mad at him. But all he saw in Baldur's eyes was sad acceptance.

 

"You never know what fate will bring. I'll come back some day though, promise," said Daric. Finally, he came to the little infant in Rebec's grasp. This was the first time he'd ever seen her up close. Her hands were occupied with her meal though, so Daric just ran a hand over her side, realizing the next time he'd see her, she might be his age now for all he knew.

 

The sight made Baldur want to pour his eyes out, but the taste of blood from biting the inside of his lip helped him keep his composure.

 

Before Daric could allow himself to show weakness with tears, Daric blinked a few times and said, "Thomas- I mean, pa... Should we get going then?"

 

"Let's go get your mother," Thomas simply replied, letting his son lead the way. Sir Maric seemed happy, casting a smile at Theodore as he passed. The king returned it, before walking back over to High General and High Admiral.

"I apologize for that, General Red-Snow. I can say none of us expected that, not in the least. I will leave you alone, if you wish," Theodore said, frowning slightly.

 

Baldur was already moving past him on his way out the door. "Stay here until you wish to go to Windhelm if you like. I'm done talking for today."

 

Toralf flinched at the sound of the slamming door, then he too left through the back.

 

The Breton king felt sorry for Baldur. It must be awful to lose a son, especially one that chose to go with a relative stranger, just because they shared blood. But Daric would fit in well with Sir Maric, who was a warrior, not a politician like most Bretons. The adjustment wouldn't be that hard, he hoped. For the boy's sake.

That left Theodore and his guards alone with Rebec and the baby, as the Khajit had presumably left as well. "I do hope he isn't too upset. I can understand how hard this must be. Before I leave, do you have any more questions, admiral? Or anything else you wish to discuss."

 

"I guess I do. Hang on a moment." Rebec dislodged Ragna from one breast and unceremoniously whipped out the other to attach her to, just in time to prevent the baby's howl of indignation from being shut off from the spigot. With the infant settled again, Rebec looked back to Theodore. "What do you really want here?" Her tone wasn't hostile, but it was blunt.

 

Theodore kept his eyes trained on her face as she shifted the baby around, conscious that while she was comfortable with baring her breast, her husband would likely try and hurt him if he watched. He seemed the jealous type, judging by the way he protected Daric.

Choosing his words carefully, Theo said, "Neither of us care for the Empire. And if they are ruled by a megalomaniac wizard, who binds people to his soul, I would like to know. I was hoping your husband knew him enough to shed some light, and shed some light he did. Though, a schemer recognizes a schemer, and your friend spelled it out your husband is one. I can't help but wonder if he might know more. But, I trust you as far as all else is concerned. You both know your fields, and can command respect. That is why I didn't press the issue."

 

"Lorgar's not right in the head, so that's all you need to know about what he has to say about anything," Rebec answered. "Now I guess I better go see to my husband. He needs his family. Welcome to Kyne's Watch, King Theodore. The lads will set you up in the Harpy here, or you can stay in the fort, if you don't want to bunk on your ship. No palaces here, but you'll have what we've got. Say hello to Ulfric and Veleda for me." With another nod, she walked out of the inn to find Baldur.

 

Theodore sent a guard off to get his clothes trunk, and went off to find the most accommodating room. He laid down and took a nap, and so never heard the guard and servants enter with his trunks.

The dragon came back to him, the air so foggy nothing could be made out beside it's shape. It never said a word, but the sense of dread was overwhelming. The dragon killed him first, then Elayne, then Roland. The king woke up in a cold sweat, the blankets strewn across the floor in a tangle. He gulped down half a pitcher of water, unable to shake the fear he felt. Lighting a candle with his fingers, he set to reading.

 

[TheCzarsHussar]

Rebec, Baldur

Kyne's Watch

(Part 3)

 

Rebec walked back to the longhouse, pausing to check the coast as she always did. At any moment she expected to see Dominion vessels on the horizon.

 

There were none, so she and Ragna started home. The baby had given up feeding since she was being jostled too much. If she could have sighed in exasperation at her mother interrupting her, she would have.

 

Baldur was at the house by now already, armor and boots in a corner, now replaced with his more comfortable leather and bear fur tunic. Toralf handed him a basket of peanuts while he was home from the Breton merchant, which Baldur was now boiling in a pot by the fire as he got to working on the rest of his newest novel. He didn't bother asking if Toralf paid for the food or not.

 

By the time Toralf left the home, Rebec was already approaching the door but he didn't say a peep as she passed.

 

Rebec just nodded at the passing Toralf and went inside. She glanced at Baldur but retrieved a burping cloth and set about that task. As she patted Ragna's back, she said, "So what was that all about? And I don't mean the dodgy Breton king."

 

Baldur kept writing a while, leaving nothing but the sound of his scribbling in the hut. After he finished a page, blowing on it to dry the ink, he said, "You can put the Breton in Skyrim, but you can't put Skyrim in the Breton. Don't know what to tell you. He chose the milkdrinkers."

 

"Aw, Baldur. Don't be so hard on him. You know how it is not to have a pa who cares for you. He thinks he has a shot at that now. Maybe he's wrong, and it's likely to go pear shaped, but he's got to find out for himself."

 

"I cared for him."

 

"But you aren't his pa. Blood counts for something." Rebec came over and sat down next to him. Ragna let out a big burp and as her mother brought her around, the baby yawned mightily.

 

He stopped writing, but didn't look at her still. His brows were wrinkled and eyes glaring at the wall as he asked, "And Jala? You think she'd say the same thing? What about Mila? Does blood always come first?" He didn't sound angry, more curious. Non rhetorical. "I killed my father. Blood means little to me."

 

"You didn't really think of Daric as a son, did you? I know you're fond of him, but I guess I didn't realize how much."

 

Baldur scoffed at the thought. "It seems so stupid when you say it out loud now. What would I know of a son. But still. When I saw the man hugging him... He wanted to fight like me, look like me, sing like me, though he was terrible at it. He'd listen to my stupid ramblings of the gods with full attention well into the night, never seeming bored to hear them. But now all that's gone. Whatever. It's done. Like you said, I'm not his father."

 

Baldur stood to avoid her seeing the tears in his eyes. Grabbing a handful of hot peanuts from the boiling cauldron and two bottles of mead, Baldur sank into the furs of the bed.

 

Rebec turned to watch him. She knew he was getting emotional, even if he tried to hide it. It was in his voice and she knew him better than that. "I may not understand how things can run so deep with you, but it's not stupid. You're just saying that to try to fend off the hurt. Boldir's staying away, too. Is that part of it?"

 

Baldur was glad to have something else to talk about. He tore into one of the salty soft shells, then said, "Not for much longer. I sent a Captain and two Stormcloaks to Riften with a carriage. They should be here soon, hopefully."

 

"Kidnapping him?" Rebec grinned a little and stood, bringing Ragna over to her longship and settling her into the warm furs. She eyed the peanuts suspiciously and didn't take any, but stretched out sideways on the bed, using Baldur's knees as a pillow. "My bard," she said, patting his leg affectionately. "You feel things deep. It's one reason I love you, even if it scared me at first."

 

Baldur seemed amused at that. He was calmer now, looking at her with weary eyes tired of crying lately and refusing to any longer. He popped one of the boiled peanuts from within a shell past her lips, running his rough finger over her them and her ruddy cheeks. "It scared you, huh? Why?"

 

She chewed the peanut reluctantly, and soon was reaching up to filch another. "Because fires that flare up fast tend to burn out just as fast. I thought it might be the same with you. I see you don't take bonds lightly, though. Men like Toralf hold to you because they know you'll do the same for them. Daric'll carry that with him, whether he knows it now or not."

 

Baldur looked at her cockeyed as if to contemplate what she said. After a pause, he finally broke the silence. "This is all oddly profound of you," he joked. "I'm also a bit surprised you didn't tell him good riddance. Has Rebec Red-Eye grown wise in motherhood?"

 

"I was always wise, fool," she answered, grinning. "And why should I say good riddance? I liked Daric. He's got a mouth on him, but I'd have it no other way. It was him who was prickly sometimes, his pride getting up. I guess that was because his pa- the man who he knew as pa, that is- was always on him about something."

 

"I guess so," he answered, looking away from her. His mind went back to that moment when Daric confronted him. Where he made his decision to push him away once more rather than speak of his weakness. If only Daric asked sooner and not around Theodore and the others... Except he did, fool.

 

Blinking again, Baldur forced a smile and rubbed at her side. "Come here."

 

Rebec climbed up the furs to nestle against his shoulder. "We'll have our own boy, you'll see. As soon as I get over the idea of having my nethers torn out starting from the inside."

 

"It won't be as hard next time," he said, resting his head against hers. He moved to his side then, tucking her under his chin so that her breath was warm at his neck. And to sneak a grab at her backside. "Boy or girl, that doesn't matter much either. Except we'll need a boy to help watch Ragna when she starts liking boys. Then I might need an army of boys."

 

"With your reputation, you'll only need another like yourself to watch your back," Rebec said, grinning. More seriously, she said, "Speaking of that, don't wait around to get another second because you're sad about Daric. Now, what do you make of that Breton? Not Daric's pa, the king."

 

Baldur didn't like that idea much. He picked Daric because he knew they had a lot in common upon first seeing him. He didn't think it likely he'd feel comfortable replacing Daric. Not now anyway.

"Theodore... He's one to watch out for. Sharp. He almost caught me in my lie just by me using a nickname, but I was lucky. Between him and the Witch, I might need to watch my back, especially if he gets too curious about the Mage. Other than that, I like him. His disdain for the Empire is reassuring. Who knows, if he figures things out, he may not care that the soon to be emperor is a Stormcloak. Or was. Heh, if we can even call him an Emperor now. An Emperor with no empire. Fitting."

 

"Like you said, that wizard is no Stormcloak. He used us for a time, that's all. As for Bretons, I don't have any use for them, just for their coin. They haven't proved their worth to us yet like the redguard did. Until they do, it's all piss and wind to me." She smiled slyly and kissed his neck. "You did spin a good yarn, though."

 

Baldur smiled as well, thinking back to the butterflies he got during his tale. It was a rush, thinking on the spot like that. Like spinning one of his bard songs. "Liked that did you? Wasn't sure what I'd tell him. Didn't know what I'd say until I met him. High Rock seceding definitely changed things. I likely would have enjoyed our talk more, if...nevermind." Baldur felt a pit in his stomach again at the thought of Daric. He put it out of his mind as best he could. He looked behind him quickly, then brought his head back to his woman. "Baby's asleep."

 

"Is that a hint?" She smiled, and clasped Baldur's hand, lacing her fingers with his. "We haven't... not since the baby. I haven't really felt myself."

 

He kissed her on her head and smiled slyly, running his fingers up her shirt, tickling at her side. "I know. You're as beautiful as always though. I'll go easy on you." If he was honest, he wasn't feeling like himself lately either. The baby took more out of him than he thought it would. But he could use a distraction this day, out of all the days.

 

"Nothing fancy," she agreed. Rebec kept her eyes locked with him most of the time as she slipped out of her clothes. Strangely, this was both the most calming and the most exciting thing. They had seen each other countless times, after all, and it was the connection between them that mattered. She had forgotten that in the months before the baby was born, but was determined not to do it again.

 

When she was bare, he settled close to her, letting her warmth and taste of her lips build him up. He wasn't in a hurry to begin, as it was the enjoyent of nearness that he sought the most. He took his time, playfully kissing at her lips and neck, his **** soon hard and resting at the warm soft rise of her stomach. It had grown some from pregnancy, but he didn't mind. Neither had Underking. What made him nervous was the memory fresh on his mind of their child's difficult birth. But he didn't show it, making sure to hold her gaze so she'd focus on his face, rather than worry over what was going on down there. That was papa's turf. He rubbed at her with his head gently, alternating between it and a finger to test the waters before finally moving within her slowly.

 

Her breasts were sore and chapped, and Rebec too had fresh memories of the injuries in her nether region, but she kept those at bay. Running her fingers along Baldur's arm and chest, she instead called up images of how he looked when he fought. He had to know she didn't always watch his sparring just to learn new axe techniques. The feeling of his tip sliding inside her made her nervous. It always had some element of threat to it, even if she wanted it. Rebec reached her arms around his shoulders and waited to hear his groans of pleasure. That was something she missed.

 

She didn't have to wait very long, as it turned out. Even going slow, long periods without her touch did a lot of good for his enjoyment. He hitched her leg up until she wrapped them around him, completely locked in the grasp of her long legs like a spider. It amazed Baldur that the same place that their child came out of could still fit firmly around him. But then, this was a Rebec the Red girl. Having a child did little to stop her from returning to normalcy, which she demonstrated in typical Rebec fashion at the tavern when Ragna needed feeding. The thought made him grin proudly at her.

 

He didn't think she'd be as into this as before, but he didn't hold it against her. As he grew closer, his tempo increased, but he didn't get carried away. He did smile mischeviously as he stole a taste at her breast, gently wetting her poor chapped nip before kissing and sucking at the round of her soft bosom. He was closer then, the warmth of his breath creeping up her chest and to her neck, which his mouth siezed as his hand siezed her breast, folding easily between the grasp of his fingers while the other moved with his final strokes against his chest.

 

Rebec's eyes were closed, and at first she had simply let him have his way. It was comforting to be in Baldur's embrace again, hear his ragged breaths in her ear, with the familiar rock of the bed beneath them. As he lifted her legs, however, his penetration deepened and suddenly she felt a tingle up her back that made her first gasp, and then squirm to get it again. The arousal made her less aware of the emotions and more aware of the erotic, the sensation of her breasts swaying against his chest, and the wet sounds as he moved in her. She forgot to be self-conscious and gasped again when he licked and sucked at her nipple. It was a relief to feel desire again, and to see his lust, despite the changes.

 

She was close now, and writhed her hips under him, intensifying the friction.

 

He was glad to see the signs of her desire rising, something he missed to feel as well as hear. He let her rock beneath him as he slowed so she could catch up, but that didn't last long as he felt her growing tighter around him in crescendo. Mercifully, he could feel her go over and heard her signature moans of delight, and after some last good satisfying strokes, he caught up with her, casting his bounty within. He stayed atop her, enjoying the lingering shudders up his spine as they kissed before finally disembarking. He leaned over her still, watching his seed fall from her as he pulled away, then looking down into her eyes as his hair draped down towards her with his childish grin. Settling close again, he said, "Best part of Winter here. The long nights."

 

"Not that we wait around for nightfall, necessarily." She smiled and let her breath catch, still holding his eyes. Their ordeal was still fresh in her mind, but the pain was gone now, as if she couldn't remember what all the fuss had been about. Settling against him again, Rebec let them both settle down, then said, "I hardly remember what I told you when I thought I might die, but if it sounded good, then you remember that. It's why I say, don't wait around to get another second. I need you more than ever."

 

"How could I forget," he said. It was true. It was one of the scariest, yet beautiful things he ever heard someone say. Bitter sweet had never been so bitter, or sweet. "My baby's mother." His hand found her face, rubbing at her cheek as he smiled proudly. "For you, I'll be on the lookout for any poor bastard who wants to polish my weapons and listen to my ramblings."

 

"Somebody who can lift a sword, anyway. Now sleep, love. It won't be long before the little Nord is practicing her war cry."

 

"That'll be easy, now. You made a mistake letting me have my way. I'm gonna sleep like a sload," he said, grinning. He was genuinely happy then, successfully managing to sleep with neither dreams nor thoughts of the lad he once fancied a son, or otherwise.

 

***

 

ROW...row. ROW...row. ROW...row. ROW...row.

 

Down the hatch and 'cross the void.

 

ROW...row.

 

The cold dead planes, we avoid.

 

ROW...row.

 

Dragon headed house of sea.

 

ROW...row.

 

Fly on high, don't let it, take, me.

 

ROW...row. ROW...row. ROW...row. ROW...row.

 

Row, row, row that ship, down the serp-ent's way. Row, row, row it now, till the end of days. Row, row, row some more, row until she screams, fight her waves until they cave, stay out the land of dreams.

 

Her winds are cold, her winds are strong, but we're Nords and our arms, stronger, She blows, we row, she whines, we crow, and we can row on longer! Row, row, row all night, break waves till they cream, me boat's a-float, sore is her throat, rowin beats Wind it seems.

 

ROW...row. ROW...row.

 

Rowin through the streams of time in this Nordic life, the sands are slowly fading like the sharp edge of me knife,

I may rust and I may grow dull, yet I'll still run you through, The winds like whips upon me ship, still ploughin through the blue.

 

The Doom Drums rollin, roll for me, Kyne's thun-der-ous melo-dy,

Keep rollin, lads, now here we go, she paints the seas with alleg-ro,

Our ances-tors, they want a show, but all they'll see is how we row,

Row it to, and row it fro! Row like you ****, don't stop now, no!

 

ROW...row. ROW...row. ROW...row. ROW...row....

 

Baldur was in high spirits, clearly, as even with the cold waters soaking him, salt in his hair, the news of the ship they sent to Riften apporaching put a divine spark in him that wouldn't let go. He even decided to meet them half way, despite the storm that came in. All the more reason to go sailing, he figured. Just in case.

 

"Who's that?"

 

"I don't know, Bolsh. Check your spyglass and keep watching until you get a good view," said Jjgmir.

 

"Aye aye." Bolsh kept watching as he was told, but with it already being somewhat dark, and the rains getting in the way, he couldn't see much of anything but the outline of another longboat coming directly for them. That was until a series of lightning flashes lit up the sky, revealing a yellow headed man in white furs at the ship's bow.

 

"Uh, Captain?"

 

"Yes?" answered both Jjgmir and the captain of the longboat. The bald sea-fairing Nord gave Jjgmir the stink eye.

 

Ignoring him, Jjgmir said, "What is it?"

 

"The general decided to come greet us."

 

"Great. That explains the storm, then."

 

***

"Now, tell me EXACTLY what they said," demanded Baldur. To say that he was disappointed at seeing the ship with no Iron-Brow was an understatement. He made the three come aboard his ship, rowing at a much faster tempo than his song laid out before. Their arms felt as stiff as the paddles they used, but they soon wished that they were back at it. Baldur made them take ten laps around the town as fast as they could, weighed down with salt water. At least before, they were sitting down. "Speak up!" said Baldur. The men were on their hands and knees panting at the snowy forest floor.

 

"They, they said. That they wanted to stay. They said, that they liked it there. Being closer to Carlotta's family. Said it was good for little Mila. The girl gave boss a hug, and it seemed like she wasn't totally on board with it, but that's what they said they wanted. And also, that you should remain here, with your family."

 

Bolsh watched Baldur's expression melt like the snow beneath his sweating reddened hands. They could tell the news hit him hard, and for a moment, they thought that the general might shed tears in front of them. Before that thought could go further, his face began to slowly turn red, and the heat from his head caused steam to rise in the cold air like theirs did from their exertion.

 

Nearby, a patrol jumped as they heard what sounded like thunder from the storm, followed by an explosion in the distance that they thought was a lightning strike. It was immediately accompanied by a flock of crows kawing and fleeing a falling old barren tree.

 

Baldur stepped over the burning remains of the tree that fell in front of him, grabbing Bjorn and Bolsh by their collars with Jjgmir still on his knees in the middle. "Stand up, all of you! Captain, what's your name?"

 

"Captain Jjgmir Willcrush-Me."

 

"Willcrush-You?"

 

"No, General, Willcrush-Me."

 

"That's right, I will," said Baldur. "All three of you for failing your mission and wasting time. I held the Grim Trials off for a day for this because I was expecting company. Now, you're going to make the whole group pay tomorrow to make up for lost time."

 

"Wait, we're not-"

 

"Shut up, Bolsh!"

 

"All of you shut up!" yelled Baldur, smoke from the tree rising behind him. "Your asses belong to me for the next month! Starting tomorrow morning. Be at the beach, or I'll run you till you puke your mother's milk! Go on, get out of my sight!"

 

Baldur watched the men gladly scurry off back to the town, all quiet and not saying a word. As they left, he noticed that the skies were clearing up a bit now, and when he turned to look at the town, Magnus' glare was pompously blinding him in the horizon, which he thanked with the middle of his finger.

 

The people in town were staring at them as they returned, knowing that Baldur must've chewed them out something fierce for some reason. When they reached the fort and found a table with some mead, Bolsh finally broke the silence as always.

 

"What in the hell just happened there?"

 

Jjgmir took a swig from his tankard and said, "You two have just been drafted, that's what. Welcome to the Grim-Trials."

 

Bjorn said, "But those maniacs are suicidal! He may as well have signed our death warrants. We can't keep with those people, Jjgmir.."

 

"They don't call it grim for nothing now, do they? Now suck it up. You'll be fine, just stick with me and do as I say." Looking to Bolsh, he said, "Hmph, at least the mead is good. Right Bolsh?"

 

Bolsh looked down into his tankard, then back up to Jjgmir and said, "Yea. I guess. It has Juniper berries in it."

 

Jjgmir smirked and said, "Yea. That it does, Bolsh. That it does."

[TheCzarsHussar]

Gracchus Ceno

Imperial City

Morning

 

A pot of water boiled in the hearth, and Gracchus carefully lifted it and poured the steaming, simmering liquid into a cup, straining it through tea leaves first. Tea was vastly underrated, he thought, with so many people preferring wine or mead. Nothing better than a hot cup to start off a day. Especially when said tea would be virtually unobtainable when the war began. Then it would be water, wine, and watered down wine. 

 

Water was all he ever drank as a child, so once he had the ability to drink other things, he hardly ever drank water more than once or twice a day. It reminded him too much of his childhood, of his horrible father and loving, but scared mother, that very same mother who hardly woke now. It pained him when he would return home, only to see her withering away like a dying fruit on a vine. But she was old, and such was life. Her sad state made him hope for a quick death, either on the battlefield or in his sleep with Catia nearby. He never doubted she would outlive him, especially given his job. High Generals were a short-lived breed, these days.

 

He sipped the tea as he read over the reports. One from a legate in High Rock spoke of an assured victory in their civil war, or as it was being named, The Pretender's War. Gracchus cared little and less for their infighting, and was just glad to see that his soldiers were holding their own. He'd need trained, seasoned men in this next war, and this civil war served that purpose well. Noticing the report was dated quite some time ago, he wondered why he hadn't received another, but brushed it off as nothing. At the worst, the legate was dead and his replacement hadn't found time to write.

 

Next was a report about Orcs fleeing the fighting in High Rock, as well as many beginning to make their way across Cyrodiil. Some were pledging to join the Ruby Ranks once they settled their families, which would be a nice bolster, though they were too few to make a deal of difference. Still, they were seasoned and hardy, and would serve as a much needed backbone so many of the draftees lacked. On that note, he had a letter from General Hlofgar Fork-Beard, saying the new trainees were coming along well. And Valvius Hateria, the 6th legions' chief engineer, wrote saying that his experiments with catapult design and wheel variants were coming along well. Both would be needed in the sand of Eslweyr, and the mud of Valenwood. The letter also spoke of a few catapults that could be taken a part, and moved as pieces, thus allowing them to avoid getting stuck. That would prove invaluable, if it worked.

 

Gracchus smiled to himself, leaning back in his chair. Drinking in the tea, and breathing it in, he rotated his left arm, feeling the soreness work itself out. It was healing nicely, though still ached whenever he awoke. And it likely would for the remainder of his life. But for now, things seemed to be falling perfectly into place, and for that he was glad. 

 

Suddenly, interrupting the High General's tea, the door to his office slammed open. Standing there, bloodied, battered, and drenched in blood, was General Martullus Flarion of the second legion. His deep blue robe was torn up, and the heavy imperial armor he wore underneath dented. In his chest area, the metal plating was pulled backwards, revealing his chest. A massive burn mark was visible, going across his tanned skin, as if it was a makeshift stitch. His leather gloves were blackened with ash, his boots, damaged beyond repair. Using his right arm, he was covering his side, as if he had been injured. Despite his haggard appearance, his face hadn't lost its usual calm, indifferent look, 

 

General's Ceno's aide rushed up to him, 

 

"Sir-" He attempted to go to his side, but the General pushed him back with his free hand, "I'm fine."

 

Gracchus rose, setting his tea more calmly on the desk than he felt. He hand glowed his orange restoration magic, which he used to heal a few of the smaller wounds. "What happened, general?"

 

"Attack on the elven garden district..."  He fell onto one knee, "Gods, now that the adrenaline has stopped, I think i'm more hurt then I thought I was..."

 

Gracchus continued the magic, running it over the major wounds now. He gripped the general and hauled him into a chair. He mouthed for his assistant to get a healer, and the man scurried off. 

 

"What kind of attack, Martullus?"

 

The general coughed, saying a simple phrase , "Some kind of corrupted Flesh Attonach." He took off his charred leather gloves, "I think it was made from body parts."

 

"Where at? And who made it?" Gracchud asked, still bewildered. A flesh atronach was strange enough, but one that was attacking people was even stranger still.

 

"It was covered head to toe with stitched together, presumbly, human arms, legs, hands...." He hesitated for a second, before taking in a huge breath of air..."Heads...." General Martullus paused, biting his tongue, "of..."

 

The healer had arrived, so Gracchus let him work before continuing. He brewed another pot of water, and poured over more tea leaves. He mixed in a health potion as well. 

 

Handing it to Martullus, he said, "I need you to explain everything."

 

The imperial took a sip calming himself down, "...Severed heads attached to the body. Grommash cut a few of them off. A few of them...belonged to children." He stopped, glancing at his hands, "My pyromancy only did so much to it. It killed so many people..." His carefree personality switched back into place as he started to scratch his chin, "It looked uglier then my ex."

 

"Where was it? Is it dead?" Gracchus asked shuddering as his mind conjured images of severed baby heads. He pushed the thoughts away, assisting the healer with the wound. Martullus practically glowed in the orange healing magic.

 

"Me, Grommash, and the guardsmen who didn't run away injured it pretty badly. Lord Snow-Strider finished the abomination off." He tried getting out of the chair, "I sent Grommash to report to her majest Moitre, while I told you."

 

"Sit." It wasn't a question. 

 

"You're in no position to move. Where did it happen?" he asked for the third time, though he couldn't fault the general for not answering. He was obviously shaken, regardless of the calm mask he wore.

 

He scratched his head, "I believe it was near an inn called "The Ruddered Muddle". Or at least that's we're me and Grommash fought the beast."

 

"The Elven Gardens District. Any idea where it came from?" Gracchus asked. The healer had finished, and so he left, leaving the two generals and the assistant alone.

 

"No. It was artificially made, that I know for certain. It was very well crafted, extremely fast and durable."

 

"So likely a powerful conjurer. But why just release it like that? What's the aim, besides to kill?" Gracchus wondered. None of this made any sense. 

 

There goes the peace.

 

"I think I heard Lord Snow-Strider scream something about the dominion. Flesh Atronarchs, if my studies back when I was novice were to be believed, are usually servants of the Mad god Sheogorth, though I'm no major in the subject. Maybe some radical cult?"

 

"Maybe," Gracchud said. "But why would they unleash it like that? What purpose would it serve?"

 

He turned to the assistant, "Leave us."

 

The man did as told, leaving Martullus and Gracchus alone. Gracchus sat back down at his desk.

 

"I don't think it was a daedric cult or the dominion." He got up with very much surprising strength, closing the window blinds an glancing around nervously,

 

"Then who was it?" Gracchus asked. His brow wrinkled as he watched the general's nervous movements. What was he so afraid of?

 

"I saw high elven body parts among the rest." He started to summon small sparks of flame, "I talked to the Guardsman in charge after the battle. There's been a high number of disappearances in the Elven garden district. Mostly homeless humans, but a few mer, including High Elves as well. Think we found them." He said grimly, "Dominion operatives try not to kill there own if they have the choice. There was plenty of humans they could have used instead of the elves, but they did anyway."

 

"You believe it wasn't the Dominion then. If not them, who?" Gracchus massaged his temple. Just when things were trending up, a flesh monster of unknown origin starts slaughtering people. Just what the Empire needed.

 

"I mentioned Lord-Strider appearing just at the nick of time? Quite convenient don't you think?" He let out a sigh, "Gaius and Lorgar told me quite a bit about him." 

 

"Like what, exactly?" Gracchus didn't know if Fury-Blade was fishing, or truly knew, so it was best to play it safe. "Some would say it was convenient you and Grommash were there. Coincidence doesn't mean he caused it, necessarily."

 

But Gracchus had his doubts. He remembered the beast Skjari summoned at Falkreath, and the powerful magics he possessed. His appointment to Court Mage was with good reason.

 

"I know that Gaius"s betrayal was a ruse. Lorgar came to with...very disturbing information about his...relationship with her majesty. I also know he wrote you a letter, implicating me as being disloyal. It's my job to know these things Gracchus, if someone wants information, they go to me."

 

Gracchus shook his head. "All Lorgar said was Retrius and Lithin were disgruntled with the leadership. You were never mentioned. Regardless, there's nothing we can do, not yet, maybe not ever. War with the Dominion is inevitable, and we are sworn to defend the Empire. Who sits on the Ruby Throne matters little and less to me, so long as I do my job. As far as I'm concerned, until Snow-Strider antagonizes someone or doesn't physical detriment to the Empire, he is fine. After the war, the situation obviously needs to be dealt with. But we aren't in a position to do anything now, sad as it is."

 

"Is that is your decision sir, the we shall all respect it." The imperial general straightened his back, "But, as the face of the imperial legion, and a war hero, your very popular among the people. If you wanted to declare martial law, and wrestle control over the empire from Lord-Snowstrider." He didn't mention the Empress "Then, not one of the General's would make a move to oppose you. You would also be protecting her majesty in a way." He quietly added,

 

"The Elven garden district will no doubt be blamed on the Thalmor, by Lord Snow-strider regardless if he had any involvement in the matter, and be hailed as hero. However, the human population will take its anger out on the elven residence. I fear mass rioting is going start soon." 

 

"Damn it, Martullus." Gracchus slammed his fist on the desk. "Now is not the time for insurrection, just as I told Retrius. We cannot afford to weaken the Empire any further, and if anyone were to try and wrest power away from Skjari, who knows what would happen. Already Cheydinhal has attempted rebellion, and given the opportunity he would do so again."

 

Sighing, he continued, "What could Snow-Strider gain from blaming the Thalmor? All that would accomplish is killing Elven citizens."

 

"I've heard the man...particulary dislikes Elves. Besides any of his personal feelings, it would rouse up the crowd. Give them a reason to be afraid and angry. Make the war be about protecting there very existence and way of life." He continued, "As you know, Lord snow strider isn't the most popular man around. Him saving many Peoples live and felling the monster, will no doubt boost his popularity be a great deal."

 

"Really? I was given to understand he was more popular after his dealing with Bravil, Leyawiin, and Cheydinhal. And I didn't know he misliked elves."

 

Gracchus looked at the back of Martullus, who was looking between the curtains of the window. "I just haven't ever seen any anti-Elven behavior, general, and I don't believe he would just kill off our citizens."

 

"By the commoners no doubt, many on the elder council despise the man." He put his hands behind his back and gave a somewhat mocking smile, "Well what do I know. I'm nothing more then a simple soldier. Choose to ignore my warning about Lord Snow-Strider at your own peril." He glanced around, "None of this changes the fact that there will be rioting. I advise we deplo the legion, and set curfews up."

 

"We cannot deploy soldiers and issue a curfew with not even a hint of rioting," Gracchus said, exasperated. "Until such time as either the Oculatus hears of rioting, or there is actual rioting, I will not move my troops into the city."

 

"The entire imperial watch Garrison stationed there is in shambles. Half of them fled, while the majority that stayed were eviscerated by the monsters claws . If we don't step in and restore order, there will be rioting." The general said, cooly, but with fire in his eyes.

 

"I'll move in enough troops to replace the ones wounded and killed, but no more. If we institute a curfew, that could cause rioting, and I will not have that. Half of the troops will be battlemages, to help quell any rioting or kill another monster should one appear," Gracchus said. He rose, and walked over to Martullus, clasping him on the arm.

 

"You need the visit the healer the next few days to ensure you don't have any internal injuries. Now get some rest, you look awful."

 

"If I can survive sealing my wounds by burning myself to bind them, I can handle some internal bleeding."  He said waving his arms, returning  with a clasp he said, "I dont like this one bit sir. Not at all. Nothing good is going to come of it." 

 

"Get the wounds checked, General. We don't need any more death, not in our leadership. I hope you're wrong about this, but I will ready my troops in case there is rioting. Should there be any, they can move in at a moments notice," Gracchus said, smiling slightly.

 

Gracchus returned the salute, and moved back to his desk. There goes the peaceful morning, he thought. And his tea was cold, to top it all off.

[TheCzarsHussar]

Veleda laid the diagrams out carefully on the war room table, where during the rebellion, battle strategies had been laid out on maps of Skyrim. Her diagrams were building plans, however. The shanty towns outside Windhelm had grown, even with a few people having moved off to the Reach when they took up the Crown's offer of land grants. There were complaints from the local farmers about food stealing, and the outlying areas were troubled by ice wraith and troll attacks.

 

With this in mind, Veleda had commissioned some of the Stormcloak builders to draw up plans for knocking down a portion of the ancient walls, and rebuilding them with a larger footprint, and laying in an improved sewer system. While she hadn't done this secretly, she hadn't shared her thoughts on it with Ulfric yet. First she wanted to have all the ducks in a row. She'd gone to his room the night before, to make sure he was in a good mood that morning, and now waited for him to come down so she could present her ideas. Menel sat off to the side, with instructions to keep his mouth shut.

 

Ulfric eventually shuffled into the warroom, hair and beard slightly damp and obviously recently washed. He noticed the elf, but shared no words with him at first as he glanced in his direction. It was odd, living with an elf. It was like always having a guest in your home, endlessly waiting for them to leave so that you could return to normalcy. A guest that ate all your food, that is. "Overslept," said Ulfric. He often did after a night with Veleda, since such nights didn't come regular. "Did I miss breakfast?"

 

Veleda gestured at the throne room. "Jorleif always makes sure some food is ready for you. When you come back, I've got something to discuss with you."

 

Ulfric sighed, looking in the direction of the food longingly. Unfortunately, 'I've got something to discuss with you' sounded like a whole thing. It always was, and Ulfric never liked eating with that looming over him. "Better just tell me now, then. What have you two been planning?"

 

"It's something good, Ulfric. A positive step forward." Veleda spread out the main diagram and gestured at it, explaining her idea. The diagram showed a larger Windhelm, spreading along the coast and into terraced areas in the mountainside. The current palace would be at the center of it all, instead of perched at its head. When she finished, the queen took a deep breath and a step back. "We have a new Skyrim and the capital needs to grow. What do you say?"

 

Ulfric backed away from the table. "No way."

 

Veleda lifted a brow. "That's it? That's all you're going to say?"

 

"Elf, how long have you two been planning this?" he asked.

 

Menel looked up with a start. "What? I'm just here for... what was the phrase... moral support."

 

"He had nothing to do with this. It's my idea, so address me, please." Veleda was working to keep her voice even.

 

Ulfric smirked a bit, but it soon faded. "Fine, then answer the question, woman."

 

"It's taken several weeks to get the drawings finished. You barely looked at them." She pointed. "This will mean more tax revenue for the city. More protection in case of attack. Why are you simply refusing to consider it?"

 

Crossing his arms, he said, "First of all, the timing of this is... convenient. I'm not stupid. I know how you all tiptoe around me like I'm some child with a temper tantrum. I saw the Red-Snows that day, by the way. Next, I'm still waiting for the tax revenue from the last damn pet project we had to come even. From the town and Necro Nord armor to the soldiers, it's getting too expensive. We'll be broke before we ever even reach Valenwood! Which reminds me, I've gone over it with my second, and I've sent the order to disperse our forces temporarily. We can't afford a large standing army like this, so I'm breaking it down by a third, and putting them in reserve. They'll switch out in seasons."

 

Both Menel and Veleda reacted at that, jaws dropping. The queen spoke first. "Ulfric, we can't do that. The war could happen any minute. Mobilizing scattered troops can't happen overnight. We won't be ready for the next Pale Pass."

 

"There's not going to be another Pale Pass. Our numbers are large enough to fend off an enemy in the event of an attack if we cut it down by a third, leaving two thirds left. Certainly long enough for the remaining third to mobilize. Our pockets however, are not filled enough to sustain our full force. A force of around fifty thousand men and women doing nothing. That's the reality we're in. Besides, where are the Thalmor going to attack us from? The sea? Our Navy will hit them first. Pale Pass? The Empire couldn't side with them now even if they wanted to, and they can't afford to attack us alone at this point anyway. This is the right move. This wall however... the only thing it'll fend off is my coin in its making."

 

"They're not doing nothing. They're keeping the Forsworn and bandits at bay. You should have consulted me first, but I can see you've made up your mind."

 

Menel lifted a finger. "Can I say something?"

 

"NO." Ulfric and Veleda spoke in unison, both pointing a warning hand at the elf.

 

Turning back to his queen, he said, "Perhaps. I'm still getting used to ruling with someone else. But Baldur agrees with my decision. Brund has almost ten thousand of our men in the Reach. If he can't hunt down the vermin with that, then perhaps he's just not cut out for this after all. I won't take away his men. We'll have thirty three thousand active soldiers, twenty three thousand deployed across the rest of Skyrim outside the Reach. More than enough. You're forgetting I had to make do with less." Ulfric turned to walk away, but just before he left for the main throne room, Ulfric said, "And the next time you want to ask me about another one of these projects, don't think you can persuade me with bedside diplomacy. These walls were good enough for the likes of Ysgramor himself. They'll be good enough for us."

 

"Oh believe me. I won't." Veleda's calm had frayed, and she was done being level-headed. She hadn't been given the name Fire Hand just for her scar.

 

Pacing, she glanced over at Menel, who by now was smirking.

 

A guard, who'd stood awkwardly in the doorway for that last part, cleared his throat.

"King, Queen, a visitor requests your presence. He styles himself king of High Rock." His scoff told what he thought of a Breton king.

 

Arms crossed, Veleda looked over at the messenger, annoyed at the interruption. "King of High Rock? We don't need a royal jester."

 

Ulfric moved past the guard to his throne-seat, not looking his way as he did. "Back to your post, Grelkjor. Queen, lets see to our guest."

 

Looking none too pleased, Veleda started to walk out, but Menel caught her arm. Reaching up on tippytoes, he moved the corners of her mouth up with two pudgy fingers. "Smile. You needed the distraction."

 

Peeved, the queen pushed him away, but did stop to compose herself before going out to the hall. As she took her seat, her expression was stern, with a hint of crimson at her neck.

 

Theodore and his guard contingent were already making their way down the length of the hall as the King and Queen of Skyrim took their seats. The Breton wore a black cloak, lined with snow wolf fur, and a brown tunic underneath. A ring was on each hand, his wedding on the left, a diamond and ebony ring on the right, which was also enchanted with disease immunity. His cold could make him susceptible to all sorts of foreign diseases here. His five guards trailed him closely behind, each heavily armored and armed.

"Your majesties, I am King Theodore Adrard of High Rock," Theo said, bowing his shiny, bald head.

 

Ulfric said, "A king of High Rock finally comes to greet us humble Nords, I see. The couriers there must be slow and out of shape, since I've been looking to contact the Manmer of the west for some time. But, no matter. The past is the past." Standing, Ulfric directed him to the table of the dining hall with his hand. "Sit, if you don't mind. I haven't had time for the morning meal yet and would rather not wait any longer."

 

Theodore obliged happily, taking a seat across from the Nordic couple. His guards stood behind him, but far enough off so not to be standing over the royals as they ate.

"I wanted to spread the news myself. As well as the news of High Rock's secession from Cyrodiil," Theo said, giving a sly smile.

 

Veleda remained on the dais as the men took to the breakfast table. She could hear everything, and from there could observe the visitor and his entourage closely. A spell held at ready would be noticed by Manmer, she reflected. I'll keep Zun Hal Viik at the tip of my tongue, then. Ulfric had his own thu'um, of course, but his eyes could not be everywhere.

 

Ulfric paused momentarily in his eating, but soon picked up again. Waiting to swallow what was left of his goat meat, he said, "So, you lot finally wised up did you? Good. Looks like things are falling into place quite nicely. It'll be easier to trust this alliance when everyone is mostly on equal standing."

 

Theodore raised an eyebrow. "Mostly on equal standing...is this in reference to your wish to lead the alliance? General Red-Snow explained as much to me when I stopped in his little town."

Having already eaten before he arrived, the Breton king lounged back in his chair, relaxed, almost as if he was at home.

 

"You spoke with my general, did you? I haven't spoken with either of the Red-Snows in a while besides letters of business. But let me make this clear. I don't wish to lead any such alliance. I'd prefer to deal with my own and leave it at that. But I'm sure Baldur's explained why I can't do that, not if we're all going to fight together. Your seceding simply makes it slightly more easy to trust you. Slightly."

 

"And what cause do you have to distrust me? I hope it's not my race that makes me unaccommodating to your trust, as I hoped the slander naming you racist was only just that," Theodore said.

"If we were going by generalizations based upon race, well, your queen being a mage would be most strange indeed."

 

Ulfric kept eating, seeming unbothered by the accusations of racism. Whether it was because they weren't true, or because Ulfric just didn't care, he didn't reveal. "You're a king now, Theodore Adrard. Distrust comes with the territory. Or can you say with certainty that you trust me?"

 

Stroking his chin, Theodore responded, "Well, I've not given you any reason to betray me. But no, I do not totally trust you. I do hope High Rock joining the alliance will make it easier to trust each other. No doubt the Thalmor will seek to sow dissent in our ranks."

 

Ulfric took a swig of wine, smacking his lips at the tartness of it, then said, "If we cannot trust each other, then it matters not. What we can trust is that none of us would be stupid enough to try anything right now with all of us on equal footing, more or less. That, and if we did, we'd only be helping the witch elves win. You asked if I was racist. Yet here you are, sitting before me as an equal, talking and questioning me as you eat my food. Why? Because we both have power, power that we need to not become slaves of the elves. So whether or not I am racist; whether or not you can trust me... matters not."

 

Eventually Veleda stood and approached the table. "Trust comes with experience. We've only just met you, only just heard of your new position. I would like to know more about you. Adrard..." She thought a moment. "Camlorn? An old family. How is it that you've now got the upper hand over the other princes?"

 

"Well, I haven't touched the food yet, but yes, I am questioning you. I need to know who and what I'm getting into bed with before I join this alliance," Theodore said.

Turning to the queen, Theodore answered, "The other lords, actually. I was next in line for succession when I was forced to execute my brother-in-law, who tried to poison me. Then my sister-in-law, my wife's sister, wanted to avenge her husband, and so I was forced into civil war. But we won, and I am now king."

 

"And the common folk will accept one calling himself king over them?"

 

"Oh, yes, yes they will. The common folk loved Aleron, it's true. His coronation was unlike anything ever seen before. But when that same man was convicted of kinslaying, those same common folk cheered when I took his head off. They are fickle. I aim to give them an enemy to fight, however. My men are currently clearing our Reach, the Orcs are fleeing to Cyrodiil or dying, and soon the Thalmor will be dealt with. They are too preoccupied by our freedom from Cyrodiil, and these ongoing and upcoming wars to give much thought to who sits the throne."

 

"Sounds familiar," said Ulfric smirking. "So, lets hear it. You're probably going to tell me we're not good enough to lead or something, right? Or perhaps on the high of your independence and victory, you think you should instead?"

 

Theodore grabbed a berry, and plopped it in his mouth. It was tart, and juicy, and exploded as he bit into it. "Oh no, on the contrary, your general convinced me you Nords are the perfect choice. High General Red-Snow seems quite the clever man, as well as a skilled warrior. But I have doubts about whoever it is that may succeed your admiral. So in that regard, I think the Redguard admiral, whom I've heard is a seasoned commander, will be my pick."

 

Ulfric seemed a bit surprised at Theodore's answer. "Yes, he's a clever one alright. Be sure not to let him know it. I don't want the man's head getting any bigger. Succeed the admiral, eh? Well, I suppose I should have expected that. Mm." Ulfric's fingers tapped at the table for a time before he continued. "That's the trouble with having two officers intimately involved. But, this isn't the legion. It's a shame though. Her talents are rare. In light of that, I don't have any objections to the desert rats leading at the seas, even if Ysgramor may be flipping over mead halls in Sovngarde over it. I assume the good general said something similar.

 

"I do not recall exactly what he said, but I'm sure he'll be on board if you tell him it's either the Redguards or the Imperials. I've heard good things about their admiral as well. Supposedly, they even sent a sunbird after him," Theodore said shaking his head. "How we'll deal with those is beyond me."

 

Veleda looked up sharply. "One has actually been sighted?" She'd been poring over the documents someone sent to Rebec months earlier, but had made little headway with them and had about decided they were fake. Urag said the notes were clearly amateur translations of ancient Nord. Very amateur, according to the orc.

 

Theodore nodded. "A few sailors in Farrun, who had come from Anvil, said that a fleet of right left for raiding, but only one ship returned. The High Admiral's, they said. The Legion sailors said that the sunbird appeared and began shooting beams of magic."

 

The queen exchanged a glance with Ulfric, for once more concerned about something other than their argument. "I must write to the Imperial Admiral at once then. He must have peeved the elves greatly for them to show their hand."

 

"A wise measure. Hopefully he learned something that can help us combat them. If not, well, it may matter little who is in charge of the navy," Theodore said. He wasn't near as concerned as Veleda, because he expected his mages could protect their ships. He hoped they could.

 

"If not, then we'll simply have to outmaneuver them. No matter how powerful these Sunbirds are, they are but a few ships verses an entire combined armada of four kingdoms. We will make do somehow. I'm sure our navies and mages will come up with something. They'll need to if we're going to attack Valenwood from the shores as well as our borders. If not, then it'll just take a little longer. I hope your soldiers will be ready to fight. We have our own battlemages, but it's well known that Bretons specialize in them. With elven magic, it's likely your men will be deployed often to counter it. At the very least, a single Breton battlemage will need to be assigned to most, if not every squadron in guerrilla forces."

 

"I have a man assigned to training our mages and spellswords. I hope to have around four thousand serviceable mages in a years time. They may not all be true battlemages, but they willed be skilled in various forms of magic."

Theodore motioned with his hand towards his guards, who all wore plate armor and longswords. "My knights, however, will be crucial, once the elves are forced into open battle. While a well maintained shield wall can stop them, I doubt the elves are as proficient at them as you Nords. And bodkin arrow points, while able to pierce plate armor, aren't used enough to stop an entire charge. I think my cavalry will prove very helpful, since you and the Imperials are more infantry focused."

 

Ulfric said, "In the open fields, especially in the catlands, perhaps. But you'd do well to keep those knights from the trees. We don't use plate much beyond our elites in the Necro Nords, and our chainmail is of the light variety, but bodkins will still be best used against that sort of protection. I'd expect the woodelves to have a good enough variety to not risk your knights to arrows. Unless you take your shields and pad them with leather under the steel like Baldur's forces do. The armor is also padded with leather under the steel. So even if bodkin points penetrate the armor, the leather padding will stop most if not all the rest of it from then on. Could get warm, but they'll only be deployed in key moments largely. I think this design concept would serve your knights well."

 

"Yes, remember the lesson of The Armorer's Challenge," Veleda said with a rueful smile. "Though I think the benefits of light armor are exaggerated. With enough water, heavy armor will always be better. We'll welcome your mages, but I'm curious how motivated your troops will be. The Thalmor have made no move against your people, not even against the Direnni in some time."

 

Cutting in and a little annoyed, Ulfric said, "Water is something not always readily available. Having to rely heavily on water sources and a supply line to keep soldiers from keeling over is a big weakness, especially when we're the ones who will need to rely on them more, being in foreign land. And taking off and putting the armor on for rest and to cool becomes a problem when ambushed. It's not something I prefer in a conflict like this with thick vegetation. Though I was speaking more of all the extra layers and padding of Necro Nord armor in relation to heat, not weight, or our forces as a whole, which has more to do with cost than anything else. Anyway, I do wonder this myself. High Rock is well tucked away from the conflict with Skyrim, Cyrodiil and Hammerfell surrounding it, king."

 

"I planned on keeping my knights away from the forests of Valenwood. They operate best on flat land, plains and such. Thankfully, because of this, they'll be kept far away from the Bosmer and their arrows. Though they'll have the padding in case they need it, though they may not always wear it."

Frowning, Theodore seemed concerned. "I've also thought about my soldiers' moral. Every province besides us has met the Thalmor recently, and as such harbors some grudge. I know what the golden elves are capable of, and so am staunch in my commitment to defeating them. My fellow nobles no doubt see it, but the trouble is making the more common folk see how dangerous the elves are. Once they do, I have no doubt they'll be as zealous as the rest."

 

Ulfric said, "I can name a handful of Nords that'd be willing to throw on some knife ears. If your people need a kick to the gonads."

 

Theodore chuckled and slapped a hand to his belly. "Somehow, I don't believe many people would fall for that. And I'm opposed to tricking my people into action. It will come if the gods will it to be so, or it will not come at all. If not, well, I'm afraid we will not be of much help. But you Nords never have been wanting for help."

Theodore added a cheeky smile to that. He liked these Nords well enough, and was glad to see Stormcloak the Serious could share a joke every now and again.

 

Veleda asked, "And where is your wife? Ruling the kingdom while you're traveling?"

 

Theodore said, "My wife is pregnant, and so I did not bring her with me. She is ruling with her mother, whom I trust very dearly. And in fact, I've assembled a council that will assist my ruling upon my return. A Lord Regent to oversee laws and such, a Lord of Spies to listen for plots against the throne, plus people like my admiral and general. I think it'll be useful to keep High Rock stable, and prevent any bickering."

 

"Congratulations." Veleda let the subject of pregnancy drop immediately. "Speaking of spies, it is one area where you might be of help to us, even after your secession... which I assume you've made public to Cyrodiil by now? The Bretons were always better at espionage than Nords, and you must still have some people in place there and beyond. With old lines cut, we need to pool our information. For instance, what can you tell me of this rumor of a new orc enclave in the Valus Mountains? The idea is alarming if it proves true. Those mountains are barren and if the orcs are there in strength, they'll be tempted to turn to raiding. I know this is an area where you Bretons have experience."

 

"The Orcs are creating a new Orsinium in the Valus Mountains, under the protection and support of the Empire. High General Ceno's idea, apparently. No doubt they wish to consolidate their allies and keep them from harms way. The orcs will raid wherever they live, so I for one am glad they no longer choose to live in High Rock," Theodore said. While he didn't despise the green monsters the way Estermont did, he loved them not. Too violent, uncivilized, for his tastes.

 

"Gracchus is their High General now," Veleda said, shaking her head. "I can hardly believe this child empress had the sense, given what else we've heard about her court. Though this was not one of the old man's better ideas."

 

Ulfric said, "Hmph, well, we'll see how much the Dark Elves enjoy that. It's their problem now. We still have our fair share of orcs, but they don't bother us much, so I don't care. Not all of us are of the same mind, however. Well, King Theodore, it's been a fun chat but I've got some training to do. Got to keep in shape in case the war breaks out. Which brings me to what I've been meaning to ask you about. This alliance... I take it now that you've joined the club of disgruntled independent provences no longer of the Empire, that you would like to take part in it? The terms are very simple. We fight together against the witch elves of the South, and if Cyrodiil ever encroaches upon our territory, we all join forces to put an end to it quick. Same goes for the other provinces."

 

Theodore hesitated for a moment, curling his mustache with thumb and forefinger. "I will join your alliance. I don't see how I couldn't, without facing the wrath of men everywhere. But I too want to see the end of the Thalmor, and so High Rock will stand beside you."

 

Ulfric said, "Part of the agreement also is that we will not rejoin them in their Empire. Do you agree to this as well? And promise your swordarms if anyone were to break this agreement? We do not yet have any such declaration or paper to sign. Your word as a man will be good enough for now."

 

"I promise my swords, and I will never join their Empire, though I would not call them an Empire any longer. It's just them and their Orcish pets now," Theodore said.

 

"You must be tired from your journey, King Adrard," Veleda said. "I'll send to prepare guest rooms. We must ask most of your knights to bunk in our garrison, however. I'm sure you understand we can't have an armed force here. Perhaps at dinner we can discuss what we'll do if Cyrodiil is invaded before we're ready. They're no longer an empire, but we dare not leave them alone."

 

"Perfect. I'll keep two of my guards with me, if you don't mind. And I look forward to dinner, and whatever discussion pops up. No offense to the Red-Snows, but their conversation wasn't, what I would say, stimulating," Theodore said, hoping he didn't offend them. Given, Baldur did just lose a 'son,' but Rebec wasn't exactly the accommodating sort.

 

Ulfric's eyebrows raised. "You mean Baldur stayed professional? Good. Normally at dinner, those two are like jesters rather than Admiral and General. Sorry to say, we're not as entertaining as that."

 

"Actually," Theo said, "he was upset, because it came to light that his page, squire, assistant, what have you, Daric, is my guard captain's son. He chose my man over your general, and Red-Snow did not take that well."

 

Ulfric's eyebrows raised for a second time. There were questions running through his head, but he decided to let them sit for now, remembering the incident he caused in the Grey Quarter. "I did not know the boy well, but it's for the best. The boy was a distraction, and whether Baldur will admit it or not, he can't be taking in lost puppies when his wife just had his first child. But thank you for telling me this. It would have been a while before I learned of it otherwise."

 

Theodore nodded respectfully. "I wouldn't share those opinions around your general. As I said, he was very upset. His wife even seemed a little saddened."

 

Veleda said, "Baldur is a trainer. As one myself, I recognize that it's a strength. He finds talent and develops it, and the whole point of that is to send the recruits out. I'm sure he'll come along. Excuse me." She stepped over to Jorleif, who was waiting for her instructions.

 

Thinking a while as she left, he waited and finally said, "That general of mine. Just when I think I finally understand him, I realize I don't get him at all. He's always trying to help lost causes, hnh." Ulfric's mind went on the first time he met Rebec in person. A rowdy unruly sort. The type he'd come to know well in his rebellion, but she seemed like the type to have trouble follow her. And that was before Baldur dropped the news about her ties with Thalmor and Erikur. His instinct said to lock her ass up and throw away the key. Baldur... the fool married her.

 

"Anyway, I also find it amusing that Rebec was saddened. I guess there was more to those three than I thought. I'll be taking my leave now as well. We'll talk more at dinner."

 

"That we will," Theodore said, rising as well. Veleda had just finished talking to the steward, so Theodore motioned for two guards to follow him as they were escorted to their new quarters.

 

Veleda cut short her farewell to the Bretons in order to cut Ulfric off at the door. "We're not finished yet," she said under her breath, so that only he could hear. Her tone was far from gentle, however.

 

Ulfric's brow reached uncharted territory, it was so high. "As you said, Fire-Hand. My mind is made up. I am King, and I will not be second guessed by you, the elf, the Red-Snows or anyone else. The walls will remain. Stand aside." He moved past her without waiting for a reply, rubbing shoulders on his way past the war room towards the upper chambers.

 

Veleda's expression turned from stern to blazing. Menel, tearing himself away from the breakfast table, walked in, took one look at her face, and did an abrupt about-face, mumbling something about "apprentices to train" and hightailing it in the other direction with unusual speed.

 

For a few moments the queen stood in the strategy room, alone apart from the ever-present Ysrarald Thrice-Pierced, who was studying the ceiling stones. As she stared at her maps, a flare of mage fire appeared in her palm. Seeing the flame out of the corner of his eye, the housecarl leaped forward, hands spread out to warn her. "Don't do it, Your Majesty! Fire can't harm this palace, but it makes a terrible mess."

 

Stirring, Veleda looked up at him. She had been so wrapped up in her anger that she'd hardly noticed the spell flaring. For another moment, she was still tempted, but then she doused the fireball and instead grabbed the maps up in her arms and stormed up the stairs.

 

Ulfric's chamber door flew open, papers fluttering in like snow on a strong wind and Veleda right behind them. "Now you listen to me, King. I rule this country, too, and you will listen to me, whether you like it or not. That Breton lets his queen rule in his absence, but you're too pigheaded to think you might be wrong about anything."

 

Ulfric sat on his floor, meditating when the Queen came blowing in, and with the thu'um being on his mind, he was tempted to blow her right back out. Standing, he said, "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not absent! I listened to what you had to say, and I said no. My father would come down from Sovngarde himself and smite us all if I knocked down these walls. And for the Dunmer? Have you lost your mind, woman?"

 

She deposited the maps on his study table and put her hands on her hips. "It's not just for Dunmer. It's for the Nords who are living in shanties outside your walls. Do you even see what's happening in your own city? Your father isn't ruling, you are. We are," she corrected quickly.

 

Ulfric's eyes narrowed, pupils tracing her, as if measuring her out like an opponent. Taking a step towards her, he said... Nothing at first. Just breathing harshly, unsure of what to do with this aggravating woman before him. "Why are you pestering me over this now, woman? I've told you no in the past, but now you decide you want to make a stand?"

 

"Because I'm not always going to just take no for an answer," she replied, leaning towards him. "Or did you think that's how this would work?" Half turning, she gestured at the maps. "This is what has to happen, Ulfric. If not today, then it is something we need to plan for today. This city, and Skyrim, can't always live in the past. That's what people think our rebellion was about but it's not. We need to move the country forward."

 

"Don't think to tell me what my rebellion was about, Veleda," said Ulfric, noticeably ignoring her points. He looked to the maps, sighing in exasperation, then looked back to her, hand on his head. "Leave me."

 

"No."

 

Ulfric took another step towards her. Hand locked around her arm, he said whilst practically bellowing, "Tread carefully, woman! Do I have to make you leave?"

 

The hand on the queen's captive arm reached up to clench Ulfric's forearm. "I'd like to see you try," she said, her tone low. A moment later there was the smell of singing hair as her hand heated up.

 

She couldn't see it, but the hairs on his neck were beginning to rise. Clenching her arm tighter, he pulled her close and said in mimicking tone, "I could blast you through that door with three words if I wanted to. What say you to that?"

 

"How about these three words: I've got wards, asshole." It was four words, but no matter. Her face was so close to his that she could feel the heat from its reddened skin- due to his anger and not a spell this time. "You can't solve every problem with your thu'um, Stormcloak. I want these building plans put into the long-term budget plan. And since I'm the only one who's made one of those, I guess you're not going to stop me."

 

"Stop talking already," he commanded, suddenly seizing her mouth with his in mid speech. He surprised himself as much as he must have surprised her. Unsure of what just happened, but face still angered, he said, "If you weren't so damn stubborn, you would have realized I was ready to concede when I looked to your damn maps."

 

Veleda made to flinch back but stopped at his words. Their arms were still locked. She was silent a moment, then said angrily, "You were?! Then why did you make me..." Once more she halted, and realized that though her heart was beating fast from the adrenaline, it was making her think of something else. No, that's ridiculous. Her mind hadn't finished the thought when her mouth pressed against his again, along with the rest of her.

 

And that was that. Still mad, but submitting to his urge, Ulfric let her push herself on him, squeezing her close as their lips pressed violently. Hands on her ass, he gripped at her hips with a hand, grinding up against her through their clothes. It was stopped abruptly as Ulfric lifted her, wrapping her legs around him before dropping her on his bed beneath him. Pawing at her clothes, Ulfric wrestled off her tunic before throwing his across the room and dropping his pants around his ankles. He could still feel the sting from the slight burn on his arm that she left, feeding whatever this was that he was feeling. Excitement, frustration, maybe even a little admiration. Not that he wasted much time thinking about it as he began fighting her trousers off.

 

She squirmed to help him get them off. There was a ripping sound. By the time they had wrestled her naked, she was kneeling on the bed, and pushed him back so that she was the one on top. Maybe it was a not-so-subtle message, but the urge to climb astride him was motivation of its own. Her own surprise at herself didn't stop her, either.

 

Their arms were still locked together, her hands on his forearms, and this time she didn't mind that Ulfric moved her forcefully into place and drove her hips down on him. She was slick but the fit was tight, so it took several movements before he pushed past her inner folds to prod her more deeply. At that sensation, Veleda expelled a breath and began to rock her hips with more urgency. Reaching up, she loosed her hair from its clip so that it fell free.

 

The feel of her weight on him and the friction on his middle felt so good that it threatened to make him spill over right then and there. The tingles filled his pelvis and spread up his spine so powerfully... every instinct in him said to submit and watch the hypnotic movements of her swaying breasts. But as always, Ulfric never submitted.

 

He threw her off suddenly, flipping her to her stomach before putting a leg over his shoulders as his mouth found what his **** temporarily neglected. His hand on the round of her ass, gripping it to spread her open as he tasted his Queen's ripe fruit for the first time. He didn't let her get to complacent with the feel of his tongue wet and wriggling in her, and his other head soon found its place in her again, her arms pinned behind her back as his legs parted hers. The King grunted and gasped happily, working out his frustration from losing their argument as her round pale cheeks slapped at his groin.

 

When thrown off him, Veleda made a growl of protest and fought him, but her resistance stopped at the singular sensation of his tongue sliding along her skin. Her eyes widened and her head came up, though Ulfric pinned her. It was not just her first experience of it with him, but with any man. She groaned, conscious mind wheeling away as if she floated at the vaulted ceiling. Groaning again when he stopped, this time in frustration, she clutched at the bedclothes so that they ripped, too. Angry at his intrusion, for a moment Veleda was determined to withhold her arousal as she had done with men in the past. Bastard could have his fun, but she wouldn't give him anything of herself.

 

This plan began to fail after a few thrusts. She hadn't been as aroused with those other men as she was now. Each time he took her, his tip butted a spot that sent shards of lightning she felt from her hair down to the tip of her curling toes. Gods. So this is what all the fuss is about. When he pushed in deep, his sack rubbed at the spot where his tongue had lately been. Veleda gasped aloud and sat up on her elbows, turning her head to look back.

 

When he caught her glance, he smiled back, though for him, it was more like a contented smirk. Why, he wasn't sure. Giving into her body felt like weakness, but at the moment he no longer cared. He rubbed at her back as he slid over it, skin against skin before resting on his knees with his legs wrapped around her hips. His breath was hot at the back of her neck as he continued his strokes, prodding her deep with her legs squeezed together between his so that she'd truly feel all of him. Finally, the damp friction proved too much and Ulfric could feel himself slipping, giving into the pressure building at his head as he released himself deep between her legs.

 

Though a deep shudder went through her, the muscles rippling over Ulfric's skin, Veleda didn't know if it was a release or not and didn't care. The end didn't matter much when the beginning was that strange and the middle so extraordinary. Her senses coming back to her, she felt his hot breath in her ear and the hand that held her possessively, but this time she didn't mind, because even though she was underneath him, it felt like she who owned him. Smiling at that, she reached around, brought a hand behind his neck and pulled his mouth to hers. With a start she realized that the taste in his mouth was from her, but after a hesitation, she decided it was almost as erotic as his tongue on her had been.

 

Ulfric didn't much care about who owned who at that point, though he did take the opportunity to slap at the ass he was still happily resting against. He didn't linger long, however. Now that he got the aggression out of his system. He kissed her once on her lips, then on her back, then on the slightly reddened cheek he laid on not too long ago before pulling his trousers up without a word.

 

Veleda sat back on her elbows watching him dress, before she too swung her legs over the edge of the bed and began pulling on the torn trousers. "Bretons for dinner," she reminded him. "We should press for more of what they know about Cyrodiil."

 

"Blasted Bretons..." he said, evidently forgetting about the king in his palace. Facing the door while throwing on his tunic again, he said, "About the wall. I'm still not decided. I'll look over the maps some more. Perhaps with the money I won't be spending on a third of our forces, we can put work into it. I work best at nights however. So if you want this to get done, you'd do well to make your way to my room to sleep from now on. My Queen."

 

Veleda was pulling her tunic over her head, and when it came down she had a sly grin on her face. "Back to being a Night Watchman. With less murder." She glanced over at him and gave him a single nod, acknowledging his signal to compromise.

 

"Good. Remember, I'm not promising anything. See you at dinner. And tonight." When Ulfric stepped out of the room, he had a smirk of his own that he was suppressing. Not bad, Ulfric.

[TheCzarsHussar]

Lorgar (Saladin),

Valenwood

Afternoon,

 

Lorgar grabbed his sword, and began to sharpen it with a whetstone, a very old and worn looking one. It was a gift from his first commanding officer, Legate Varnus. Along with the greatblade itself.  It was an amazing coincidence the sword was from Solsthshiem, and from what Lorgar researched, was forged by the Bloodskaal tribe, a mysterious offshoot of the Skaal tribe. Or was the Skaal an offshoot of the Bloodskaal? Storn could only shed little light on the tribe, only that they "hadn’t walked the path of the All-Maker". Lorgar was considering asking Wulf Wild-Blood, the first hunter, if he had seen anything similar in his many travels around the island of Solthsiem, but he and Lorgar had…many differences in opinion, and Wulf was one of the many tribesmen who resented Storn’s decision to allow Lorgar back into the tribe. Lorgar and Wulf’s falling out rather saddened him, as he was one of Lorgar’s closest friends when they were growing up. Lorgar’s father, Ulvin Grahl-Reaper, was the previous first-hunter, and Wulf idolised him when he was a child, before Ulvin was felled by the creature in his sur-name, along with Lorgar’s mother, Visha Snow-Fall. Storn was kind enough to take Lorgar in, and generally treated him like his own son, if a bit disciplinary. 

 

The colonel made a mental note to learn more about the Bloodskaal when he was back in Solthstiem, if he had the time that is.  He was told by an expert that the runes on the blade were ancient Draconic, a dead and forgotten language. Skaalish, was in fact a distant dialect of it.  The expert had said, that the blade most likely dated during, or before the fabled Dragon War. Making it thousands of years old. Lorgar didn't know how Varnus had acquired it; he never had the chance to ask. Lorgar was given the sword during the legate's final moments. If Lorgar's chieftain, Skaf the Giant, had taught him how to fight, and Telydrn Sero taught him technique, Varnus had taught Lorgar how to lead and strategize.

 

Runeblades were very strange weapons. Forged under moonlight, and tempered with the blood of their creator, they had almost a legendary quality. Extremely rare, only a master blacksmith could make them. Lorgar, had in fact only saw one other than Azidnok, belonging to a Stormcloak Captain, whose name eluded him. Regardless, Azdinok was a worthy weapon, and he was getting off topic to the matter at hand. 

 

Sitting on the chair in his office, the nord was glancing over maps of the region; looking for the most likely location that bastard Dremora had run off to recuperate from him and Lorgar's fight. 

 

Mezzrat was a huge danger to everyone living in the area. If Lorgar could cut through an entire company of poorly trained, yet still decently equipped, Valenwood rebels like a scythe hacking wheat , Mezzrat could slaughter a poorly defended Bosmer village filled with civilians like cattle. He didn't even think a decently defended town could stop Dagon's champion easily. Lorgar would have no other choice but mobilize units and hunt him down before he could cause any collateral damage. The colonel would personally lead the investigation, regardless of his condition.

 

Interrupting the nord's work, a knock could be heard on the door. Lorgar sighed, before saying,

 

"Enter."

 

A masked commando, wearing the standard dark green camouflaged leather armor of his unit, along with their trademark leather Bosmer Balaclava. Contrary to the general appearance, the leather equipment they wore was ideally suited for the Valenwood environment. While it was very hot to wear, it provided suitable protected, made little noise, and best of all, prevented bug bites

 

“Forgive me sir. But you instructed me to bring you the man who retrieved you from… that operation.†The soldier hesitated.

 

Getting out of his chair, Saladin muttered,

 

“Very good. Send him in and then leave us.â€

 

He saluted, before leaving. The man who entered looked looked…impossibly young. He couldn’t have been older then twenty. Jet black hair, along with dark blue eyes, clean cut hair gave him a very refined appearance. More so was his strange looking armor. It looked like a mix between a longcoat, and a suit of grey armor. Along with his longcoat, he was wearing dark greaves, and gauntlets with jagged endings, like claws. Even more distinct, the armor was extremely well made, apparently being forged from a mixture of ebony and silver from the looks of it. Underneath, he wore chain mail pants, and a leather tunic. The plate chest piece over his tunic was engraved with strange looking lion symbols. His gauntlets, and shin guards had the same markings.

 

Must have cost a small fortune to make.

 

Strapped to his back was a bastard sword. Like his armor, it was of very high quality, but rather plain. Minus a noticeably large inscription, which Lorgar could tell was old Breton. Though he couldn’t read it. 

 

The man’s young face, looked smooth, and didn’t have many scars. Only one large one going down his left cheek. Reaching the colonel’s desk, he stopped in his tracts, and gave a crisp and clear salute. He spoke in a rather formal tone that was heavily accented, similar to how Lucienus spoke. It might give the impression of snoopiness, but Lorgar paid it no mind.

 

“Sir. Corporal Nhilin. Fourth company. Call sign, Strife.â€

 

An imperial huh. What would a merc be doing with a sword like that?

 

Lorgar returned the salute. Just to make sure, Lorgar checked his left pauldron, which held a Bloodwolf service badge. While standard issue Bloodwolf equipment was certainly well made, he didn’t remember issuing anything as expensive and exotic as the equipment this young man wore infront of him. Lorgar cleared his throat, and said in his usual monotoned voice,

 

“At ease Corporal.â€

 

He relaxed slightly, bringing his hands behind his back. His expression was blank, but he had an air of uneasiness around him.

 

I’ve seen legionary recruits more relaxed…

 

Lorgar let out a grunt, 

 

“I won’t bite boy.â€

 

The young soldiers back stiffened, as Lorgar could notice sweat producing on his forehead, he said, in a shaky tone, 

 

“Of course sir.†

 

Lorgar drew his greatsword and started to sharpen it once again. As he did, the metallic screeching sound coming from the whetstone contacting with the serrated steel blade, caused obvious discomfort to the young looking man. Which was very odd. There’s no way that a green recruit could enter into the Bloodwolves, Wraith and him were the only ones who could recruit . Membership in the Bloodwolves was only granted to experienced veterans, usually mercenaries, but Lorgar had a few former legionaries, a Breton hedge knight or two, and maybe an odd former Stormcloak soldier here and there. Lorgar, under Lucienus’s advice, had granted a few serial killers membership, most noticeable Farni, whom he had a…appointment with later on in the day.  Make no mistake, Lorgar had an intense dislike for the woman, but she had many uses. One of the best interrogators he had ever encountered. Lorgar told the Breton,  giving him a slight smile under his skull balaclava

 

“Just wanted to thank you, lad. You most likely saved my life back there.†The Imperial nodded his head in a flash,

 

“Thank you sir. Just doing my job.†His face filled with what Lorgar could tell was worry under his balaclava, as he put his hands up,

 

“Not that I’m saying it’s just a job for me to be helping you. It was a pleasure.â€

 

Lorgar let out a rare chuckle, “No offense taken lad.â€

 

***

 

“JUST ******* SCREAM!!!†Farni shrieked at the top of her lungs as she cut at the Bosmer’s exposed skin. Very unusual for a Bosmer, especially a member of the rebels, was that the Mer’s skin was quite pale. Which made Farni even more excited then she would normally be. Her usual victims were male fighters unlikely enough to be captured or stupid enough to surrender, a female fighter was a rare treat indeed.

 

The rebel didn’t soldier say a word. Farni was wearing her custom leather armor, along with her “smiley face†painted balaclava. She placed her arms to her hip, and said, in a condescending tone,

 

“After all I’ve done for you, not one little cry for help. Plead for death? Beg for Mercy?†Suddenly she grinned and laughed manically, “Oh right…I cut your tongue out already. You can’t scream.†On a chair beside the tortured Bosmer, was her severed tongue, still wet with blood, and beside were three empty vials, formerly filled with health potions the nord had forced the Bosmer to drink. Farni would force feed it to her it in the morning, give her some breakfast. For now, she was in a very generous mood, and for the next few hours, she would be content slicing up her skin.

 

In the span of a second, Farni had lost that feeling of sudden generosity.

 

Getting closer, and breaking the gap between them, Farni reached for a pair of rusty old clippers . Her cold blue eyes filled with sadistic joy, as she whispered into the Bosmer’s ear,

 

“The female body has three holes. I’m going to give you a forth.â€

 

She giggled, as the Bosmer could only stare in pure terror as the rusted cutters edged closer to her chest area. The fear radiating off the Bosme only excited the Nord more. The weathered metal objects reached their destination, and Farni-

 

“Enough, Warrant-Officer.†Colonel Fury-Eyed entered the room, radiating a tranquil, but rage-filled presence. The man was clad in his leather longcoat, along with the standard cameo-leather armor the regular commando’s wore in there outfit underneath. Hiding his features was his wolf-skull leather balaclava, along with his black hood, which he wore up. Strapped to his belt was a single jagged combat knife, made from ebony. But Farni knew all too well, he didn’t need that to kill her. Her rusty clippers dropped with a clank, and she got up, saluting crisply,

 

“Sir.â€

 

“At ease.†Said the man roughly. Beside him, was a strange looking Bloodwolf soldier, whom she didn't recognize, her eyebrows raised at his odd looking armor, but she paid him no heed. The colonel’s blazing red eye had her locked with his vision, and the more she looked at it, the more it looked…unnatural. She could have sworn it had started to take weird shapes. The burning blood crimson color, made it appear like…the eye belonged to a monstrous dragon from the depths of Oblivion.  The shadows around him melted, and appeared as if they were drawn to him.

 

Though Farni would never admit it, the colonel sent shivers down her spine. Speaking in a formal, polite voice, the colonel asked,

 

“So Warrant-Officer, I do sincerely hope that you acquired the information that we need before you cut the Bosmer’s tongue out.â€

 

“Of course sir.†She took out a map of the region around Cori Silmor, and pointed to an X which she had drawn,

 

“The Rebels regional war chief is located somewhere around here. The…prisoner says she was only given a general location.†Saladin asked, unconvinced,

 

“You are aware that’s Imga territory? Are you sure she isn't’t lying?†Farni smiled cruelly, pointing her knife inches away from the girls eyesocket, “I’m quite sure. Hon, you would lie to me would you?†The woman shook her head, “See. Good girl.†Farni patted her on the head energetically, ignoring all the dried blood from all the hair she had violently ripped out of her head. Saladin nodded his head, 

 

"I'll take your word for it. I'll prep a small team to neutralize them....now about her." The Blood Wolf CO glanced at the bloodied and bruised rebel soldier, his red eye blazing with rage. Farni went behind him, and whispered into his ear, 

 

"Angry ? You know as well as I do that she killed two of our commando's. Two of our pack brothers..." The colonel starred at the broken woman, before turning around without saying another word, Farni voice emerged from behind, 

 

"May I keep her as a pet? I'll promise to feed her..." She said innocently. Suddenly, in a flash of darkness, the Bosmer let out a guttural death growl, as Saladin's ebony dagger embedded itself into the woman's throat.. spaying crimson liquid on Farni's balaclava clad face, just as Saladins hand reached upward, his hand had fallen back down. 

 

"Shall we be off, Corporeal?" 

[TheCzarsHussar]

Falkreath

 

"Nordic Carved or iron, I can still kill game. They can't take that from me, can you, Fire-Hand? Red-Snow?" No answer came to Aki Thunderblade except the crackle of his campfire. The fat rabbit he chucked a woodcutting axe at turned out to only be fat in the amount of fur it had. The rest was lean muscle, which was not what Aki needed in his time of depression.

 

The braids in his hair had long since unraveled in favor of the shaggy appearance it now took. Wild like the untamable Reach he now resided in. Mouth filled with roasted game, Aki's eyes were blind to the beauty of Skyrim's dazzling skies, it's purple ribbons flowing like enchanted rivers. To Aki, it could all be piss and shit, and he'd feel just about the same.

 

Speaking of piss and shit, Aki was about to do just that until he heard what sounded like thunder coming from somewhere North, but when he looked up, paying attention to the skies finally, he saw no clouds. He was in the woods, but in the Reach's rocky terrain, the trees were sparse, allowing him to see clearly a few leagues away. His time in the Stormcloaks told him that wasn't thunder after all, making the seasoned soldier quickly kill his fire and stow away what was left of the rabbit in his small pack before the smoke drew too much attention from whoever was coming.

 

Luckily, it was rather dark despite the stars out, so it was unlikely anyone noticed the smoke from where they were in relation to Aki, but he took no chances traveling out here during a war. He knew the danger of coming out here, but that's exactly why he came. The High General may have kicked him out of the Stormcloaks, but a Nord never stopped being a soldier, and Stormcloaks never truly stopped being Stormcloaks. He crept his way forward until he got to the roads, then rolled around in the mud of a riverbank before crawling his way up the hill a few yards from the stone pavement near some bushes to watch who passed by.

 

***

"****," said Daric, watching the roads from a trail up a rocky hill. Below him, he could make out almost a dozen score of Forsworn boldly marching their way on the open road, something he was sure they'd have been either too smart or cowardly to attempt. Yet here they were. He made himself not think about Baldur for the majority of the trip, though repeatedly telling yourself not to think about something wasn't exactly accomplishing the goal. But he couldn't help but wish that he was here now, with this crowd of ruffians scurrying about.

 

Turning to the man he still struggled to think of as father, he said, "We're going to have to wait for them to get further ahead of us. These mountains and hills restrict our path. We'll have to try sneaking." Daric eyed the armor his father wore... the same armor he was quick to make fun of now seemed so impressive. But it wouldn't help them here if the noise revealed their location. At least it was almost impossible to see in the shroud of night.

 

Sir Maric started to nod, but thought better of any extraneous movements. Looking down at the Reachmen, he was surprised at just how many there were. He'd fought Forsworn before, during his first time in Skyrim. But even a someone who'd never visited could tell this was unnatural.

"Right. Or we could wait them out. We don't risk drawing any attention that way."

 

Daric didn't say anything for a while, evidently choosing the latter. "They just keep coming. They've gotta stop coming sometime though... this is something the Stormcloaks will want to know about. If only we had a horse, or maybe a means to distract them... Slow them down. Hey, who's that?" Daric stretched his arm out, pointing down by the road. "Am I seeing things, or can you see him there too?"

 

Thomas' green-grey eyes followed Daric's arm. Sure enough, a man, or someone, was hunkered down beneath a bush. He was smart, that much was sure. He'd covered himself in mud and was covered by that bush, but anyone scanning the mountainside from above could make him out. From below, however, the Forsworn would never see him.

"Well, we could use him. Or could just wait. Even with them being natives, two move faster than twenty," Sir Maric said, though he wasn't altogether sure they could outpace the Reachmen.

 

"You know, I'd hate to give the man up, but there's a chance that we end up stuck here if we wait as well... It's dark. If we chuck rocks maybe, get someone's attention and make them look in his direction..."

 

"Poor bastard. He never did anything. Wrong place and time, I suppose. But more good men will die if we don't." The knight picked up a fist sized rock, gripped it tight, and threw it. It arched over the heads of the unsuspecting Forsworn, and landed with a thud a foot from the hidden man.

 

Talos keep me.

 

Aki's leg was cramping, a twig rested uncomfortably against his ballsack, and his hand was resting firmly on an ant's nest, but despite the excruciating pain, the Nord managed to stay still. What choice did he have? The pain was comforting in a way, or so he tried to say, comforting himself with bullshit. But it did give him something else to focus on besides how dangerously close he was to the swarm of Forsworn making their way deeper into the Reach.

 

Fuuuck!!

 

Quiting with the bullshit, Aki quickly rolled his hand around in the dirt and mud beneath him to try and get rid of the ants. No one seemed to notice the movement but at one point, Aki saw a woman crouch near his bush to piss, exposing hers. But luckily, someone shoved her out of the way and commanded her to keep moving.

 

His luck ended there however, when the aforementioned stone came hurtling its way towards his leg. He didn't feel the pain due to his leg being asleep, but that didn't stop some of the Forsworn from turning their heads at the noise.

 

Aki froze, even more than he already had if that was possible. Holding his breath, Aki closed his eyes, gripping his woodaxe tight and cursing whatever loose stone tumbled down from the hills above.

 

And then another stone fell, this time on the hand once covered in ants. He yelped in surprise and this time, someone did notice the movement.

 

"Hey, stop! Somethin's over 'ere!" Called a young girl, likely no older than fifteen. She wouldn't get much older than that, as Aki's axehead soon found the soft braintissue beneath her thick curly blonde hair. The two men closest to him had the neck flesh torn from them before they could react, and suddenly there was chaos as the ex Necro Nord crawled his way through the mass of Forsworn in the night, tripping several times, but managing to make most of the way through the crowd due to the muck on him and the darkness.

 

He almost managed to get out of there unscathed, but soon found a primitive bone spiked weapon ripping at his rags into his arm. By now, the swarm of Forsworn were closing on him all around. Ripping out the spike weapon and taking it in his off hand, Aki hacked at the face and throat of whoever got too close, not stopping to see if he killed who he struck at, being too busy with running and dodging ice spikes amongst the trees as the Forsworn pursued him with cries of "Spy!" and "Bastard enemy scout! Shove a stick up his ass!"

 

"Let's go," Thomas said, making his way slowly along the ridge. He shuffled in a crouch, praying the screams of the dying hid his clanky armor. If they were discovered, he'd be more than thankful for the armor, but until then it was more a curse than a blessing. Thankfully, it was as black as the night, which made up for some of the noise. If anyone looked over, he could freeze, and they may not see him. Or so he prayed.

 

Daric didn't wait too long after the killing started to leave. The man did much better than he expected, which was odd considering that even covered in mud and in the dark, he could tell the man was in what appeared to be farmer's clothes. He knew Nords liked to pretend that all of their citizens were seasoned fighters, but that was bullshit. Still, he didn't know how to explain what he saw. He was likely dead now though, no matter how lucky he started off. Thanks to him.

 

He could feel guilty about it later. Right now, Daric was more concerned with not flipping over as he slid down the rocky hill, ignoring that someone might have heard his descent. There wasn't much time to play it safe, as the Forsworn could swarm the place very soon once they disposed of the farmer. He didn't and couldn't stop to see if his father was following him, only kee-

 

"Oof!"

 

"Hey, watch where you... Hey, who the hell are y-,"

 

Daric bumped directly into someone that Daric only guessed was a Forsworn before he rose up from the ground with a slice to the man's throat. If anyone was nearby, they might've heard the steel cutting through his bone and neckflesh, and the sounds of him choking on his own blood, but it was better than him alerting everyone to their presence.

 

"Father? Father!" said Daric in harsh whisper. He'd lost sight of both the main road and the armor clad man in this darkness, and the sounds of approaching Forsworn was growing.

 

Dammit, Daric.

Sir Maric watched his son slit the man's throat, surprised how at ease he seemed with it. The boy wasn't averse to killing, so if push came to shove they may not be doomed. One Forsworn seemed to hear the man dying, and was beginning to move towards Daric. Thomas moved slowly, creeping around so he could get behind the Reachmen. Drawing his longsword would make too much noise, so he went with his hands.

The knight sprung the chokehold just as the man spotted Daric. He struggled for a moment, but slowly slipped into unconsciousness as Sir Maric's arms clamped tight around his throat. All without too much noise, thank the gods.

"Let's go," Thomas said, voice low, pushing his son towards the road, off to their left.

 

"Yea," he said simply, heart still racing. He was glad that the man was a competent warrior. And something else. Proud.

 

***

It was a little past dawn now, and although he was advised to rest by day, Daric felt an urgency to tell any body of Stormcloaks they could find what they saw. That and he wouldn't dare take the risk of the Forsworn catching up, especially with one of their own dead and another alive who saw them. The city of Markarth was visible now in the horizon as they crossed a bridge stretching over a mighty waterfall. Its rushing waters deafening their ears enough that he couldn't even make out the clink clank of his pa's armor. But even with the sight of Markarth's dominating presence, Daric couldn't help but keep looking at the strange man's face in his company. "It's kind of strange that we haven't encountered any Stormcloaks on the road yet. What the hell are they doing, sleeping?"

 

Thomas didn't want to say it, but he was decidedly more worried about the lack of Stormcloaks. Especially given the ease at which the Forsworn walked the roads. His face showed the signs of his apprehension, although he didn't speak it.

"We need to keep moving," he said, looking from the city to his son. He forced a smile. "It's probably nothing though. Maybe they just moved back to the city."

Or forced back, or driven out, or killed.

 

Daric looked to him again and said, "You say anything else beyond the obvious? 'Let's keep moving.' 'We should get going.' Do you... have a favorite food?"

 

This time the smile was real, and Thomas shook his head playfully. "Sometimes the obvious isn't so obvious. You'd be surprised. But yes, I do have a favorite food. Pie. Meat pie, fruit pie, any kind of pie. High Rock has the best baker's in Tamriel. It's a wonder I don't grow fat. And you? Your favorite food?"

 

"Mm... shrimp. And bear steak. And meatpie," said Daric grinning. "I just realized I'm hungry."

 

"If we had time, we could get us a goat or a rabbit. Too bad, because I can make a mean rabbit stew."

Sir Maric licked his lips savoring the fantasy. Changing the subject, he asked, "Where'd you learn to fight like that?"

 

Daric's smile sank a bit. "You first."

 

"My father. He was a knight, his father was a knight, going back generations. And now I'm the king's guard captain. Who knows, maybe you'll become a knight in your own right. The king's son is around your age. Twenty, I think, but already married. High Rock isn't big on love. I hurt more than a few feelings when I wouldn't marry," Sir Maric said. He regretted asking the question now, expecting that the general taught Daric. The fewer times he was brought up, the better.

 

"You say you're a knight. What exactly does that mean? Would I have uphold some code or something?" Daric shook his head at the thought of that. "I don't know, heh. That's... not really me. As for where I learned to fight, I learned on the battlefield. That's the only place one really can learn. I've only really been in one real battle though."

 

"An oath to protect the king, and his family, and the city of Camlorn. Knights in High Rock are the acting guards. City guards, nobles personal guards, things like that. You have to act with honor, integrity, character, of course. Though most knights see that as more of a suggestion than actual rules," Sir Maric said with a chuckle. "Surely even you could manage that."

 

Daric smirked and said, "I guess. So long as it's merely a suggestion... Sounds like the Stormcloak oath more or less. Which, I guess is why I'm even bothering to report what we saw. It would be faster to take a path through the hills to Rorikstead, but..."

 

"I understand. Duty bound to report it. It's why I haven't suggested we just leave. Every good soldier would want to report it," Thomas said with a smile of his own.

 

"And anyway, we need some supplies. We kind of left in a hurry," added Daric. "Looks like we've made it," Daric said, pointing to a smoke stack. "Listen, we may run into a man here... huge guy by the name of General Brund. If we do, don't mention anything about Baldur or who you are. You're just an adviser of the Breton King, and I'm escorting you through the Reach to survey the Forsworn problem. To see if it still holds significant threat to your borders."

 

Sir Maric nodded, though looked a little confused. "Supplies, a warm bed, and a roof will be nice. I'll let you take the lead, that way if we run into this other general you can do the talking."

 

The warm bed and roof would not come as father and son soon saw. As they made their way further up the path, they heard the shouting of soldiers, and soon saw them stationed all around the front gate of the grand ancient city. All guard posts and towers were occupied, catapults were on standby, and tents dotted the area, as well as archers aiming at the top of the walls. Daric wondered where the war had gone, and evidently, it had once again come to the heart of the Reach. Markarth.

 

Daric stood frozen, mouth agape and eyes wide. "What's going on? The Forsworn couldn't have taken the city, could they? How?"

 

Scowling, the knight said, "They did it once. I'm sure they could have done it again. Hurry, we need to find this general and let him know the Forsworn are coming. Otherwise, he could easily be pinned between them and the walls."

 

Daric took a glance around, then said, "Shouldn't be too hard." Pointing a finger off to a large tent, Daric marked out a large figure, silver plate shining in the Skyrim sun. On top of that, he could hear his angry shouting. Same old Brund. "That's him. I reckon that's Galmar he's talking with."

 

As Daric and his father got closer, they could make out Brund's exchange. "A little longer, old man. They can hold on a little more."

 

"What is the point? This is beginning to become an embarrassment, Brund! We can have those gates knocked down in an instant if..."

 

"No! We handle this ourselves! I told you, this is exactly what I want!"

 

Galmar gave him a cross look and said, "Now you're not making any sense again. What is going on in that head of yours, son?"

 

"I'm not your son, old man. I can't tell you, but you need to listen to what I'm saying. I have a plan. The siege stays. I know we can get those gates down. We can do that right now if I wanted to. But we won't."

 

Sir Maric wanted to slap the man, and no doubt this Galmar character would join him. This general wasn't making any sense. Why prolong a siege? Why waste the lives of those inside and out?

But Thomas kept quiet, standing beside his son, as he looked over Brund. With his mohawk, scarred face, and angry disposition, he looked more like a Reachman than a Nord, even if he was a good deal taller than any Forsworn. He had the same ferocity though, and unrelenting bullheadedness, and that anyone could tell from his conversation.

 

"What's going on, general?" asked Daric. Brund turned quickly, eyes wide. "Hmm? what do you want, runt? This is big boy talk and none of your business! Get... hey wait, you're Baldur's runt aren't you? What the hell are you doing here?"

 

Daric's eyes narrowed. "I'm here to see how much you've been screwing up. And also to escort this Breton around the Reach to see how bad it's gotten. Their King wants to know if the Forsworn problem will get out of hand at their borders or not."

 

Brund looked like he wanted to step on Daric. "I'm not screwing up, this is a part of my plan. Baldur knows about this foreigner? And he sent him here to gain information about our lands? Has he lost it?"

 

Daric pointed a finger his way and said, "You're the one prolonging a siege apparently when you can end it now, general! What is that about?"

 

Galmar stepped in, seeing Brund about to lose his patience. "Boy, watch who you're addressing before I put you in your place. You being Baldur's second does not mean you can address us as you please, got it?"

 

It took every ounce of restraint, but Thomas managed not to respond to either general berating his son. But, he stepped in on behalf of his king.

"No, the boy has no right to question either of you. But High General Red-Snow does, and he," Thomas pointed at Daric, before replacing his hands behind his back, "is here for the general. And I'm here for King Adrard. I'm Sir Thomas Maric."

"You drawing this war out affects us, and needless to say, my king is concerned for our borders. You should know, General Brund, that I've been in these lands before. This boy," it pained Thomas to refer to his son like that, but he needed to keep the disguise up, "was a mere curtesy. I traveled here in my youth, and know the roads well enough."

 

Brund spat towards Maric's feet. "Piss on your king! This is none of your concern, glorified babysitter. Bugger off while I have word with the boy."

 

"Huh, and I was beginning to think Nords weren't uncivilized after all. Why don't you take that axe of yours and cut your tongue off, it'll serve you and your country better. You can grunt out orders, like a beast," Thomas said, and spat back.

 

Brund gave a whistle, alerting a group of nearby soldiers, then said, "Are you going to leave, or am I going to have to make you leave, shortcake? I'd do it myself... but then, with all that armor on, you might be foolish enough to think you could take me. And then I'd have to kill you."

 

"There will be no killing from either of you. I'll see to that myself," added Galmar, hand on his hammer pommel."

 

Daric turned to his father, giving him a nod. Brund could be a big baby, but honestly, he didn't want his father to hear whatever it was they had to say either.

 

The knight left, though several remarks about Brund needing the soldiers' help to dispatch him crossed his mind. They went unsaid, so he meandered back away from the Stormcloaks, standing with his arms crossed and face scowled.

 

"Boy, they make you lot bolder and bolder, don't they shrimp? A little time in Skyrim and you Bretons start fancien those seeds between your legs to be Nord balls. What's the meaning of this? Is Baldur reall that stupid that he'd send foreigners in here freely? Information about this siege is dangerous."

 

Daric's face was wrinkled in anger. "Well you're the only one to blame for that, general. And it's about to get worse. More Forsworn are coming this way as we speak. A lot more. I could only make out several hundred in the dark, but I'm sure there's more. They must be coming to take you while you're close to these walls."

 

Galmar's wrinkled brows turned to Brund whose face remained unchanged. "I know."

 

Galmar said, "What do you mean you know?"

 

"I just do. I was expecting this. I asked for this. That's why I prolonged the siege. It's not really a siege, as much as it is a lockdown..."

 

Daric's eyes widened. "What? Why?"

 

"Because," said Galmar. "The Forsworn have been in these walls from the very beginning. Things got out of hand. Murders, lynches, assassination attempts on the Jarl... We're not letting anyone in or out of this city until all such activities cease. This isn't a real siege. We control the city, more or less. We've allowed them to gain control of it a bit only to more easily root them out later. We can't be sure currently what citizens are or aren't on our side."

 

Brund cut in and said, "This siege has been kept as quiet as we could manage. Citizens that get too close are turned away, but it won't last. Word will get out. But the lockdown part... that can't be allowed to be known, so be careful what you say to Mr. Not so tall dark and handsome over there, got it? I assume that if Baldur sent you, then he's okay with you knowing. But there's no way in hell he'd be okay with him knowing. So why don't you tell me what's up with that?"

 

"Baldur actually knew about this?" asked Daric.

 

"Yes. Thanks to Galmar...." said Brund, eyes hateful. "Like I said, I have my reasons. If the enemy is on their way, then that means they've taken the bait. Why go running around in the muck when I can make our enemy come to us? They think we're weak now. They'll come in strength. Now, the Breton, Breton."

 

"Right..." Daric's feet shuffled uncomfortably under Brund's watchful eye. "Baldur... told me to stay away from Markarth and just stick to the rest of the Reach, mainly to the border. I didn't see anything wrong with visiting the city a while, and fa- Sir Maric wanted to see it."

 

"Idiot boy..." said Brund. "Well, can't be helped now. Tell him to come here."

 

Daric did just that, and Sir Maric rejoined the group. He stood with his arms crossed, and eyed Brund, but didn't address him. He knew how men like him worked. Arrogant, proud, to a fault. So, he turned his attention to Galmar.

"Since it seems we cannot enter the city, I hope you can give us a few supplies for the return. I think we'll swing around through Rorikstead, to avoid the army marching this way. Any horses you can spare would be appreciated. I have gold for recompense."

 

"What's in Rorikstead?" asked Galmar, eyes narrowed. "I thought you were here for the Reach?"

 

Laughing, Sir Maric shook his head. "Nothing, from what I can remember. But as I said, an army is marching south on the main road. The only other road I know of swings through Rorikstead. And I'd rather not risk leaving the main roads. Though, things may have changed since I was here. Is there another route we can take I'm unaware of?"

 

Ignoring the question, Galmar said, "If you're so concerned with the big bad Forsworn, then perhaps you should put that sword arm to use and help us put down a few savages. That way they'll never reach your precious kingdom, or your Manmer King."

 

Thomas was slightly surprised, but regained his composure. "I never considered you'd want the help of a Breton, but I'd be happy to. It's been a while since I fought purely from foot; it will be good practice, I think."

 

Galmar shared a glance with Brund. "The old man didn't exactly expect you to say yes..." Daric's look meant that he didn't expect him to say yes either.

 

Stepping towards him now, towering over him like Snow Throat, Brund said, "And you, boy? Feel up to getting your sword wet for your kingdom?"

 

Daric's eyes narrowed. "I never have an objection to showing up Nords. But your plan..."

 

"Will work," Brund said abruptly. "You can bet your left nut on that, boy. Come, spill blood with me. Show me what you've learned since last I saw you fight. I want to see what Baldur's been teaching you all this time."

 

Daric felt a pit in his stomach as his hands automatically grasped his blade hilts. Only the one blade tasted blood so far. And with everything Baldur gave him, the least he could do was spill the blood of their foes before departing.

 

"Fine," Daric finally said. "We should show the people of High Rock how we deal with curs in our land."

 

"Addaboy," said Galmar, smirking. "You are Baldur's second indeed."

 

"And I think you three need a lesson in just how damn wrong you are about us Bretons," Sir Maric said, pleased he could surprise them by joining in the fight.

 

"Hmph, we'll see," said Brund, unconvinced. "My scouts will come when the enemy is close. Why don't you two go prepare yourselves while we wait to see my work."

 

Sir Maric moved out of earshot of the generals, stopping to sit down on a large rock. He took care to tighten the straps of his armor and adjust a few plates, making sure everything was in order. He pulled a barbute helmet from his pack, and checked it, before putting it on as well. He didn't have his shield, but didn't figure he'd need it. Although, he would like to see what the Nord's reactions would be to his family's porcupine sigil.

To Daric, he said, "I hope he has a reserve force. Otherwise, they'll just escape off into the hills again. And before you ask, no, I wasn't listening in. But he was must have some plan or another, so as to not be destroyed. My bet is the siege is a fake, and upon the arrival of the Forsworn, we'll retreat inside and another force will come and take them from behind."

 

Daric wished very much that this much was true. Galmar tried to make it seem as though the siege was all staged. That they had everything under control. But he knew that this has never been the case with the Forsworn in Skyrim. Things must be very bad in the city if they locked it down completely. He also noticed that he didn't see Jarl Silver-Blood out here either...

 

Looking around, he said, "Up there. In the mountains. See that shimmer?"

 

The knight looked but didn't see it, and even his squinted eyes couldn't make it out. Finally, he leaned sideways towards Daric, realizing a bush had blocked him from the shimmer.

"Now I do. What is it?"

 

"My guess? That's where Brund has his scouts. I bet they can see people coming this way easily from up there. I also bet that's where the reinforcements are coming from. That shimmer's probably someone's weapon. If you see another, then that's it for sure," said Daric. "If so, this should be a rather straightforward fight. Unless the Forsworn have some tricks we don't know about."

 

"I wouldn't be surprised to find the Reachmen have people of their own in the hills. They know them better than anyone. Just keep your eye on your surroundings, last thing we want is to get flanked," Thomas said. "And you can bet on tricks. Every army has some sort of trick."

 

"Yea. You're probably right. I saw a hagraven amongst the force we saw last night. I've never seen one before, never heard of them being out in the open like that before either. Who knows what magic they'll have. I guess they're getting desperate. Which, I guess is a good sign." Plopping down beside him, Daric stayed quiet for a while, kicking his feet back and forth on the rock.

 

"Did you really love my mother? Do you still? Even knowing she's been the wife of another man for more than a decade?"

 

Thomas toyed with a dagger, taking off his gauntlet and using his thumb to check the edge. It was sharp, so he plunged it back into it's sheath. He looked up from his bleeding thumb, sucking on it some before he put his gauntlet back on.

Thomas sighed, and looked off at the mountains, before turning to Daric. "I know what the other man is like. I know she's too scared to leave. But I'd be a liar if I said there aren't days when I don't hate her for staying. I would've made her happy, you happy. And yet I still love her. I can't help myself."

 

Daric listened to the answer dubiously. Shaking his head, he said, "I don't know what you saw in her. I love my mother, but I'd understand if you hated her. I'm trying very hard not to."

 

"Either way, we can't leave her. Not with him. Maybe once he's gone, she'll stop being scared, and be the Madeleine I remember. Either way, she'll be far away from him," Thomas said.

 

"Yea I get that. But have you considered the possibility that she might refuse again? I don't know what's wrong with her, but she might. She never even mentioned your name to me. So what will you do if that happens?"

 

The knight's eyes sunk, and his head noticeably hung. "I hadn't really considered...it's ultimately her choice. Unless we don't give her a choice. She can't stay with a dead man."

 

"Now you're getting it," said Daric simply. "If it comes to that, he's mine. Understand? Even if it doesn't, I'll probably kill him anyway."

 

"You plan to make it a fair fight?" Thomas asked, turning to his son.

 

Daric caught his eye, though if it were up to him, he'd have avoided it. Sighing, he said, "I can promise that his death will be relatively quick. More than he deserves. The rest is irrelevant."

 

"I can abide by that. Cowards like him don't deserve much else besides a quick death." Thinking it best they change the subject, he next said, "You've been with the Nords a while, so they make a man out of you yet?"

 

At first, a deep reaching smile entrenched itself over the young man's face, soon accompanied with red. But the smile faded just as soon as it came. Remembering his fantasies of visiting the light tower, fantasies that'd never be realized now. He felt an odd sensation within. Almost like the lighthouse was calling to him, with the sweet voice of the blonde woman sailing in the waves of the Northern Winds seductively into his welcoming ears.

 

"Made a man of me, right. You can check that milestone off."

 

Sir Maric patted his son on the back. Chucking a little. "Good, good. What other things...ah, yes. How well do you ride horses?"

 

"We... still talking about women, or..."

 

"No, boy, we're talking about riding horses. I'm trying to see what I'm going to need to teach you when we get home."

 

"Right, sorry," said Daric, smirking. "In my defense, that could have easily been a euphemism if it came out of a Nord's mouth. I've never ridden a horse before."

 

Thomas frowned. "That'll have to be fixed. Nobles' children learn at an early age, but you'll pick it up quickly. What fighting style fits you best?

Looking at Daric's two swords, he added, "Dual wielding, then."

 

"Maybe I should write you my autobiography or something, Thomas." Daric smiled and said, "I play tough, but I admit, I haven't seen that much fighting. But I'm quick on my feet. I'm more of a scout than a soldier. To be honest, fighting doesn't really appeal to me much. It's not at all what I thought it'd be like. I don't understand how anyone could enjoy it. But I do like the purpose behind it. That's what keeps me interested in it I suppose." Looking off again at the shimmers from the mountain, then to the sky, Daric said, "I don't think they're coming yet. If I were them, I'd wait for nightfall."

 

The knight shrugged. "It's just something you have to do. Fighting is life in Tamriel. Even in the more sophisticated parts."

His eyes looked out beyond at the road they had just traveled on. The same road the Forsworn marched on now. "So would I. I'm sure your generals expect that, though."

 

"Yea, I suppose. Look, one of our men. I bet he's coming to say they're waiting now," said Daric. A man came galloping in from the main road, kicking up dust in the distance. As he came closer, something about him seemed off somehow. The way he laid so close to the horse's head. When the horse finally made it to camp and the man fell on his face with an arrow protruding from his back, it became rather clear what was wrong with him.

 

A whizzing sound went past Darric's head, then another, this time accompanied by the cries of a dying man. Darric jumped off the rock and dived behind it, looking for the source of the arrows. He heard yelling and screming nearby, and realized that it was coming from where he'd seen the glimmer up above. Suddenly a storm of arrows was raining down on them, followed by the familiar rumble of distant feet stomping with purpose. That purpose being blood.

 

They did not wait for nightfall after all. Even in the daylight, the forsworn managed to draw first blood and keep the element of surprise.

 

[TheCzarsHussar]

Avitus Agrippa,

Imperial City Outskirts,

Late Afternnon,

 

Avitus grumpily knocked on his commanding officer’s door. Avitus was busy looking into the missing legion resources, when word reached him of an attack on the Elven garden district, some kind of flesh monstrosity, a Daedra, or so the imperial legate was told. Even more troubling, he heard that the general was seriously injured during the rampage. Avitus may have had his…personal disagreements with General Martullus on several occasions, but he still considered him a close friend, a brother even.   Clearing his throat, he spoke in a clear, polite, and precise tone of voice, trying his best to remain calm.

 

 â€œGeneral Martullus, sir.â€

 

 No response. He impatiently knocked even harder, saying once again, this time in a louder, more aggressive voice,

 

 â€œGeneral!â€

 

 Avitus, letting out a grunt of annoyance, tried opening the door by turning the doorknob, and to his surprise, succeeded. The heavy oak door opened with a slight creaking noise. As expected, the general wasn’t in his office. Glancing around, Avitus simply said “Meh.â€

 

 Entering into the office, the legate examined the state the room was in. Surprisingly enough, General Martullus’s office was tidy and well-organised, with a certain cleanness lingering on the walls. The second legions headquarters, Fort Bael, had actually been constructed quitey recent, so there were no visible signs of structural decay.

 

 The thing that caught Avitus’s attention immediately was the sealed envelope neatly sitting on the General’s desk. Since the general had turned him into his glorified mall sorter as of late, Avitus felt little guilt grabbing the letter, and tearing the official imperial legion wax seal off to reveal the content’s of the document. The letter was in fact written by the General evident by the familiar hand writing and, was addressed to Avitus; it read,

 

 Legate Avitus Cornelius Agrippa, Second Legion,

 

 Forgive me for telling you this on such short notice my friend, and not in person. As you are most likely not well aware of, the entire imperial city is about to go to oblivion. Not only has a giant flesh atronarch attacked the elven garden district, I have received word from one of my friends in the Occultus that High Rock has officially seceded from the Empire ( PS: Some thing about the Empress corrupting and make Lorgar and Tulluis crazy (LULZ), some really insulting letter from the Empress (Which you find a dozen sent to me every day, right), some thing about her not treating him  properly (We don’t get too much respect right?), just a whole lot of something. That fat pig had some serious…beef with us…get it?)

 

 Avitus rolled his eyes, and continued reading,

 

 The official word is going to reach High-General Ceno soon enough, ever by messenger or the Legate formerly in charge of the imperial forces in High Rock , but regardless, I somehow doubt people are going to take it well. Along with the fact that a monster just ate a bunch of citizens, the people are going to be in a state of shock. An emergency meeting of the elder council will be called; leading to Arkay’s knows what. In any case, I’ve left for Fort Solomon to meet with General Retrius (Don’t worry. Were not plotting to overthrow the Empress or something diabolically evil, just readying ourselves for the worse), and put Legate Aurelia in charge in my absence of the Second Legion with standing orders to deploy into the city to assist Imperial Watch forces in restoring order the moment riots break out (Which I know they will) . STOP!!! Before you get angry at me, for not leaving my second in charge (AKA you), I have my reasons. Mainly you’ll be in Bruma (Road trip!!!) Fort Winterfang (Funny name right?) one of our most distant outposts, has gone dark for several months. No reports, no letters sent, zip. I would have sent men to investigate sooner, but with all this shit happening, haven’t had much time as of late. Can’t delay this anymore.  As far as I’m aware, the eighth is to be busy with drills for an investigation, and the fort is manned by second legion personnel, so this is going to be strictly an in-house matter. Do not inform any other imperial officials about your mission. (feeling shady yet?) The soldiers could have deserted. Been eaten alive by the frost trolls, or slaughtered by some over zealous nords. The area around the fort is pretty…wild, the most north-eastern part of the province, \ near the Skyrim-Cyrodili border. Which opens the possibility of Stormcloak involvement.

 

 Avitus’s knuckle’s dug into the piece of paper, and anger filled his being at the mention of the Nords armed force

 

 So remember, we don’t want a national incident. If it is Stormcloaks, which I highly doubt, I expect you to handle the situation with a cool and clear head. If it isn’t, feel free to go in with sword and shield blazing. I have every confidence of your ability to complete this assignment with flying colors. Regarding the missing imperial funds you told me about early, I’ll personally investigate the matter once I get back, and inform you of my findings, when your back, that is. Take two Contubernium’s with you, nothing more. 

 

 -Sincerely, You’re Friend, General Flarion Martullus, Second Legion.

 

 Avitus scanned the piece of paper once more, rereading it a second time. Pratically seething with rage, Avitus’s face contorted, as he shouted,

 

 â€œ******* hell…†

 

 

*********

 

Later that day 

 

 "Do you really have to go Daddy?"  Adela Agrippa hugged her fathers leg tightly with her tiny hands, digging her small face into his leg. Avitus placed his broad arms around the little imperial girl, hugging her ,

 

 â€œI’m sorry honey. But daddy needs to, it’s his job.†The girl’s dark brown eyes shined with sadness, as she looked up, “But daddy, I wont have anyone to play with!. Or read me stories, or tuck me in.†Avitus glanced at the heavily armoured soldier beside him, Prefect Wulf Steel-shatter. Normally, Avitus wouldn’t trust the well-being of his daughter to a nord, but the Prefect had proven time after again that he was one of Avitus’s best soldiers. Avitus tussled her hair, kissing her on the brow,

 

"I'll miss you, Adela. Be a good girl now." He paused, before saying, "For me? I'll be able to focus on my work." Adela warmly smiled, hugging him with more vigor then before, "Dont worry daddy, i'll be good." Avitus returned it, "I know you will." As, the legion officer drew away, suddenly the girl grip became tighter. Her face became withdrawn, as she asked in a shy voice, "Daddy...you'll return, right? You'll come back, unlike Mommy?" Avitus face went blank, as he patted her on the head, 

 

"I'll be back. I promise." 

[TheCzarsHussar]

The Brothers Horn-Hand,

Kynesgrove

Late Evening

 

"How are you feeling?" Mivanu smiled at Gjoring. He was in bed and had been asleep for the last couple of hours. She had watched him, looking for signs of complications. He seemed fine, all things considered, but her heart rate increased every time he made a move. How quickly he had fallen into the bed when they arrived said much about how far he had gone to hide his injury to his brother. Or maybe it was because of Knot-Beard and Cidius. She had seen him put his hand over his wound every time he thought no one were looking.

 

"Fine, how are you?" Gjoring gave her a wink and a smile.

 

"Don't 'fine' me, you bastard!" her voice rose uncontrollably and she had to put away the desire to hit him in the chest. "You're wounded, you n'wah! And you keep pretending it is not serious!"

 

"But it is not," Gjoring just continued to smile. "I'm still mostly alive and neither you or Jurik got hurt. I call that as good an outcome as any."

 

"You're infuriating..." 

 

**

 

"What do you think they're talking about?" Cidius raised an eyebrow as the others heard that Mivanu shouted. It was hard to say exactly what she had said, over the other patrons in the bar. Jurik shrugged.

 

"I dunno. My brother is probably driving her mad with his eternal optimism. Wouldn't be the first time."

"How'd they end up together anyway?" the Colovian scratched his head.

 

"What? A Nord and a Dark Elf can't have a thing?" it was Jurik's turn to raise his brow. It was, admittedly, not the first time he had encountered that question, but he refused to acknowledge that there was anything to question about it.

 

"Nono, I didn't mean it like that!" Cidius backpedaled. "I just... it just didn't strike me as the most... common... never mind..."

 

"I think what Cidius means is their personalities fight more than a pair of sabrecats," Roggi interjected. He took a swig of his mead, and wiped the excess from his beard with the back of his hand.

 

Jurik just shrugged again. "Hell, I dunno. Never understood that part." He rubbed the ridge of his nose and got to his feet. "I'm calling it for tonight. Yell if something happens."

 

"So..." Cidius hesitated as he looked to Roggi, while Jurik made his way to his room. He hoped he wouldn't get another lecture about loss. "Know any good stories from around here? Never spent much time in Skyrim." 

 

"If there's a story to be told about Skyrim, I know it," Roggi said, as he moved over to a chair by the hearth. "What kind do you want? Scary, funny, love, I know them all."

 

"Anything to take my mind off Gjoring and father..." Cidius mumbled. Instead of waiting for Roggi to ask what he had said, he raised his voice again and continued. "What about a story of Ysgramor? Might as well start at the beginning, with war, magic and blood. Seems fitting."

 

Roggi stretched out, popping the fingers on his hands before shifting his attention to the story. He closed his eyes momentarily, as he looked for a place to start.

"Every Nord has heard the tale of the Nigh of Tears, when Snow Elves sacked, murdered and mutilated the city of Saarthal. Ysgramor and his two sons, Ylgar and Yngol, barely escaped with their lives. Surely you have heard of this, yes?"

 

"Not any more fleshed out than that," Cidius shook his head. "We were never big on Skyrim's history in my family. And, I have to admit, I wasn't thought many nice things about your people. Barbarians and savages, only worth anything to society as Imperial Legionnaires. I was very nervous when I heard we were going to Skyrim, and then I realized how full of shit my parents had been. Sorry, I'm rambling."

 

"Ah, so you won't know the story of Yngol. Good. Yngol was the greatest Atamoran blacksmith, crafting Wuuthrad, Ysgramor's axe, from the ebony tears Ysgramor wept. So cunning a commander was Yngol, that he defeated enemies before they could even take the field of battle. He was part of the Five Hundred Companions, but never made it back from Atamora. A fierce storm took the Five Hundred, and shook them and tossed them, their boats nothing but play things to the gods. But first light beheld that vengeful fleet intact, save for Yngol's longship. Most stories never say what happened to Yngol's ship in the Sea of Ghosts, for lack of any survivors. But my father told a tale, that his father told him, that his father told him, that his father told him, that our ancestors survived Yngol's fearful ride in the ghostly sea. Ysgramor found Yngol's ship, washed ashore, his son dead. The story my father told says that my ancestor, from old Atamora, was among Yngol's crew, but his body was never found. In truth, it was because he survived, but was washed ashore elsewhere, and so the Companions never found him."

Clearing his throat, and taking another drink of mead, Roggi shifted his weight around on the chair. He wanted to be comfortable for the rest of the tale.

 

"Some people claim the Nords and Imperials both come from Atmora, that Skyrim is the 'fatherland' of men," Cidius mumbled. He wasn't entirely sure if that was true or not, he was no historian. Was as plausible as anything to his mind, it was so long ago it didn't really matter anymore.

 

"Right. Now, with this is where the real story starts. Yngol's ship was swept away, and when the rain and fog and waves calmed and disappeared, they found a strange island before them. It appeared on no maps, and no one had ever heard of an island nearby. Some suggested for was Solstheim, but that was dismissed when they realized that no land was in sight, such is the case on Solstheim. Others suggested it was Sovngarde, until they grew closer. The mountain was a hellscape, molten lava and poisonous gas leaking on to the surface. Half the expedition sent on land was killed by that, while the other half barely escaped the monstrous creatures that assailed them from the shadows. The survivors bore poisonous claw marks and peeling, blistered skin. Yet no one ever saw the beasts, just the screams of the hurt and dying. At that point, there were barely enough sailors to man the ship, and they set off. But they had barely made it out of sight of the island when a fog beset them, this time so thick that they nearly bashed against mountain sized icebergs, men thrown overboard as the glanced off the floating death traps, yet Yngol and his men labored on. I can see from your face you're skeptical, yet what I tell you is fact. Whether they actually saw these things, or rather the ghosts made them see visions and throw themselves into the ocean, that we'll never know. But as the fog cleared, so it goes, they found themselves back at the island. Somehow they'd gone in a circle. Yngol, being the clever man he was, decided to try again, but this time as the fog enveloped them, he turned around and failed back towards where they'd come. Via some strange magic, or devilry, it worked, and they sailed free. It made no difference, however, as soon they were all thrown overboard by a whirlpool, but they escaped the island. The boat washed ashore, with Yngol still at the helm, though his head twisted around from the force of the water. Never has a captain manned the tiller longer than the son of Ysgramor. After discovering his dead son, Ysgramor slew a hundred beasts, and sacrificed them for his son. So ends the tale of what really happened to Yngol."

 

"Well, Nord stories are often good, but just as often lies. Well, exaggerations, really. This was what? 4 thousand years ago? Whose to say what really happened?"

 

Cidius smiled at Roggi, not wanting there to be any hostility over this. He didn't mention it, not wishing a debate, but he felt much the same way about the stories of the slave rebellion. Gods granting, not one, but several mortals power to free themselves? He guessed it wasn't impossible, but it always struck him as far more likely that it was a long and bloody rebellion, with cunning and ruthless leaders who knew to seize on mythbuilding. 

 

Roggi shrugged and gave a smirk. "Well, my father never said he believed it, but it makes a good drinking tale. And even better one to tell around a campfire. I can do this howling trick with my voice, and that really sets the spine to tingling."

 

"Yeah, that it does. You Nords sure have a lot of them. Come on, give me another one, Storyteller."

 

"Greedy today, aren't we?" Roggi said with a chuckle. He seemed to stare off, thumbing the knot in his beard as he racked his brain for another tale. 

"Well, here's one I think you'll like. Do you know why only giants herd mammoths?"

 

"For their amazing cheese?" Cidius said sarcastically. Someone had offered him a bit once, back in Cyrodiil. Imported it. Tasted like... well, it didn't belong in his stomach, that was for sure.

 

The Nord smirked. "What, you don't like mammoth cheese? Mores the pity, because it's delicious.

"Now, back to the story. Giants are Nordic cousins, we both came from Atmora, but we got smaller while they got bigger. When we arrived, we both steered clear of the mammoths, for they are temperamental beasts, and dangerous. Their thick hides protect them from arrows, and should you get close enough to use a sword, you best watch out for their tusks. I've heard tales of them taking down a dozen men."

 

"No wonder, huge as they are. How'd the Giants become mammoth herders then?" 

 

"Well, first they grew giant because of the Sleeping Tree sap. Some'll say that the tree didn't come until later, but they don't know anything. It was here all along, and drinking it made the giants giant. Then they decided they needed mounts. That was why they tamed them, to ride. When everything is smaller than you, it's no fun to mess with, so the giants decided to hop on the back of the mammoths and take em for a ride. Eventually, the hairy beast for used to the giants, and now they're stuck with big, smelly cheese makers."

 

"I've seen some of that stuff on sale in the Imperial City. Heard its nasty stuff. Tree sap... sounds more Bosmer to me than Giant," Cidius rubbed the ridge of his nose. Then he chuckled. "Well, thanks for the story. I'm going to bed now."

 

As the Imperial got to his feet, Mivanu got out of her and Gjoring's room. She looked around for Jurik for a moment, but when she didn't see him, she headed in Roggi's direction instead. On her way she passed by Cidius, who gave her a polite nod, which she returned.

 

"Hey, anything fun going on out here?" the dunmer took Cidius' empty street, calling for a bottle of mead of her own. She had developed a taste for the stuff in her travels with the Horn-Hands. 

 

Roggi finished off his own bottle of mead, and motioned for another as well. "Just telling stories. And it's a good thing Cidius left too. I was running out, after the ones I told on the trip."

 

"I thought you Nords never ran out of stories," Mivanu protested, with a wink and a smile. "So, who do you think told the truth about our last job? Me or Gjoring?" 

 

Roggi smirked back. "Honestly, neither of you. Unless you guys were just holding back at the last place. I didn't see any invisibility options, and while Jurik and Gjoring were good, they weren't that good."

 

"Good, 'cause it was all bullshit," Mivanu laughed. "We came upon a small bandit camp in the courtyard of an old fort. They were dead before they even could react much to us, since they had been sleeping and their lookout was drunk. Usually Jurik tells the true tale at the end of the night, but, yeah, didn't end up that way."

 

"I can see why he didn't. Killing men that are asleep isn't exactly the most exciting tale. Boring, really."

 

"Yeah. Good pay though. Some merchant wanted them dead. Caused him some trouble. We like to tell more than one version of what happened, as people get drunker. And so people remember different stories. Ah, fun times." 

 

"Any idea what's next? I'd like to stick with you guys, if you don't mind."

 

"H'Reni says we should go to the Rift, after we return to the contractor," the catman seemed to appear out of nowhere. When Mivanu raised an eyebrow at his suggestion, he continued. "Lots of bandits in the Rift these days, my friends told me. We surely would find someone wishing them gone. This one is sure of it."

 

"Hunting bandits? Beats hunting necromancers," Mivanu mumbled.

 

"This one agrees." 

 

"I'm with you two. Plus, Black-Briar meadery is in Riften, and they have the best mead in all of Skyrim. Needless to say, it's worth looking forward too," Roggi said with a smile.

 

"I'll go ask Jurik what he thinks. Gjoring is asleep," Mivanu added the last line as H'Reni was about to open his mouth.

 

**

 

The creature was small and ugly, standing only a few feet tall. Its legs were hairy, but the rest was naked. Claws and fangs, pointed ears. Vicious little eyes, glaring up at him, as if it wanted to attack him. The scamp didn't do anything though, other than breathe heavily and sniff the air.

 

Knock. Knock.

 

The Horn-Hand brother let the creature fade away, back to Oblivion, before he hastily reached for a book on the nightstand.

 

Knock. Knock.

 

"Come in!" he raised his voice.

 

"Hey," Mivanu said, looking confused around the room. "Did you hear something just now? Sounded like a big rodent or something."

 

"Nah," Jurik shrugged. "So, what did you want?"

 

"H'Reni..." Mivanu began, but she was cut off by Jurik.

 

"You want the catman? My brother ain't exotic enough for you?" the Nord chuckled. Mivanu just rolled her eyes.

 

"H'Reni suggested we'd go to the Rift when we've talked to our contractor. Said there'd be a lot of bandits we could hunt. What are you reading anyway?"
 

"Oh, this?" Jurik held up the book. "The Wolf Queen. All the parts in one. Found it in the drawer. Maybe I'm just a cynic, but it strikes me as strange to say Potema was wholly evil, as some have. From this book, at least, she doesn't seem to be any more evil than any other ambitious noble. Which is to say quite evil, but you know. History is written by the victor and all of that. Sure, going the the Rift could be a good idea. Better than going to the Reach, anyway."

 

**

 

"So..." H'Reni couldn't seem to find the right words to get a conversation going with Roggi.

 

"You're an adventurer too, huh? Like the Horn-Hands?" Roggi asked. He had a lot of practice at small talk, and didn't mind striking up a conversation with a stranger.

 

"Of course not, this one is an assassin," H'Reni smirked. "This one was sent to deal with the necromancer leader. Then this one got unlucky and tied up, waiting to become undead."

 

"How did they catch you?" Roggi asked. "You look like you can handle yourself pretty well, after all."

 

"H'Reni got unlucky. Some of the bastards caught this one when skulking in the shadows. Not a lot of room to move."

 

"So you'll be sticking with us then? Even though you seem more of a lone wolf, er, tiger kind of guy?"

 

"Of course. You people saved H'Reni's life. I'll protect yours in turn. And I have friends who knows things. Like that there will be a lot of work for skilled mercs in the Rift soon."

 

"Sounds like we'll have plenty to keep us busy. And good thing too, or Gjoring might challenge me to a drinking contest every night until he beats me. I get the sense they don't do too much sitting around."

 

"H'Reni thinks the wounded Nord was wounded enough in his pride too," H'Reni chuckled.

 

**

"You don't think Potema was evil?" Mivanu had sat down on the side of the bed. Jurik closed the book and threw it over to the pillow. "But she nearly tore the Empire apart with her ambition."

 

"Well, sure, but isn't that kinda what royals do? Fight over the throne, I mean. And then uses that fight to **** everyone below them. So, yeah, **** Potema, **** the Septims, **** the Medes, blah, blah, blah. Rulers are all the same, too high and mighty to look at what the mere commoners will lose for their ambition."

 

"You think Ulfric shouldn't have rebelled then? Let Skyrim remain an Imperial Privince?" Mivanu looked skeptically at him. He knew her family had been staunchly anti-Imperial since before the Septims died out. Some of their upbringing must have stuck, despite everything else.

 

"No," Jurik sighed and shook his head. "At least now I'm free to honor whatever god I want. Gold nugget in a pitcher of shit, I guess. And all that shit is soaked in the blood of Skyrim's people."

 

"You have... strange metaphors."

 

"It's the only honest way to put it all."

 

"Eh, you're right about that," Mivanu laughed. "A world full of people with blood soaked shit in pitchers are running the show. And some of them put golden nuggets in them. What a fine way to see the world. Do they have them on shelves?"

 

"Nah, in their special trophy rooms. Must show it off to the rest of the world. Some pitchers even have fancy names, like "High King", and are adorned with a crown."

 

***
 

Windhelm

Noon

"So, let me get this straight..." a Nibenese man, with a mixture of brown and grey hair loosely hanging around his head, frowned from Gjoring to Cidius. "You found necromancers in the ruin, but couldn't find a single of their artifacts to support your word, or for me to take of your hands?"

 

"Um... Yes, that looks like the case," Gjoring scratched the back of his head.

 

"So you didn't fulfill your end of the contract. Why are you bothering me about it then?"

 

"This one would want a word," H'Reni stuck his hand into his pocket and drew out a crystalline gem. It looked a lot like some of the soul gems Jurik had seen, except it was jet black. Somehow he got an ominous feel from it. "I took this off the necromancer leader."

 

"Is that..." their contractor reached out to take the gem, but the Khajiit pulled his hand away.

 

"A Black Soul Gem, yes," the catman nodded with a grin. "If you want it, we want compensation for the man lost."

 

"Out of the question! I will not be-"

 

"Can H'Reni get a word in private, before something is said that will be regretted?"

 

As the cat and the Imperial walked out of earshot, Jurik scratched his head. Where did that come from? He was sure he hadn't seen any gem on H'Reni, but that he could've overlooked. Who were this cats "friends"? That question nagged at the back of his mind. It seemed too coincidental that he'd try to get them to go to the Rift for work because of his "friends" and now thought he could settle this little dispute in private. H'Reni had been open enough about being an assassin. Dark Brotherhood, maybe? No, he didn't believe that. Or, maybe it could be if he just vanished one day soon, but unless that happened, Jurik couldn't think of a good reason for a brotherhood assassin to accompany them. He looked to Gjoring, who just shrugged. Mivanu scowled, while Cidius didn't look like he cared much for any of this. He looked quite bored, in fact. No, docile was the word. Like he was holding himself back.

 

"Roggi?" Jurik said in the direction of their Kynesgrove man. 

 

Roggi shrugged as well. "Hey, so long as he gets us paid, I don't care if he takes the mage back to his bedroom. Maybe he knows something about the necromancers, too. He was their captive after all."

 

"I guess," Jurik nodded slowly. Not what he had been wondering about, but if none of the others had anything to say, he had to admit that their very own pet drunk was unlikely to offer good insight. He sighed. That wasn't deserving of the man, to be thought of as such. Drunkard, yes, but brave.

 

"Alright, this one has secured good pay for us all," H'Reni rejoined the others. Their contractor seemed to have lost some of his color. What in Oblivion had the cat told him?

[TheCzarsHussar]

Lilly Quentas, Karsh

The torture chamber, Imperial City prison

Late Morning

 

"Aaargh!" The man screamed.

 

Lilly raised her hand, "Enough." She went closer and said in a rather polite voice: "Now. I'll ask again. Did you kill her?"

 

The man too her left was wearing middle class clothing, and was wearing bloodied leather gloves. He had dark greyish brown hair, and has a scar going down his face. In his right hand was a small knife, "I can take his eye out, if you want Colonel."

 

"No!" screamed the man. He was imperial in his late twenties with short dark brown hair and rough facial features, sitting chained to the wall behind him with his hands held wide above his head.  "I was only passing by when I saw the body. I only went forth to check if she was still alive." he whimpered.

 

"I'll take his tongue." Said the torturer, moving closer to the victims face.

 

The man looked at first surprised at what they would target next but then began to thrash in an attempt to make sure the man wouldn't be able to grab his face.

"Now now don't be difficult." He gave a laugh and said deadpanly: "Your dealing with the competent part of the Oculatus" 

 

Lilly snarled "And what's that supposed to mean major Infernus?" she glanced at the prisoner once again "You better confess while you have the chance. And the ability to speak."

 

"But you wont be able to get anything if you cut out my tongue, now will you?" the man said, his voice hinting at an attempt of defiance but mostly just trembling with fear.

 

The major slashed at his chest lightly with his knife. 

"Erghhnnn!" the man whimpered. "What do you want to know?"

 

"Who hired you?!" Lilly grabbed his head and sent a small shock through his body.

 

"Some fancy fella. His name was A - something."

 

"I want a ******* name!" she increased the shock. Lilly was a physician by trade, so she knew how much damage she could inflict. If she needed to she could simply heal him up.

 

"Aaaaaaa - something! Something ending with ias or ian. He lives on Ruby Street."

 

"His family name was Adour or Ador!"

 

She contained to shock him, "Give me a name."

 

"His family name was Adour or Ador!"

 

"It's ever one or the other!" she said increasing the shock.

 

"I don't remember how it was properly pronounced!" the man cried.

 

"You better know how to pronounce it." She increased it to almost lethal levels.

 

"Adur!" he shouted briefly before passing out.

 

Infernus gave a disapproving sigh, "You could have used a truth potion."

 

Lilly laughed "Were would the fun be?"

 

"You make me sick." Infernus replied.

 

"Dismissed major." she sad without another word. The Oculatus officer let out a sigh, putting on his grey overcoat as he left the interrogation room and closing the door behind him.

 

Karsh, who had been sitting by the bars and looking in, glided down onto Lilly's shoulder. "You think you can guess the person he was talking about?"

 

"It's that shit head Adrian. We were right!" Lilly said almost triumphant. 

 

"Guess so. Still going to question that drugged drunkard?" 

 

"Come now. We need to be professional."

 

"And does that mean we're going to follow every lead or go torture Adrian?"

 

"What's your opinion?"

 

"Well what I would want is for you to cut out the eye on the unconscious fella here and give it to me, I'm feeling peckish. Though if you want to be thorough about the case, then you should go and see what Zedrick has to say."

 

"I'll have Helen feed you extra. If she actually comes home tonight. She's spending an awful lot of time at the imperial palace over her work hours."

 

"Brrllp." it sounded like when Karsh put out his tongue in an attempt to make a farting sound. "So much for a snack. Lets go see Zedrick then."

 

"Helen spoils you stop complaining." she said as she left the room "You'll get fat."

 

"I'll never get fat. Just... cuddly."

 

"You' won't be able to fly."

 

"I will. Anyway, are you going to let the guards see me?"

 

She castes an invisibility spell, "Your just a bloody raven. It's not like they can hear you."

 

"No one but you can hear me. That's why I didn't ask for a muffle spell."

 

"No, but I don't think's it necessary for you to remain invisible most of the time."

 

"Boss prefer it this way though."

 

"Whatever." She paused before asking, "You think he could do it?"

 

"Who do what? Adrian murdering Maressa?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"I think I've said my opinion on it: probably. Though if he did indeed hire the thug, then it's even more likely. Big question is how and if he knew that Abigail had pointed him out as a suspect."

 

"Could have been a dirty watchman." 

 

"Maybe. But lets see what Zedrick has to say first."

 

"Good guard or bad guard routine?"

 

"Start by explaining the situation and then go bad guard if he doesn't understand."

 

"I hate drug users..." she said with an angry voice.

 

"They taste a bit strange too."

 

"You've eaten them before?"

 

"Found a couple of dead ones in Bravil. Lying on the ground in some backstreet with at least one empty skooma bottle next to each of them."

 

"What do humans taste like?" She asked curiously.

 

"Like... meat, I guess. I find that most meat taste pretty much the same when it's raw and has begun to rot."

 

"That's anticlimatic." She said, walking along the dreary corridors of the dungeon. "Is your master busy?" she asked.

 

"He's up in the palace. So not that busy, I think. Why are you wondering?"

 

"I want to have some fun with him later."

 

"I'm sure that as long as nothing big crisis happens up, you'll get what you want."

 

She smirked, "Servant girls are so easy to have: all you do is flirt, remind them who you are, and they end up on bed with you. Lord snow Strider is a different beast."

 

"Right." said Karsh with an indifferent tone. "Not that I really understand you and your human mating habits."

 

"How do you ravens approach mates?"

 

"You show off that your capable. Skilled flyer, hunter, thief, that you're cunning and such to show that you can take care of yourself and any offspring."

 

"So no seduction?"

 

"Not really. We're not like those twittering, twattering, stupid, little songbirds. We show that we can actually get something done."

 

"That's... really boring. Any same gender relationships among ravens?" She was referring to the stigma. Though it was far less of an issue here in Cyrodiil then High Rock. A serious relationship was frowned upon greatly in the nobility.

 

"I guess they exist. Never met such a pair though."

 

"*** ravens."

 

"What?" said Karsh in a confused tone.

 

"Never mind." she said with a smirk. It took awhile to reach the entrance of the prison where a guardsman sat at a desk with a big open book, a record over the inmates. Lilly approached a guardsman. "Were has Zedrick been transferred?"

 

The guard made a quick salute, "The drugged drunk? He's in one of the high class cells on the third floor."

 

"How has he been treated?"

 

"We've had to tell him to shut up when he shouted gibberish. But other than that: nothing."

 

"No interrogations?"

 

"No. We thought you wanted to do it yourself."

 

"Hmmm, do you know where the sergeant who brought him in is?"

 

"I think he's in the Talos Plaza district doing an inspection. Want to send someone to get him?"

 

"If you don't mind."

 

"Yes, sir." said the guard, got out of the chair and gave another quick salute before heading out the door to yell after the nearest guard.

 

Lilly began to make her to the third floor. "Mark my words magpie. I'll make Abigail's killer pay tenfold."

 

"Well you've already given him quite a shock." said Karsh. "And it's not magpie, it's raven."

 

"Your both annoying black birds?"

 

"Ravens are completely black. Unlike magpies that are also white. And smaller. And weaker. And dumber."

 

"Then they most be real stupid, if there dumber then you." 

 

"I'm not dumb. If I'm dumb then your dumber."

 

"No you're dumb." Lilly replied slightly annoyed.

 

"No you're dumb." Karsh also responded with.

 

"Your the dumbest person in Tamriel."

 

"Then you're an idiot."

 

"I'm the spymaster. You're a glorified messenger bird."

 

"I'm not. And if you keep going I'm telling boss."

 

"Aww, is the little bird's feelings hurt?"

 

"You'll see, I'll tell on you."

 

"By the way." She took something out of her pocket, a small piece of paper, and help it up to the raven, "I heard from Major Infernus that some girls at school were giving little Helen some trouble. Since if I acted, I would probably end up breaking there noses. I want you to find and torment them when you the time."

 

"Why should I do this for you? And what is this paper for?"

 

"You're doing it for Helen, since she feeds you all day. And this is a list of the names of those girls."

 

"Though you're the one asking for it. Right after calling me an 'over-glorified messenger bird'."

 

"Fine. Go back to eating carcasses. I'll throw you out, it's my food your eating anyway."

 

"I want an apology."

 

"Then go back to eating fourth rate fat, instead of the four times a day, go back to one."

 

"Boss fed me before and will do so again. You'll just make Helen more lonely by kicking me out and her bullies will go unpunished."

 

"I could of course, just tell your master you're being highly incontinent. He doesn't care about Helen at all, but he certainly cares about getting into my pants."

 

"Is an apology that hard?"

 

"Your an animal."

 

"I'm still a sentient and thinking person. More than can be said of some humans."

 

"I'm not apologizing." She turned around, before saying, "Back to work." She started tapping her feet impatiently, "Were the hell is the sergeant."

 

"On the other side of the city. If what that guard said is correct. And given how slow you humans are; I doubt he'll be here for a while."

 

They reached the third floor. "I'll try to be polite. Though we should have just thrown him into the deepest, darkest, dampest, cell in the dungeon." Lilly said.

 

"It's not my fault they allow people to pay for not being underground."

 

She approached his cell before telling the raven, "Go fly around for a little. I need concentration to break this scum bag."

 

"In here?" asked Karsh in disbelief. "Can't I just sit on the floor?"

 

"Just promise not to talk to me."

 

"Like if I can to when sitting on the floor. I'll be in the corner of the cell, so don't trample me."

 

Lilly opened the cell and as she did she felt the weight disappear from her shoulder as Karsh jumped down and silently landed on the floor. The room wasn't much, quite small and it only had a simple wooden bed with a used, but clean mattress and pillow on it along with a simple wooden chair and tiny round table next to the barred window. Zedrick was laying in the bed locking up at the roof. He wore simple commoners clothing and only gave Lilly a quick glance before looking back up at the roof.

"Alright listen here scum bag. Civil liberties disappeared when you entered into this building."

 

"That's a bit harsh for only being in possession of a little skooma." he said in a plain tone, still looking up at the roof.

 

"Drugging a prostitute, resisting law enforcement and the possible murder of a noble seems pretty serious to me." 

 

"She took it herself. And I haven't killed anyone."

 

"You were at a party that you weren't invited too recently, weren't you?"

 

"True. But I still didn't kill anyone. And if I had, I was making too much of a show of myself for it to have gone unnoticed."

 

"We both know the effects of Skooma." She channelled a fear spell into him, as she slammed her fist near his face, "Tell me or I'll personally torture you myself." 

 

His eyes opened wide as he face turned to that of a slight mix of shock and fear. "I did not kill anyone. I crashed the party to have a little fun, that's all."

 

"Who supplied you the skooma?: She asked, slightly interested. 

 

"What has that to do with the murder?"

 

"An elder councilers daughter was murdered at that party you attended. You were intoxicated."

 

"A bit, yes. But I did not kill her."

 

"That's not what I heard." She increased the power of the fear spell, "I heard you were completely out of your mind." She adapted a sinister smile.  

 

"I was just being a bit loud. I'm sure the other guests can testify that I didn't kill anyone." he almost squeaked in a low voice.

 

"I dont know. I don't think anyone would be sad if you mysteriously vanished anyway." then she leaned down and whispered into his ear, "Tell me. Who sold you the skooma." 

 

"W - What does that have to do with the murder?"

 

She whispered, "If you killed someone under the effect, the dealer would partially be the cause of it as well." 

 

"But I did not kill her. And I wasn't that intoxicated. I didn't even start a fight."

 

"Or." she softly said, in an almost kind voice. She was now casting a weak calm spell, just enough to make him comfortable to speak, "Maybe you didn't. But maybe the person who did was like you. Under the influence."

 

"What makes you think that?"

 

"It's a possibility." She started to channel the fear spell again, "Now, I'll ask one last time before I bring Oculatus interrogation experts in here. Who sold you the skooma?" 

 

"A man named Caius."

 

"What did he look like?"

 

"He has a big brown moustache and I think he is also bald, or has very little hair."

 

"Are you sure?"

 

"I'm pretty sure."

 

She grinned, she increased the power of the fear spell, "Your not lying to me are you?"

 

"N-N-No."

 

"Are you sure?" she whispered softly but also a bit sinisterly.

 

"Y-Yes."

 

Lilly smiled, "Good. Behave now boy." she left the cell and closed the door. She heard a light squawk behind her. "I knew that damn merchant was shady I knew it."

Karsh simply squawked again. He was still invisible and the only thing showing Lilly where he was was his beak poking at Lilly's leg. Lilly gently picked him up and placed the bird on her shoulder.

 

"So how did you know it?" said Karsh into her ear.

 

"He looked a bit too smug. Turns out the bastard is a skooma dealer."

 

"I heard that part. So what now?"

 

"We wait for the sergeant."

 

"What about Caius and Adrian? Not going to do anything till the sarge shows up?"

 

"Adrian seemed so sure of himself. Like he wasn't going to flee and thought he had all of his bases covered. The merchant on the other hand, a I said, an odd man. Maybe we should send some watchmen to apprehend them?"

 

"Well it's your call. We'll probably get done sooner if you do."

 

She went to a guardsmen who was standing at the edge of the corridor, looking to be half asleep from just standing at the same spot, and told him the order. Lilly also stating to be extra rough if they didn't comply with the order. She went back to the entrance of the prison and went out side where she had a good view over most of the courtyard. She leaned against the wall next to the prison entrance door and waited.

 

[TheCzarsHussar]

Some time passed before Karsh got bored. "Well this is eventful." he said in a deadpan tone. 

 

"Some investigations have lasted over a century." Lilly said equally deadpanly.

 

"Who did they arrest then? Mr Skel Eton?"

 

"No one. Some cases are never solved."

 

"Then why continue for a hundred years?"

 

"It was on and off. Wasn't really much of a case, more like book keeping."

 

"Well that sounds pointless. Either you solve or you don't."

 

She waited a moment, "So how did lord snow-strider find you?"

 

"I was eating an eyeball when he caught me with some magic spell."

 

"...you serious?"

 

"That's what I remember of it, but yeah; he caught me while I was eating."

 

"What happened next?" She asked with her eye brows raised. 

 

"I woke up later. He gave me some food and I felt oddly calm."

 

"And that's it? You could speak just like that?"

 

"Nah. That came much later. Till then it was mostly me hanging around while he tried to communicate with me."

 

"That must have been...awkward. So he essentially taught you to speak, and the magic simply made you more intelligent?"

 

"I think the magic also helped teach me how to understand and speak your strange tongue. It was a weird time for me." 

 

"How long did it take?"

 

"I don't know exactly. A long time. Less than a year."

 

"And you were fine with it?"

 

"I got cooked food, for the most part. Can't really complain too much."

 

"Better then raw eyeballs, eh?"

 

"Eyeballs are usually quite good. And the heart, though it's rare I can get to it before the rot does." Karsh paused for a second. "Anyway, I don't think I need to ask how you met boss."

 

"I meet him at my mansion."

 

"I know. I even took a peek through a window. Not exactly the most subtle first meeting."

 

"Pervert."

 

"Hardly. I was there to deliver some information. Once I saw that he was busy, I flew off. Do you actually think I like watching you smooth-skins go at it?"

 

"Yeah, I bet you like watching us."

 

"Why would I? You got no talons, no beaks and no plumage. And seeing your meat bags wobble is actually making me a little disgusted."

 

"How are plumages attractive? So if a female human got dressed up in a chicken suit, you would find that hot?"

 

"That would just look wrong. And why in Oblivion would I find a human attractive?"

 

"I don't know." She started to flail her arms about, "Arkay damn it. How long does it take to arrest someone? They should already be in a cell."

 

"Aah! Don't!" Karsh said as he wrapped his wings around Lilly's head in an attempt to stay on her shoulder.

 

She stopped, before starting to tap her feet, "What do you remember when you were a simple raven?"

 

"Ah." Karsh said in relief after he had regained his balance and let go of Lilly's head. "Well, biggest difference was that I had to keep a constant eye out for food. And I hope you don't mean that by simple that ravens are simple birds."

 

"Birds are birds. It's not like you're special or anything." 

 

"Ravens are more clever. We also have a sense of humor."

 

"But how can you when you can't talk?"

 

"Can't talk? Just because the rest of my kind can't speak your tongue doesn't mean we can't communicate."

 

"Yeah, you squawk knock knock jokes right?" She grinned, amused at herself.

 

"Only about woodpeckers." Karsh replied with a slight smug tone. He then paused for a second. "So, why are you so keen on being boss' first mistress?"

 

"I don't like to share." 

 

"Love at first sight?" Karsh asked sarcastically.

 

"More like lust at first sight."

 

"Nothing else?"

 

"Nope. He has a position of power, we both want sex. That's it." 

 

"So you're in bed with one of the, if not the most powerful man in Cyrodiil, and all you want out of that is sex?"

 

She shrugged, "I could have easily just exploited the fact Dales loves women, she would be much easier to hold sway over. Look at me, I'm a countess, and the spymaster of the Empire. I have a seat on the Elder council. Does it look like I need more power?"

 

"I still don't think it explains why you're not so keen on any 'competition'."

 

"I said I don't like sharing."

 

"Why is that? It's not like you can marry him."

 

"Just a simple mattter of principle. And the fact I don't want to catch anything."

 

"Catch anything?"

 

"Eh, I take it you've never had sex before?"

 

"I'll never have it in the sense you humans have it. And we do it mainly for creating offspring."

 

"Yeah yeah. Now shut up. I need to think on the case." She lowered her head, deep in thought.

 

"How rude." was all Karsh uttered but he stayed quiet. Time passed on as they waited and nothing really eventful happened. A few times Lilly heard Karsh begin to hum on a small melody for a few seconds before he suddenly stopped and became quiet again. 

Some time later a couple of guards came into view, leading the merchant Caius between them. "Wakie, wakie. The shinies merchant is here." Karsh almost whispered into Lilly's ear.

 

"Pffftt, you sure?"

 

"Why don't you look up? They're taking him to the prison right now."

 

She looked up and saw that the merchant was there, being escorted by a couple of guards. She grinned, "Shall we roughen him up first?"

 

"Well that's up to you. Or have you decided to let the clever and handsome raven take over the investigation?"

 

She whispered to the raven, "Keep your eyes sharp."

 

"Yeah, yeah. Like if I don't always keep an eye out."

 

"Serious. Look at the subtle movements of his face, and relay the information to me." 

 

"Eh, what? I don't know what all you human's subtle facial expressions mean."

 

"Fine." She approached the guards and asked him, "Where are you taking the merchant?"

 

The guard was about to say something but was interrupted by Caius, the merchant: "What does it look like? To the dungeons. I've been arrested on your orders." he said in a tone that showed that he was more annoyed and irritated than angry at the situation.

 

"We found a small box of skooma in the back of his store. We searched the house, but one door on the second floor was locked and the merchant here claims that his assistant has the key. And we couldn't find the assistant."

 

"It wasn't the only thing you managed to 'find'." said Caius. "I saw one of you knick a gold ring."

 

Ignoring the merchant, Lilly told the guardsmen: "Just find a battle mage, and blow the door open."

 

"Yeah, do that." Caius spat out.

 

Though the guards ignored him. "Yes, sir. Though we could also find a locksmith."

 

"Just open the door. I want to know what's inside it."

 

"Yes, sir." the guard replied.

 

"You better go get a powerful mage. That door wont budge easily." said the merchant.

 

"If you don't shut up I'll cut off your lips and feed them to you." she made a motion with her hand, as if to say "Get him out of here."

 

The guards obeyed and gave Caius a light push before he started walking with them into the prison. And Lilly followed from behind. The guards led the merchant down a couple of stairs to a slightly damp corridor. The only light coming from the small barred windows at the top of the cells and the few candle holders at the walls. A guard sat in a chair as they next to the stairs. After a quick chat about who the new prisoner was and if there was any empty cells. The rattling of a key ring was heard as prison guard got up from the chair and led them a bit further down the corridor to an empty cell. After a moment of waiting for the guard to find the right key he managed to open the door. Caius walked in on his own as soon as the door was opened.

The prison guard then handed the key to the cell to Lilly before she dismissed them. The guards left, leaving Lilly practically alone with the merchant.

 

Lilly stood outside the cell and took at her small, curved short sword, and started to play with the tip, "Well my dear Caius. There's two ways this can go."

 

"Well why don't you start by telling me which way you're heading? What do you want from me?"

 

"You were selling Skooma at the party."

 

"I don't sell skooma. That box that was found is for private use."

 

"Not what I've heard. I talked to one of your clients."

 

"Then that person is lying."

 

Lilly slowly walked into the cell before conjuring a fear spell, "I really don't think he is."

 

"Whether you believe it or not, doesn't make it true." he replied, seemingly unaffected by the fear spell.

 

She slammed her fist in the merchant's face, knocking him to the ground. She channelled a strength spell using her left hand, and used her right to grab him by the collar and slammed him to the wall. She could also feel Karsh begin to loose balance and then jump off her shoulder before falling off. "I'm not going to ask again!" Lilly yelled.

 

"And why are you so interested in skooma?" he squeezed out.

 

"We both know it's physically and mental affects. Someone under the influence would do stuff they wouldn't normally do."

 

"Like who? Who are you talking about?"

 

"You imbecile. The murderer. The person who murdered that girl could have been under the effect of your skooma!"

 

"And what makes you think that?"

 

She punched him again, this time channelling an even more powerful fear spell, "Just tell me, who did you sell to that night?"

 

She could see that the spell now had some effect, but not much. "Dealing with skooma can be a death sentence."

 

"That's your own fault isn't it?"

 

"Well why should I admit to dealing with it then?"

 

"Because I'll make a deal. Just a really long prison sentence." She channelled a calm spell.

 

"No sentence for dealing. Only possession for private use."

 

"Take the long sentence for dealing, and I won't confiscate you and your families wealth and shop. That's the deal, take it or leave it."

 

"I don't have a family. At least not in this city. And by the time I'll be out my store will have been cleaned empty by thieves."

 

"Fine then." She conjured another fear spell, "I'll simply have the confession tortured out of you. Afterwords it off to the chopping block."

 

"You can try. No one else has ever got one. Neither will you."

 

She thrust the blade into his left shoulder and delivered another punch.

 

Caius grunted. "No deal. No information."

 

She threw him to the ground of the cell and slammed her steel foot guard into his stomach as hard as she could.

 

Caius wheezed for a bit as he tried to regain his breath. "Torture me all you want. There's no point for me in telling you if I'm to lose everything I got."

 

She whispered, "I'll make you loose more." this time she sent a shock of lightning into his body from his chest.

 

"Ghhmmm! No, you can't." he said, breathing heavily. 

 

Lilly then heard a light squawk and as Caius was regaining his senses from the shock, Lilly leaned down and she heard Karsh lightly hop forth towards her head. "Psst." Karsh said into Lilly's ear. "Unless you got something spectacular, I doubt he'll budge much."

 

"Something special. It's my coven's specialty." She took out a glass vial from her jacket pocket, opened it, and forced the man to swallow the contents of the potion. 

 

At first the merchant began to lightly twitch and shake his limbs as if trying to throw something off of him. Then he simply looked at the floor and then Lilly in fear and disgust.
"Begone foul harlot!" he shouted.

 

Lilly laughed, "Who are you calling harlot?"

 

"Filth. I'll not tell filth like you a thing." he said while crawling backwards away from Lilly till he bumped into the wall.

 

Lilly grabbed him, lifted him up and brought him close to her face, "Want a kiss?"

 

Caius looked like he was about to puke and began to try to wrestle out of Lilly's grasp. He was rather strong for a regular merchant. Lilly was stronger though and she planted a kiss on his lips. Afterwords she threw him to the ground and started to kick him, mostly aiming for his stomach and crotch. To which Caius reacted by emptying the contents of his stomach onto the floor.

 

"I have plenty of time. There's so much I can do to you."

 

"Well bring it." the merchant's voice was wavering and he tried maintain his balance while down on all four, so to not fall into puke covering beneath him.

 

Lilly grabbed him by the hair and forced his face into the puke, "I think it's lunch time."

 

Caius struggled at first but his hands just slipped off the puke covered stones on the floor. Then he managed to turn his head so that Lilly instead pressed his the puke into his ear. "Okay, okay. I'll tell you on one simple condition."

 

"What is that?"

 

"You make sure no thief touches my shop. And that my assistant will be able to continue with the regular business."

 

"I'll agree to the second request. The city watch can deal with the other."

 

"Fine. Just don't touch anything else in my shop."

 

"Now tell me everything. I want to know who you sold it too, your suppliers, every little detail."

 

"At the party I sold it to Adrian, Cidius, Zedrick, Lucan, Ariela, Eliana, and Reman. I even managed to get the hostess, Rosentia, to try a little."

 

"Adrian!" Her face snarled, and to the drugged man, only the most twisted mind could imagine what he saw as her face, "Who was supplying you?"

 

"A khajiit by the docks. I don't know his name but he hangs out the southernmost pier at noon."

 

"Where is your skooma supply? Where do you hide it?"

 

"My current supply was that box you found. I was waiting for a new shipment."

 

Lilly leaned down to where Karsh had spoken a moment earlier and whispered so only the raven could hear, "Do you think he has anything else to say?"

 

"I don't think so." the bird replied.

 

She then returned to the merchant and looked at him straight in the eye, "You aren't lying to me, are you?"

 

"No." the merchant said bitterly.

 

"Are you sure?" She waved the shortblade closer to his face.

 

"Yes. Though only way to confirm that is for you to get a confession from the people I gave you. Not that they will want to admit to anything."

 

She gave him a mocking grin, "Thank you for your cooperation."

 

"Pfft." he spat out before he crawled to a corner and sat down, staring down into the floor.

 

"I would be careful if I were you. That...mental illness that you've developed is going to last you the entire week. Don't look at a single location for long."

 

"Just leave me."

 

She turned left the cell and locked the door behind her. She could feel that Karsh had managed to make it out of cell before she locked to door as the bird now poked at her leg again. She picked him once more and she began to leave. Once she was a good distance away, she whispered to Karsh, "That went pretty well?"

 

"If you say so. Though can you not have such violent methods. It's annoying having to jump off or fall off."

 

"Oh hush." She said to the bird, "Unfortunately due to our next victims status, we can't nearly be as brutal."

 

"Do you always refer to your suspects as victims?"

 

"They are though." She said with a sly grin.

 

Karsh did not respond to that and just waited for a moment. "Well lets get on with the investigation then."

 

"Just give me a moment." She took another vial out of her pack, and smelled it's content, before putting it back in her jacket. "Hmmmm." She cleaned her curved shortblade, and put it in her sheaf. "Gotta ready my fists."

 

"Right. Now can we get out in the open air? I don't like being underground."

 

"Why? Being underground feels safer to me. Corridors can easily be blocked and many hiding spots in the dungeons." 

 

"Why? Are you really asking why a winged creature prefers the open sky?"

 

"You should get used to different environments. You can help your master better that way."

 

"I ain't gonna spend too much time in a place smaller than my wingspan. Last thing I want is to get caught when I can't even use my wings."

 

"You could learn to travel by foot?" she said entertained.

 

"I know how to walk. I just don't like to do it for too long."

 

"I'm going to get Helen to put you on a diet and daily exercise routine. It'll be good for you." 

 

"Diet? I don't need a diet. And what do you mean by exercise?"

 

"Your master and Helen spoil you way to much. You're getting fat. You need to loose some weight." She poked his stomach.

 

"I'm not getting fat. It's just my feathers being a little fluffier than usual."

 

"Were do you think that entire leg of goat went last night?"

 

"Gone. Because of... eeh... Magic!"

 

"Listen, I'm a doctor. What we call you is a glutton. You're fat and overweight. You barely exercise. All you do at home is sleep in Helens pillow, waiting for her to come back home and stuff you with treats. It's not healthy."

 

"I'm a magical raven. Your argument is invalid."

 

"I'm a magical witch spymaster whose studied medicine and the human body. Your argument is invalid."

 

"Though have you ever studied a magical raven's body?"

 

"You're living, aren't you? Your stomach has been inflated of late. It means you have a weight problem."

 

"I do not have a weight problem. As long as I can fly I do no need to go on a diet."

 

"Keep telling yourself that."

 

"And I will. Thank you very much."

 

Lilly took out a cigar from her jacket pocket, using magic to lit it. She then walked down the corridor and turned a corner towards the stairs. She then decided to wait there, as the guards would have to pass by there when they brought Adrian in.

After a little while a guard came down into the dungeon and walked up to Lilly. "Colonel. There's a man up in the yard wanting to speak with the merchant."

 

"Who is it?" she extended her leather gloved hand, offering him a smoke.

 

The guard raised his hand to gesture that he turned the offer down. "Some nobleman. Didn't catch the name. He's having a discussion with the sarge right now."

 

"What did he look like?"

 

"Like any other imperial nobleman. Short brown hair and clean shave, fancy clothes."

 

Lilly let out a sigh, "Follow me then guardsman."

 

"Yes, sir." the guard said and complied.

 

She began to make her way to the courtyard, only stopping to return salutes.

 

"Keep moving. You can salute while walking. Come on, I want to see a proper sky." said Karsh impatiently.

 

"Proper protocol." She whispered, "Not like you would know it."

 

"No, I do not see the point to stop only to return weird hand gestures."

 

"You ravens don't have any sign of respect for ravens beyond their own station?"

 

"Ravens beyond their own station? We don't really such a hierarchy. Though we show 'respect' by not getting in the way of a stronger raven."

 

"So the bigger ravens bully the small ones?" She couldn't believe she was talking about bird society.

 

"Both yes and no. Bigger ravens of course got more weight if it comes to fighting. But we usually just try to steal if there's something we want."

 

"Hmmmmm. Any Political backstabbing?"

 

"We don't really have politics. And backstabbing doesn't really go further than: 'Hey look!' and then taking their food and flying off while they look away."

 

"Sounds refreshingly simple."

 

"It usually is. Though the plan for diverting that attention can sometimes be rather complex."

 

"Be ready. If Adrian makes a run for it, go after him. I'll use one of my daggers to incapacitate his running ability."

 

"Yeah, sure. Just follow the croaking raven."

 

Pushing the door open, she left the prison. Lilly found Amidius in the yard with the nobleman, just as the guard had told her. The nobleman she saw proved to be Maro. She could hear that he was insisting on meeting the merchant and that Amidius kept repeating that he would simply have to wait.

"What is the problem Maro?" She said as she approached the two men. 

 

"He wants to speak with merchant you apparently arrested." Amidius said before Maro could answer. 

 

Maro gave the sergeant a quick look that showed that he did not like to be interrupted. "I have invested money in his jewellery shop. I want to make sure I will still get my share." 

 

"That wont be possible. We don't allow prison visits to be people who have been arrested not hours ago." She approached him, giving Maro a sly grin, "Is it jewellery your really worried about?"

 

"Yes. Or at least the money it brings in. What are you suggesting at?"

 

"Skooma."

 

"What?" Maro said, confused. If he was not truly ignorant, then he did a good job faking it. 

 

"Don't play dumb with me."

 

"I honestly don't know what you mean by 'skooma'."

 

She approached him, eyeing him sharply, "The merchant told us everything."

 

"I don't know what your talking about. I'm just here to ensure I get a return on my investment."

 

She turned to the sergeant, "Arrest this man."

 

"On what grounds?" Maro protested.

 

"On the grounds of using an illegal substance." She yelled: "Guards! Escort him to his cell." 

 

Two guards came, grabbed Maro by his arms and forcefully led him to the dungeon. "You got no evidence! You got nothing on me!" Maro yelled back. 

 

"Sergeant. Report on the the other one I ordered arrested."

 

"What? Oh, right." the sergeant seemed a little confused and distracted by the arrest of Maro. "The guards you sent came back and said that he was gone. The servant apparently said he had packed and left late this morning."

 

"Shit." She started to scratch her chin, "Did he say where?"

 

"Nope. We can probably ask the neighbours. One of which you just arrested."

 

"Prepare the interrogation chamber sarge."

 

"You really think that is necessary? I mean they have no love for each other."

 

"Maro is going to be uncooperative now that he know we know he's been dealing and consuming skooma."

 

"How do you know that?"

 

"A very... suspicious hunch."

 

"That wont hold if it comes to trial."

 

"Just prepare the interogation chamber. I have my own methods of interrogation."

 

"Yes, sir." Amidius said a little reluctantly as he saluted Lilly before heading off towards the dungeon.

 

"Good soldiers follow orders, without questioning them." She said coldly to the raven.

 

"Though he's a guard and not a soldier." Karsh pointed out.

 

"Practically the same thing."

 

"From what I figure, guards are not that drilled in discipline."

 

"Hmmmm." Lilly shook her head and walked towards the dungeons.

 

[TheCzarsHussar]

The interrogation chamber was a little dark with only some light coming in through the small barred window at the top of the wall and the rest coming from a couple of candles on a small wooden table. Maro was seated on a simple wooden chair with arms in cross and a annoyed look on his face. Amidius had excused himself, suspecting what Lilly might do, and instead waited outside. A thick oak door was the only way in or out of the room and prevented almost all sound from escaping it.

 

Lilly gave the sergeant a cold smile, "Sarge. Make sure no one enters after me." 

 

"Yes, sir." he said unenthusiastically as the wooden door closed, effectively sealing the room.

 

"Now its just the two of us."

 

"Aheh." was all Maro responded with.

 

Lilly took a small knife out,"Your going to tell me everything."

 

"About what?"

 

"The skooma you drank at the party."

 

"I did not take any skooma at any party."

 

She smiled sadistically, "I'm a doctor you know. I can easily take apart a body just as well as I can put it back together."

 

"I have still not taken any skooma, ever." Then Lilly stabbed the small blade into his leg to which Maro gave up a loud cry of pain. "Is skooma all you care about when you're supposed to catch a murderer?"

 

"Skooma clouds the mind. I've already found one person who was drinking it."

 

"Well I haven't taken any. And you can't do this. Do you even any kind of evidence?"

 

"A hunch. At the least, I know you were involved in some way." She traced the edge of the knife across his chest.

 

Maro held his hands over the wound in the leg in an attempt to stop the bleeding. "Involved in what?"

 

"The skooma dealings that went on at that party." She cut into the flesh.

 

Maro let out another cry of pain. "I had nothing to do with that."

 

She dug it even deeper, "Now be a good boy and tell me."

 

"Aaagh! No, I... I..." Maro yelled.

 

"Tell me!" She screamed with force.

 

"I know that Caius sold some drugs at the party. That's all, I swear."

 

"How do you know that?"

 

"I noticed it in a quiet back room."

 

She eyed him with suspicion, "Tell me everything.  Every little detail."

 

"I saw him giving them a funny looking bottle and they gave him some gold. Now please heal these wounds."

 

"I need more if you want me too do that."

 

"What more do you want?"

 

"Is there any detail you've missed?"

 

"I didn't stay and watch. I didn't want to get mixed up with that."

 

"What was the real reason why you wanted to see him in prison?"

 

"Who? Caius?"

 

"Yes." 

 

"I told you: I invested money into his store and I want to make sure I still get a return on my investment."

 

"And coincidentally, right after he's been arrested for selling skooma?" Her facial expression radiated disbelief. 

 

"It's still true."

 

"I think your hiding something." She flourished her knife.

 

"It's true. I swear." he said almost pleadingly.

 

"Hmmm. How much did you invest into his business?"

 

"Quite a bit of money."

 

"And you knew nothing about his illegal activities?"

 

"Not really." Maro looked at the blade in Lilly's hand, seemingly afraid that the answer might not be what she wanted.

 

"What do you mean not really?"

 

"Well I told you about what I saw at the party. Though I don't know or care much about how he handles his business as long as I get my share."

 

"So your telling me you would have accepted his money even if it wade off drug sales?"

 

"Maybe, maybe not. I can't know for certain exactly where the money I get comes from. And I'm certain any money he makes of drugs would go into his own pocket."

 

"And yours apparently..."

 

"Impossible for me to tell. That you will need to ask him about." 

 

"Psst." Karsh said into Lilly's ear. "You do remember that Adrian is on the run, right?"

 

"Your friend Adrian is running from the law you should know."

 

"Doesn't surprise me." Maro replied.

 

"And why would that be? He murdered my informant. A young servant girl. Meaning I'm in a very... very foul mood." She flexed the small blade.

 

"I always figured he would be that kind of stupid asshole that would get himself into big trouble one day."

 

"Okay here how this is going to work. When I prosecute the bastard, you're going to be a key witness. Tell the court how much of an asshole he is. In return, I'll ignore your little... drug money deal you had with the merchant. And if you tell them what I did..." She gave a smile, "I'll take you to the merchant's cell and show you what happened to him."

 

"Testify? With me still bleeding like this? And don't you need to catch him before you can prosecute him?"

 

"Oh, but I do. I need to make him know what he did was very wrong." She knelt on the ground, placing her hand on his knee and conjuring a healing spell. She opened the interrogation chamber door and called out, "Guardsman, take him to the merchant." 

 

"Weren't you supposed to ask him where Adrian might have fled?" Karsh said.

 

"I'm trying to build up atmosphere and dread." She whispered.

 

"Whatever you will. Though Adrian is getting one step further and further away for each moment." Karsh replied as two guards passed by Lilly into the cell to pick Maro up.

 

"One more thing." She asked, "As much as you hate the man, you know him best. Were would he run too?" 

 

At first Maro just looked at Lilly, like if he was debating with himself whether to tell her or not. "He sometimes said something about family down in the green fields of the Niben."

 

"So the bastard is most likely going by land or going to the dock to get a ship." 

 

"How astute of you. Unless he's gotten wings, those are the only paths he can take." Karsh said sarcastically. 

 

She called for an additional guard, "Send a some men to the docks and make sure to inspect anyone who leaves through the main gate thoroughly."

 

"Yes, sir. But... uhm... who or what are we looking for?"

 

"Just make sure no one boards any ships. A nobleman by the name of Adrian." She whispered to Karsh, "Once were outside, fly to the waterfront district and look for the shrewd bastard."

 

"Yeah, yeah. And where are you going?" Karsh said.

 

"Right, and what does he look like?" said the guardsman as well almost at the same time Karsh spoke.

 

"Imperial, short brown hair, clean shaven and sharp features." She added, "Be as rough as possible with him if you catch the man."

 

"Yes, sir." the guard saluted her and hurried off.

 

The two guards that held Maro then walked off with him towards the part of the dungeon where the merchant was being held. When they had passed out of sight around a corner, Lilly could see that the sergeant gave her a quick weary look. It was clear from his expression that he did not like this at all. But he did not voice his concern and returned his gaze towards the floor. A moment passed and then the guards before the guards returned with Maro. The nobleman looked more stern than before. 

"You gods damned monster." he muttered to Lilly.

 

A psychotic grinned appeared on Lilly's face, "The thing is, my dear Maro. Is that I like hurting scum bags, a lot. Like your merchant friend." She took a vial out of her pocket and placed it near his face, "Shall I give you a sample of the same medicine?"

 

Maro recoiled from the vial, the guards let him get away from it but still held him in place so he could not run. "Just stay away from me." Maro said.

 

"You're not going to talk about any of this when you testify against Adrian? Or I'll make sure you suffer dearly." She edged the vial closer to his lips.

 

"Just get that thing away from me!"

 

"You need to promise." She slowly turned it over.

 

Maro turned his face away. "Alright, I promise. Just get that vile concoction away from me."

 

"Maybe you need a little taste."

 

"Sir, he said he promised." Amidius interrupted.

 

"Hmmmm. Fine." She put the vial back in her pocket, "Remember, Maro. As countess and Spymaster. I have very... interesting ways of making people disappear." 

 

"Will you let me go now?" Maro asked.

 

"Escort him out of the building guards."

 

Maro looked quite relieved as the two guards led him away. A moment after the footsteps had faded away, Amidius walked up to Lilly. "So what now?"

 

"We know were Adrian has most likely ran off to. I've already deployed two groups to secure the entrance out of the city by the main gate, and sent men to the docks to look for him." 

 

"Yeah, but what shall we do?" asked the sergeant. 

 

"You do know he was here and could hear when you gave the orders?" Karsh whispered.

 

She ignored the raven, "You go to the gate. Look for him with the men there. I'll cover the docks."

 

"Yes, sir." Amidius said and saluted before heading out. He too seemed to be relieved to leave.

 

"Well Karsh, do you too disapprove of my methods."

 

"Personally I think there wasn't enough eye gouging. Boss might disapprove though if you make too many unnecessary enemies."

 

"Maro is a petty noble. He's a bug compared to the Quentas family."

 

"If you say so. Though even bugs can be a pain if they get under the feathers."

 

"Don't you magpies eat bugs?"

 

"I'm a raven! But yes, I sometimes do."

 

"When I was a young girl and travelled through the great forests of Chorrol, I snacked on the occasional grub. Not that bad."

 

"You're weird."

 

"Very." She turned around, drawing one of her long knives from her belt. Placing her left hand on the blade, she channeled a spell, making the edge of the blade glow deep Lapis Lazuli blue before then sheathing it. She made her way to the prison entrance and whispered to the raven, "If you find him, report back to me."

 

"Shouldn't we get anywhere close to the docks first?"

 

"You scout ahead. But before that... You ever hunted a criminal before Karsh?" Her usual playful deadpan tone was replaced with a cold monotone voice, as she started to run fast.

 

"That depends on... Aagh! Not so fast while I'm still here!"

 

Lilly slowed down, "What do you mean depends?"

 

"Depends on what you consider a criminal."

 

"Shoot then." 

 

"Shoot who?"

 

"It's a human term for telling me something regardless of the validity of what your about to say. Tell me about these 'criminals'?"

 

"Well there's the cats in Leyawiin. Though I'm not sure if they are to be considered criminals or simple enemies."

 

"The Khajiit criminal ring? What role did you play in there... arrests?"

 

"Lookout and scout. And eye-pecker a couple of times."

 

"Not a bad resume. Did anything special for your family when you were a normal raven?"

 

"No. I was on my own after I left the nest."

 

"So what. You just flew around looking for food? Kinda like what you do now?"

 

"I don't do it always now. No need to when food comes to me."

 

******

 

Lilly and Karsh reached the Waterfront district, she gently tapped Karsh on the wing, "Go. Look for him. If you spot him, come back to me and report."

 

"Yeah, yeah. Though I bet he's hiding inside one of the boats." Karsh said before he flew off.

 

Lilly went as fast as she could to the nearest docks and asked the man in charge, "Has anyone hired any ships for transport recently?"

 

The man looked at her with a confused look. "I think you need to be a bit more precise. Most of these ships are hired to transport goods. And some of them work on a contract by contract basis."

 

"Let me rephrase that. What ships have left since morning?"

 

"Three that I know of so far. Some may be a little late to get reported in, so I wont know for sure till the end of the day."

 

"Any scheduled to leave soon?"

 

"I think two others are leaving a bit later today. I'm sorry, but I don't have any exact information outside of the official ships."

 

"Hmmmm, which ones?"

 

"Well the Sea Rose is docked near the center, and the Wind-something is at the third or fourth pier. I also think the small Argonian trading ship docked at the far end might also be leaving soon. Can never tell with those lizards though."

 

"Any of the captains shady?" She asked, her eyebrows raised.

 

"Well the lizards are always shady. I've heard the captain of the Sea Rose is a little creepy. And I know nothing of the other captain."

 

"What do you mean by, 'A little creepy'?" Lilly hated racial profiling, but, she had to admit, Argonians tended to be involved in criminal activity.

 

"Apparently he thinks himself more suave than he actually is."

 

She took a small notebook, along with a quill and a tiny ink container which was covered. "Can you write down the locations of the three ships please?"

 

"Ehm, sure." he took the quill and tried his best to write at the unstable paper, repeating what he had said a little earlier. "The Argonian ship will be easy to spot. It's ship design... well it's a bit unique in these parts. The Sea Rose is painted in a dark red color so I guess you shouldn't have trouble finding it either. The last ship looks like most ships and you'll have to ask those nearby for it's exact location."

 

"Thanks. By the way, have you seen a squad of guardsmen around recently?"

 

"More than the occasional patrol? No. Though the docks are big. I can have missed them by chance."

 

"Alright. Thanks for your time." She glanced up to the sky in a futile attempt to find Karsh. There were some birds in the sky, but all were seagulls. "****." Lilly looked at her surroundings. Filth and Squalor, along with the smell of decaying and rotten fish lingered around the dockyard. glancing at her notepad, and headed to the first ship. As suspected, the captain, a Breton in his early fifties seemed like a nice enough man, and after a thorough inspection of his ship, Lilly had no reason to suspect him for harbouring the nobleman. Next on her notebook was the Red Rose. It didn't take her too long to find. Approaching one member of the crew, who was very dirty and ragged looking, Lilly asked, "Crewman. Where's your captain?" 

 

The man didn't reply but just pointed at the door at upper rear of the ship. Nodding her head in response, she went over to the door and knocked on it. 

"What is it?" she heard a man shouting from the other side.

 

"Colonel Lillin Quentas of the Pentiulas Oculatus. I need a moment of your time."

 

"Just a minute!" the man yelled again. It took a moment before the man quickly came out through the door and shut it almost before he was out. He looked to be a man in his late thirties, an imperial with short brown hair and muttonchops. His clothes were one the fancy side and he was busy fixing the sleeve to even look at Lilly.

 

"Captain, are you all right?" She said with a questioning look.

 

"Yes, why wouldn't I be?" he said and went on to fixing the other sleeve.

 

"You seem a little...distracted."

 

"It's just that these sleeves are hard to keep properly folded." he said as he straightened his shirt and then gave Lilly a bow. "Captain Amiel at your service."

 

"Lets get straight to business. Are you providing transport for anyone today?"

 

"Well this is a transport ship. We got a few rooms reserved for passengers."

 

"I need your personnel manifest immediately."

 

"A what?" he said and gave Lilly a blank stare of confusion.

 

"A... list of people who have registered for transportation on your ship." 

 

"Yeah, we don't have that."

 

Hmmmmm...

She slowly began to channel a calm spell, the green glow hidden by her black leather gloves. Lilly, unlike her sister, always excelled at illusion magic, she made the necessary adjustments to make sure he didn't notice that she was controlling the situation with magic. She gave him a smile and described the fugitive she was hunting, asking him if she had him on his ship.

 

The captain shrugged. "I don't know."

 

"You don't know... if someone hired you to transport them?" She said, with plain disbelief.

 

"If someone wants to tag along to the next harbor and got enough money and doesn't look like they just crawled out of the gutter, they will get shown to a room and that'll be the end of that. And I don't even handle the passengers."

 

"What kinda of incompetence is that? So who would know?"

 

"Our quartermaster is the one who handles the passengers and tradegoods. Though he's off picking up some goods we've been hired to transport."

 

"Show me to those rooms, right now."

 

"This way then." He said walked down a couple of stairs and then turned right to a small hallway with four small door on the right side. "Here they are."

 

Lilly cast a detect life spell, glancing into each of the rooms for her target. Three of the rooms lit up with one person in each. Two seemed to be lying on a bed while the third was sitting on it. The door flung open and inside was an elderly Redguard sitting in the bed, leaning against the wall. He was holding a book which he stopped reading to look up at the intrusion with a shocked and confused look.

 

"Can you calm the shit down? I'm trying to take a nap." Lilly heard a familiar voice yell from the corridor. 

 

Lilly slowly drew her knife, backing away back into the hallway. She went to the room were the voice had been coming from and slammed the door open with her foot.

 

"What the..." was all Adrian managed to say before he froze in place as he saw Lilly.

 

"Hello Adrian." A disturbing smile appeared on her lips, grinning like a bob cat. She slowly approached the man, readying a shock spell. Adrian tried to get out of the bed but Lilly let her knife fly into the man's shoulder, cutting through the side of the shoulder hooking him to the wall with the clothes. Bringing up her left hand, which was glowing with electricity, she conjured a weak spark of lightning at the man, just enough to cause him great pain, but not enough power to damage him. And Adrian began to shriek in pain as he tried to cover up the wound his other hand.

 

"You actually think you could escape me." She went over gave a kick into his gut.

 

"You bloody palace whore." Adrian said as he now held his hand over the wound, trying desperately to stop the bleeding.

 

"You really thought after killing my informat, I would let you leave alive?" Lilly retrieved the dagger and grabbed him by the neck, channelling a strength spell through her limbs to lift him by the throat and slammed him on the wall on the other side of the room.

 

"Kill... who?" he stammered.

 

"Abigail. You killed her. You bastard, she had children to support!" Her hand began to squeeze. 

 

"I don't know who that is." Adrian almost stuttered out wearily. 

 

"The servant girl! You hired that man to kill her."

 

"What man?"

 

She twisted her knife deeper, "Don't play dumb with me." She slammed her fist into his face with enough force to knock the man unconscious. Adrain gave up a whimper that was cut short as the hit made his body slumped together like a sack of potatoes when he fell from consciousness. Lilly closed the wound on the shoulder and went to the very frightened captain, "Cap'n can you please fetch me a squad of imperial watch guardsmen?"

 

"Uhm..." was all the captain mumbled as he was unsure of what was even going on. 

 

"Look for a group of armored imperial watch soldiers. Tell them that colonel Quentas needs them, and lead them to your ship." She said deadpanly.

 

The captain looked like he was to begin the to protest when the elderly Redguard spoke up: "I'll do it." he said quickly and ran off and up the stairs.

 

Lilly waited there patiently, fixing a little with her messy hair. Hmmmm, I'll need to take a bath when I get home.

 

"Would you at least get off my ship now that you're done?" the captain finally managed to say.

 

She jokingly glared at him, her striking Lapis Lazuli eyes potraying hostility, "Of course." She slumped the unconscious man over her shoulder, heading to the wooden dock. Half a minute later the Redguard came with two guards in tow. 

She nodded to them "Alight lads, I need you to deliver this scum bag to the dungeon." 

The two guards first looked on with a little confused look as if waiting for an explanation. But then they just followed the orders and picked up the unconscious nobleman.

[TheCzarsHussar]

When they arrived back at the Bastion, Lilly found to her surprise someone who claimed to be a lawyer sent there on the account of the Ador family regarding Adrian. Adrian had woken up by then and the first thing he did was to go on about how he had been unjustly accused and arrested and how he had received a dagger in his shoulder from Lilly. It became a drawn out and heated debate about evidence, legal formalities and technicalities. When the news of a monster ravaging the city they were so tied up in their dispute that barely any attention was diverted to it. Lilly quickly asked if they moving in to deal with the threat and if the thing was coming their. Once she got the answer that they were trying to move in and deal with it and it wasn't heading their way, she dismissed the guard and continued the dispute. In the end it came down to whether Adrian was going to sit in the prison or instead get house arrest with a guard watching his house. Lilly won, but not completely. Adrian was thrown in prison but he was going to get a cell on the upper floors. So while Adrian wasn't having the comfort of home in his arrest, he wouldn't have suffer the filth and staleness that was underground. It frustrated Lilly greatly but the lawyer was steadfast and vigilant. Which only annoyed Lilly even more.

 

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

 

Later when she had found out the crisis had subsided she sat in her office in the imperial palace, with a cigar in her mouth and a glass of fine Cyrodilic brand in her hand. The day had been long and she couldn't wait to relax. Her long platinum hair was still messy, as well as caked in dry blood. On her wooden desk was Lilly's ebony short blade.

 

Albecias Plebo huffed as he climbed the stairs, finally bending over as he reached Lilly's office's level. Why anyone ever decided to build a palace based around towers, he would never know. Taking a few moments to compose himself, he then knocked on the office door.

 

"Who is it?" Lilly's voice came from beyond the door.

 

"Albecias Plebo." the writer said.

 

"Enter."

 

The writer did, and quickly took a seat across from Lilly. He didn't want his legs to collapse from that infernal staircase climb. "Any updates on your case, Spymaster?"

 

Noticing his discomfort Lilly's eyebrows raised, "Some major developments. Are you alright?"

 

"The stairs. I'm not on the best of shape." Taking out a pen and piece of parchment, he leaned onto the desk to write. "Care elaborate?"

 

"You need some exercise. May I suggest joining the legion for a drill?"  Lilly was in excellent shape herself, she used magic to enhance her strength and stamina, as well as keeping her body youthful and attractive. Lilly then relied the events of the day to the author, very careful to leave out the extreme forms of interrogation she engaged in, as well as her almost sadistic joy she carried them out with. "The bastard wasn't very clever. He should have laid low for awhile, instead of idiotically hopping onto the first available transport ship." 

 

Albecias carefully took note, and when he finally finished looked up from the paper. "Yes, it seems he was quite foolish." He put his things away, and seemed primed to leave, but stopped short of getting up. "Colonel, what do you know of our soon to be Emperor? I'm preparing for an interview with he and the Empress, but am having trouble digging up much about him."

 

"I know he comes from a very well to do, but little known family in Bruma. Apparently, he can trace his roots back to one of Skyrim's long defunct royalty." She said, rather plainly.

 

"Ah, I see. Thank you. I wasn't quite sure where his royal lineage lay." Albecias finally rose and, with a sigh, began the long walk down the White-Gold tower's steps.

 

Some time later the door opened without as much as a knock and Skjari walked into the room. He looked a bit weary and the clothes were a bit of a mess. "You done with your murder case?" he asked as he closed the door and then sat down in the chair opposite of Lilly.

 

"Nope." She offered him a smoke, as she placed her feet on her desk, with her hands at the back of her head, " You look beat."

 

Skjari raised his hand in a gesture that he turned down the smoke. "What do you expect from a day like this."

 

"Eh, some big scary monster gets loose." She shrugged, "Martullus, you, and Grommash put it down. It's not like it's coming back."

 

"And now what's left of it is getting burnt to make sure it doesn't. And how can you be so calm about it all?"

 

"No use getting worked up. I've seen worst abominations in my time in my coven."

 

"Do I even want to ask?"

 

Lilly's eyes narrowed down, as her face went dark, "You don't."

 

"Well... Do you mind putting together a list of known necromancers here in Cyrodiil?"

 

She choked on her cigar, "Bahhh...what? You do know that would be massive!"

 

"Really? I thought necromancers kept themselves secret. Or do you know something I don't? Anyway, then try to limit it to necromancers and groups of necromancers that might have had the capability to create today's... spectacle."

 

"I can do better. I've seen similar flesh magic before."

 

"Yes and no. I've seen it in one of our dark Sabbaths, but the practitioners were from Skyrim, not my coven." She scratched her chin inquisitively, "If I recall, they were based in Falkreath."

 

"Well chances are someone might have 'borrowed' that knowledge then. Known necromancers would be the place to start."

 

"Hmmm. Your coven was based in Skyrim. Have you seen anything like this before?" She asked, curiously.

 

"No. My coven was not into flesh magic. It was more into a... spiritual form of magic."

 

"Explain."

 

"What have I said about my coven?"

 

"That you didn't want to talk about it." Lilly paused for a second, "Lady Grey was spreading a rumor among the family that you kidnapped children and sacrificed them on altars."

 

"I hope she's just being silly. Anyway, can you put together this list?"

 

"She just wants attention. I'll get it to you by the end of the week."

 

"Good. Anything else?"

 

"No. Go to the royal chambers. I got a little paperwork to finish up. Then I'll join you." she said with a little mischievous, yet also a little tired smile.

 

Skjari lingered in the chair for a couple of seconds before reluctantly getting up from the comfortable seated position. "Sure." he said and then silently departed from the room.

 

[TheCzarsHussar]

Black Horse Courier

 

**

 

Monster Attacks Elven Garden District

 

By Nael

 

 

A terribly sad and unfortunate tragedy struck the Imperial City, when a horrendous beast was somehow let loose in the Elven Garden District. One witness described it as having numerous legs, and said it was made out of the bodies of humans. A Legion official, who asked to remain anonymous, said that they believe it to be a corrupted form of flesh golem, but are unsure where exactly it came from, and who could have conjured it.

 

Sadly, the death toll is high, with as many as a dozen people dying to the creature before two valiant generals help kill it. General Grommash Hell-Cry of the 7^th legion and General Martullus Fury-Blade of the 2^nd legion, along with Lord Snow-Strider, all helped dispatch the monstrosity.

 

Some heroics accompanied this sad event, as several city guardsmen will receive the Empress’ highest commendation, though many will receive it postmortem. Also, an Altmer woman is said to have charged the monster to save a child, grabbing the kid moments before the beast would have killed it. Needless to say, several bystanders praised all those who helped kill the monster, though some wondered what could be the cause.

 

As of today, there is little rumor or news as to who or what caused this monster to attack, and the Imperial Palace was mum on the subject. Until we learn, it is best to take all speculation as just that, and be careful upon whom the blame is placed. We will update as we learn more of this horrible tragedy.

 

**

 

Sunbird Decimates Imperial Flotilla

 

By Shelur gra-Borbug

 

 

High Admiral Tacitus Meridius barely escaped with his life when his raiding group fell into a Thalmor trap, supposedly set by the Altmer General Corio Adorin. The raiding party sought to attack and destroy an arms shipment heading for the Valenwood coast, when a ship made of light appeared. According to the sailors, the ship began using mirrors to focus magical beams of sunlight at the ships, destroying seven out of the eight Imperial vessels.

 

The Imperial ships were able to damage a Thalmor vessel, but all attacks against the Sunbird proved futile. The vessel also made what one sailor described as a “jump,†disappearing and reappearing a few miles away, cutting off two fleeing ships. The Sunbird’s power was limited, however, as it made no such jump when the High Admiral’s ship fled.

 

The High Admiral and General Adorin have a feud, according to one sailor, who said it was the General who severed the High Admiral’s arm when he disappeared earlier in the year. Some members of the Elder Council berated Admiral Meridius for falling prey to such a trap, and questioned whether or not he was fit to lead. Of course, this could be due to some members’ resentment that one of their own is not High Admiral. Others praised his overall effort in slowing down the Dominion’s shipping. However, the Elder Council voted to suspend raiding against the Dominion, citing the increased risk now that they have shown the willingness to deploy Sunbirds. The White-Gold tower appears it will also move to suspend the raiding.

 

When reached for comment on the suspension and Sunbird attack, High Admiral Meridius had this to say, “[censored] them, they can all go [censored] themselves. In fact, why don’t they pull their [censored] out of each others’ [censored] and let the real men work. [censored] [censored] politicians.â€

 

**

 

High General Ceno Escapes Assassination

 

By Izara Nasser

 

 

Contrary to previous reports, the fire started in the Waterfront District a week ago was not an accident. It appears Thalmor operatives started the fire, when they sought to trap the High General in an abandoned shack. High General Ceno was lead to believe that the shack held a person of interest in a case of his falsified records, as he traced back the source to the shack, whereupon he was ambushed. He managed to fight off the assassins, and kill them both, while sustaining relatively minor wounds in return.

 

During the vetting process, it was discovered someone had planted false information in High General Ceno’s records, but it was brushed off as a clerical error. However, the High General looked into it, and traced it back to Baron Paur Dielle, of the Elder Council, who was found tied to a chair in his own study. However, that too was a trap, and the Baron was killed along with two guards. But a note was found on the body, and the High General traced it to the Waterfront District.

 

There, the shack he entered was set aflame, and upon exiting he was confronted by two Thalmor Justicars. At that point, details are sketchy, and the High General would confirm nor deny anything, but a bystander reported hearing a large explosion, and our sources say the bodies of the Justicars were found seared to the bone. The High General was injured in the left shoulder.

 

Continuing his investigation, High General Ceno found that Legate Platorius, a skooma addict from the 6^th legion, was also serving as a Thalmor spy, after Thalmor dossiers were found in his tent, along with several bottles of the drug. Platorius’ trial recently resulted in the Legate receiving life imprisonment, although our sources in the Imperial Prison say the man has yet to confess.

 

Upon being asked why he didn’t advocate for execution, Ceno said, “[the legate] may help us, when he chooses to tell us what he knows.â€

 

**

 

Nordic Forces Clash with Forsworn

 

By Stentus Urgelian

 

 

Over the past few months, Nordic forces have been attempting to root out the Daedra worshipping Forsworn. Long have the Reachmen been a problem, even back before Skyrim’s independence. No doubt it was a priority for High King Ulfric that the Forsworn be rooted out, as he famously took back the city of Markarth from them in the aftermath of the Great War.

 

However, he did not send his High General, Baldur Red-Snow, to deal with the Reachmen, but instead left the task to General Brund Hammer-Fang. As you may recall, Red-Snow was the man behind the Legion’s Camp Romulus defeat, as well as allying with High General Ceno at Falkreath. Back to the Reach, where the Nords have been slowly and methodically ousting the Forsworn.

 

But, reports suggest that High King Stormcloak, for unknown reasons, may have sent General Galmar Stone-Fist to assist General Hammer-Fang. This could be a sign of potential distrust between Ulfric and his general, or simply a case of two heads being better than one.

 

Another note from Skyrim suggests that the new Nordic city of Kyne’s Watch is now frequently trading with the Breton cities of Farrun and Jehanna. No doubt that, with the earlier report of King Adrard being in Skyrim, the Bretons and Nords will continue to build stronger relationship. This reinforces the previous rumor that the Bretons convinced Hammerfell and Skyrim to drop trading contracts with Cyrodiil in favor of High Rock.

 

**

 

Several Arrests Made in Case of Murdered Noblewoman

 

By Albecias Plebo

 

 

The investigation into the murder of Maressa Tridus gained new life recently, as the questioning of skooma addict and party crasher Zedrick Horatius revealed that previous suspect, jewelry store owner Caius, was supplying the partygoers with skooma. Spymaster Lilly Quentas arrested him, and nobleman Maro Salvius as well, whom she says helped fund his drug ring.

 

Unfortunately, a servant serving as Colonel Quentas’ informant was killed by a hired thug, who was silencing her for Adrian Ador, who is a suspect in the murder of Tridus. Ador, who is a well-known rival of Salvius, tried to escape, hiding onboard a ship in the harbor. Thankfully, Colonel Quentas found him before the ship could leave port, and arrested him as well.

 

While many arrests were made, no one has of yet been charged with Maressa Tridus’ murder, though all the principle suspects will likely see significant time in jail regardless of who actually committed the murder. Maressa’s father, Elder Councilman Martheon Tridus, called the news “wonderful,†and profusely thanked Colonel Quentas for her thorough investigation.

 

**

 

Baldur Red-Snow’s Book of Poems, Reviewed

 

By Gilyn Thalor

 

 

Much to the shock of many, Skyrim’s High General recently released a book of poetry. And no, these are not rugged poems praising the untamed wilds of the Nordic frontier, but love poems, soft and romantic, with ideas of love at their center. While some fall a little flat, most others paint the reader a wonderful picture of his love, Skyrim’s High Admiral, while also showing how deep their love goes. While the book features dozens of the General’s poems, I’ve chosen a selection that I think accurately represents the types of poems you’ll find inside the book.

 

“What is True Beauty†is probably the weakest of the ones selected, and shows an area Baldur the Bard can improve. While his love is ever present in the words, the descriptions and word choice lack the same style and elegance of other poems. By no means is it awful, but when compared to the rest, it falls a little flat. Thankfully, very few poems reflect this, and I was hard pressed to find many that I would describe as average.

 

“Writing in Ecstasy, with Thee†represents the lewd side of Red-Snow’s writing, and he does little to disguise it. Yes he calls his member a pen, and his wife’s parts a book, it does not take long for all manner of subtly to disappear. The opening line ironically expresses that, in that he “lost all sense of subtly.†Yet, the thinly veiled metaphor is apt, and plays on words and ideas associated with writing and penmanship excellently. I found myself smiling when, at the end, he lost all pretense of analogy and declared “By the gods, that ass.†This poem, while showing his penchant for lewdness, also displays the fun in which he can have, and it shows.

 

“Wayward Sun†and “Wide Eyed Slumber†are equally representative of Red-Snow’s ability to seamlessly transition his love into well-formed metaphors, when he so chooses, and shows us that the lack of refinement in “Ecstasy†is him having fun, not him lacking the ability to veil his meaning. And while neither “Sun†nor “Slumber†is especially complex, they both do well to not outright say the meanings. But, because the book is one of love poems, the deeper message is easily understood.

 

Finally, “Eye of Kyne’s Storm†and “Mundane is Your World†wrap up the poetry of Baldur Red-Snow. While not overly complex, they craft with both broad and elegant strokes just how deep and cemented the Red-Snow’s love is, while using language that evokes the sense of untamable liveliness so synonymous with Skryim.

 

So there you have it. Baldur Red-Snow, while new to the published scene, is obviously an experienced poet, and it shows. While some of the poems fall flat, even in those his rhyme scheme is excellent, and there is no doubt that he truly loves his wife, who he is presumably writing about. For those that enjoy poetry, the book is a must read.

 

 

**

 

News in Brief

 

By Eyja the Wordsmith

 

 

-A minor prison break in Skingrad resulted in half a dozen inmates escaping, including two scheduled for execution. Three have already been rounded up, but so far searches for the others have come up empty.

 

-Large groups of Orcs have begun moving through Cyrodiil, heading for their new refuge of the Valus Mountains, away from the usually hostile Bretons and Redguards. Their route has been line with numerous Dunmer, however, who are protesting the move as they feel it will result in raiding on the still weakened Morrowind.

 

-Rumors continue to surface that Governor Jeleen of Sentinel killed a Forebear Chieftain in a duel. Details are scarce, but several said the Governor used his immense belly to knock the Chieftain to the ground before killing him. The Governor was instrumental in Hammerfell’s alliance with both Skyrim and Cyrodiil, and this could be a precursor to a united Hammerfell. 

 

 

**

 

Note: There will be no interview for this edition, as High Admiral Meridius vehemently refused the repeated requests made by Albecias Plebo. The next edition will feature the High Chancellor of the Elder Council, Doron Zethus.

 

[TheCzarsHussar]

Daric, Maric

Markarth

Night

 

"Ah!"

 

"Hnh!"

 

"Uhkk!"

 

Those were the last words... or rather gurgles, gasps and sounds of many a man. Daric was half right. The Forsworn were indeed waiting for Magnus' gaze to fall before their attack. However, that didn't stop them from trading arrows with their men all throughout the godsdamned day. Daric was still behind the large rock he and his father were sitting on. His ass had fallen to sleep at least seven times hiding, and somehow he managed to attract ants in his crack lollygagging around while the savages above enjoyed their game. At least they helped break up the boredom a bit...

 

"Where the **** is Brund already?" Daric said. "We should have sent a team up there or something, not just sit around here letting them pick at us!"

 

More and more Sir Thomas Maric was doubting the ability of this General Brund. His son was right, the archers needed dealing with, yet nothing was done to try and stop them from raining down death from above.

Still crouched, the knight shifted his weight from one foot to the other. They needed to move, to loosen up, to be ready to the inevitable attack, not sitting his cowering like babes under a blanket.

"The Witchmen could have people lying in wait for an attack on the archers, but gods damn it, I'd rather be caught in a trap and fighting than sitting here. Could you gather some men to deal with the archers?" the knight asked.

 

Daric's brow raised. "Me? I... I don't know. I don't know if they'll listen to me."

 

Thomas gave a soft smile. "You're one of them, Daric. Someone's got to do something and by the nine it's going to have to be us. People respect men of action, and I know there are many just as anxious to get out from behind these rocks."

 

Daric looked around quickly, judging the mood of the others from their faces. They mostly seemed just about as faithless in Brund now as he did. Brund gave the order for everyone to stay put, but if he could only find a score of good men... a dozen even.

 

Looking back to his father, the look of determination on his face apparent, he said, "Alright, I'll do it. Give me... five minutes. Ten at the most."

 

The knight nodded. "That's my boy. Let's get this done."

 

***

"Is it time yet?"

 

"Patience, general. The moons aren't out yet."

 

"I don't care about your blasted moons and your weird shit."

 

"Your men will, though. If you want them to fight with the spirit of the gods, you'll listen."

 

Brund's nostrils flared as he wiped the sweat from his brow. The tent of the man before him was small and compact, crowded with various animal furs and strange little trinkets made from chicken feet and other weird shit. Brund cared for none of it. It reminded him too much of the fucks out there sending arrows down on them.

 

Brund watched as the man went through his rituals, praying to his god and mumbling as he painted his body in blood made into ink, running a trail over his missing left eye and circling around his good one. The man they simply referred to as Priest looked more Sheo- touched than any khajiit, which Brund attested to the moon sugar that he snorted up his nose before running some sort of mud mixture through his hair to make it stand up almost like horns. It was a sight to behold, and a sight he never quite did get used to seeing in his years of service as a Stormcloak.

 

Brund stared at the man now with a disgusted look as he held a skull in his hands, making kissing noises like calling over a dog before snorting more moonsugar from within.

 

"Want some, child?"

 

"No. Not this time. It won't do anything for me."

 

Grinning, the priest tightened the straps of his armor, covering his shoulder with the head of a relatively freshly killed goat. "Yes, you used to love the stuff. But now that you mimic him, the moon sugar will not effect you in that way. But the others will assume it has."

 

"That's what I want," said Brund.

 

"Yes, that will cover the truth. You are like the Lord when he first found his heart. Reunited, but still not at full strength. Remember that, Brund. Being Shor-Like is where the Briars truly draw their strength from, whether they know it or not. But that is also their greatest weakness, and yours."

 

"No shit, 'Jhunal'. I've got it covered up."

 

"...Heh, good," said the priest, with his rattling voice as if bees were caught in his throat. "The volunteers should be well under the influence of my mixture by now. They should be ready to depart when you're ready. I'll lead them this time."

 

"Wanting to get your dick wet this time, I see. Good, good. It'll be like old times."

 

"Old times, yes, old times. It's been a while since I've met my captors. Time to reunite."

 

"Brund!" called a voice from outside of their tent. Only person ballsy enough to yell at him was Galmar. Sure enough, the old grizzled bear stuck his head between the animal skin slit, grimacing immediately from the smells inside. "Ugh, you smell just like those savages out there. Are you done chatting in here? We need to go now! That boy and his father are gone, and they took fifteen of our boys with them."

 

"What? Why?" asked Brund.

 

"Why do you think? They got impatient, that's why."

 

"Stupid boy, they'll walk right into an ambush and be slaughtered. I've been preparing for this, though. No matter. Ready Priest?"

 

"Aye, Hammer-Fang, he he he he," said the priest. His laugh was dry and lifeless, as if his throat needed water. Galmar shook his head, then got the **** out of the tent. He had no patience for people with addled minds.

 

"I remember when Nords needed nothing but courage in their heart and steel in their hands. Those were the good old days," said Galmar, watching the men sitting near the tent. He had to admit though, what he saw was more than courage in their eyes. What he saw was madness. They were lacking on Grim Ones, so these men would be the next best thing.

 

**

The Forsworn ambushed them, as expected, and soon the party led by Sir Maric and his son was surrounded. Seventeen good men, beset on all sides by the Daedra worshipping Witchmen who'd set the trap. It was as predictable as snow in winter, or sea water being salty. The Reachmen were masterful guerrilla warriors, so they would obviously make use of those skills.

All this presented the perfect opportunity for Thomas and Daric. The archers couldn't fire, for risk of hitting their own, and the Nords and two Bretons were able to form up into a square formation. They hid behind their shields, fighting the Forsworn one on one. They didn't have to worry about their backs, and could easily dispatch the brutal, yet untrained natives.

Sir Maric parried the blow of a rusted and chipped iron sword, then bashed the woman's nose in before sliding his blade through her unprotected midsection, the fur armor providing protection from only the cold. He was shocked to hear a slight clang on his armor, and looked down to see an arrow lying at his feet. Apparently, not all the archers were so concerned with their brethren they didn't fire. But the animal bone arrowhead didn't so much as scratch the Ebony armor, and the knight couldn't help but chuckle even as he took on another opponent.

 

Daric wasn't as easy going about it all like his father was, not yet having the confidence to laugh at death in the face. Only thing he saw was an arrow striking his pa, which caused his hands to react in place of his mind. Upper cutting an old man across the face, Daric weeded through some of the savages, taking a wood axe from one of their belts and chucking it at the one who shot at Sir Maric. The axe buried itself with a thunk in the man's shoulder, putting him down, though not killing him. Still, he wouldn't be shooting anymore arrows.

 

One of the Forsworn tried grabbing him from behind and soon found his second blade going through their jaw and brain before they got too far. "Father!" Called Daric, as two more ambushers came rushing for the young warrior.

 

Sir Maric admired his son's axe throw, and despite the situation, mentally noted Daric should take it up. The thoughts were soon dispelled when the boy's cry reached the knight's ears. Thomas rushed forward, using his shield to plow through the Forsworn. He continued barreling until he tackled one of the Witchmen attacking his son. They wrestled on the ground, until the knight found himself atop the Reach native. Thomas' armored fists pummeled the man's face until brain oozed from where his eyes has been.

He dismounted the dead foe and turned to see the other Forsworn approaching him. This proved to be a mistake, as his wood and bone weapon would never pierce the knight's armor. But, he wouldn't even make it far enough to find that out, as suddenly the berserk cries of half a score drugged Nords echoed off the hills. They poured forth like Sheogorath's chosen, flailing about with their weapons, biting off ears and tongues and throats, hissing and howling, while never so much as flinching when taking a blow. Many showed mortal wounds that would knock other men off their feet, yet these crazed soldiers fought on as if nothing had touched them. One had an arrow protruding where his left eye should have been, but he ripped it out and used the broken shaft to stab a man a dozen times, before slumping over on top of him as he finally died.

As far as distractions went, it was the pinnacle. Sir Maric, with his son alongside, rallied their group and charged the awe stricken archers. The ones that didn't die fled, and the ones that did flee left the stank of their urine behind. Sir Maric personally took up the bow of an archer he killed, and commenced firing at the fleeing, while some of the insane Nords chased them down. The Breton did not doubt those Nords would follow the retreaters until they died of exhaustion.

 

Daric was exhausted trying to keep up with his father, and only barely managed to get the **** out of the way with the rest of the men when the crazed Stormcloaks came rushing in like things possessed. He almost lost the meager amounts of food he had as is from seeing some of the injuries they had. But that was to be expected from so few men charging in like animals. Only now did Daric notice Brund was among them when a man went flying off their feet. And then, some freaky looking man picked the woman up by her neck an tore her cheek off before hacking off her head.

 

As the general approached them, Daric couldn't help but wear a look of disgust. It was obvious those men were drugged. Likely so he wouldn't have to risk more men. "Good work," said Brund. "You disobeyed my orders... but good work. It all worked out for the best anyway."

 

Thomas removed his helm and nodded at Daric. "He deserves the praise. If he didn't command the respect he did, this wouldn't have been possible."

 

"The job would have gotten done with or without you. I am not thanking you. I'm merely congratulating you for not screwing things up."

 

"At least our way didn't require as many drugged up soldiers to throw away their lives!" Yelled Daric, fierce eyed. When he did, the strange haired Nord walked up from behind Brund with one of the dead Stormcloak's heads in his hand.

 

Running a finger through his lips before working the jaw as if to speak, the Priest said, "You misunderstand, lad. These were sacrifices, yes, but they were willing! They did not possess the will of the Nord. They were embarrassments to their land and King. So I instilled the spirit of the moons within them so that they could please our lord and die with honor."

 

"They were pathetic wastes of space!" said Brund. "They were lucky to be offered such an important task. They came in as milkdrinkers and slouches, slackers that could not get over their conscription, and they died as berserkers. Like REAL men."

 

Sir Maric took one look at the new arrival, spat, and said, "You're both as fucked up as the Forsworn. Drugging your own men is as low as a commander can get. Inspire your men, don't force them to take drugs. Or set them to guard duty, reserves, hell, let them dig latrine ditches."

 

The two Nords looked to one another, eventually sharing a laugh. "There will be no especially assigned latrine diggers. Everyone fights, or everyone dies! If they fought bravely like their kinsmen, they would have no need for this. Now. Go take up positions where the archers were. There's boulders on the cliffside, and the enemy should be attacking the actual city very soon."

 

The Breton knight gave one last scowl before moving off. Once Daric left Brund and the strange Nord, Thomas said, "You have any wounds need healing? Every noble in High Rock has a cursory knowledge of magic, and being a knight I found it useful to learn restoration. Though now I wish I knew how to conjure up a bow."

He kicked around the Forsworn archers, finding only their short wooden and bone bows. Good against fur and leather, but not much else. Luckily that's all the Forsworn would be wearing. Still, they weren't like to do a lot of damage.

 

"I'm fine," said Daric, still shaken by what he saw not too long ago. How could Baldur let such a monster in command, he'd never know. It was a betrayal, as far as Daric was concerned. These were crimes.

 

Daric was obviously exhausted physically and mentally, even if he wouldn't admit it. Something he'd grown accustomed to doing. He also felt a pit in his stomach at hearing his father knew magic for some reason, and didn't wish to see it.

 

"So when we launch the boulders..." Lets get the **** out of here. Was what Daric wanted to say, but the Stormcloaks at his back and watching, waiting for his word of all people... "When we launch these boulders! We'll come down this mountainside and attack from behind before we reunite with the rest of our guys by Markarth! Understand?"

 

"Aye!" was all the response Daric got, no snickering, no wise cracks. Somehow Daric found what he was looking for all this time, and didn't even realize he had it. Respect.

 

Smiling, he said, "Then good! Get ready, I can hear them coming!"

 

Sir Maric couldn't help but be proud of his son. He'd only known him for a short period of time, and yet it was evident that he commanded respect, even at a young age. He also noticed some apprehension, which he may have only caught because Daric had earlier mentioned his dislike of fighting.

Thomas was a warrior, he fought because he enjoyed it, loved the thrill of pitting his skill against others. His son, and even some of the veteran knights he knew, were soldiers, who fought because they had to. It didn't make them any less skilled, but the ghosts of those they killed seemed to haunt the soldiers more than the warriors.

It didn't much matter either way, yet he wouldn't be surprised if dreams of the dead kept Daric awake at night. And yet he was good at leading men. His son was smart, moral, a good fighter, the best of his father's qualities without the worst. Thomas wouldn't question superiors, not in High Rock. Everyone had an agenda, and secrecy was key. Already he discovered King Adrard was a conniving man, and who knows what else he might discover.

The time for reflection suddenly came to a screeching halt, as the war cries of the Forsworn grew ever louder. Thomas, crouching behind his boulder, looked to Daric for the cue. They got it, and a dozen boulders came rolling down the hill. Some of the Reachmen tried to warn the others, but many couldn't get out of the way. Those that did soon found themselves fighting, as the Nords and two Bretons came running down right after the rocks.

 

The sounds of the boulders almost blocked out the screams of the soldiers. Almost. There were arrows aflame, flying through the night air from the charging forsworn, and calls to hold the line from the Stormcloak defenders over the painful cries of the dying. Formation was given up rather quickly as the sounds of men's bones being crushed under the weight of the boulders joined the orchestra of war.

 

A few of these boulders bounced from off their paths, flying towards the wall that they were meant to help defend. Brund was unfortunate enough to find himself in the way of one of them, but even a boulder could not stop the mighty general. A swing from his Alfr Vega was enough to crumble half of it, sending the rest flying over his head into a nearby peasant home's front door.

 

"Reaaaaahhh!! Kill!!!" Cried Brund, practically electrifying all that saw the deed as they met the savages that attacked with new life.

 

Sir Maric parried a blow from a stone axe, knocking a large chunk from the blade. What the Forsworn had in numbers, they lacked in equipment. He's seen only a handful of them with steel weapons, and even fewer clad in more than fur. But, he knew that amongst the common rabble were Hagravens and Briarhearts, and they were not to be taken lightly. The Breton chevalier sought them out, eager to test his mettle.

First, he must deal with this mage, a young, cocky man who laughed manically with each spell flung. He seemed to be sticking to flame spells, since the Nords he normally fought were resistant to cold, and very few were mages. The ebony helmet Sir Maric wore had a 'Y' shaped opening, yet unless the mage had a keen eye, he likely wouldn't know Thomas was a Breton. Sure, he dressed differently, and was shorter than the average Nord, but in the midst of battle, with men screaming and dying, and given the man's young age, Sir Maric knew he would be assumed to be a Nord.

He hid behind his shield as a fireball slammed into it. The flames licked at his face, but his magical resistance meant he barely felt the heat. He dodged the next blast, moving closer as he did, and after the next again his shield and didn't stop him, the laughter stopped. The mage hadn't anticipated an opponent living this long, and his next spell failed in his hands.

Sir Maric bashed him with his iron covered oaken shield, and as the man lay on the ground, plunged his sword through the man's fur tunic. Around him, many men died, but he knew today he would not be one of them. Now to find his son.

 

Daric wasn't so at home in his current position. Actually, Daric didn't even know what his current position was, as the soldiers were so disorganized that he often saw men on both sides being stabbed in the back, thanks to the Forsworn's lack of discipline. Daric figured Baldur might say it was smart, as the Forsworn would never stand a chance in a frontal attack otherwise, but while he was fighting for his life, he had a hard time admiring the tact... if one could call a coincidental success tact.

 

All around him was chaos, made all the more so due to his height, or lack there of. He slashed at anything that wasn't blue, one man two, duck, run, slash, move away, slash again... He fought his way closer and closer towards the Markarth walls. A large man saw him coming and brandished his stone axes in a challenge, but Daric acted quickly, sheathing one of his blades while holding the right one with both hands above his head. As the man charged, Daric threw his blade straight through his gut. The man did not immediately fall, and attempted to free the boy's Nordic Carved blade from his belly like a sword from a great stone. Daric helped with that, placing his boot on his stomach as he yanked the blade out, along with all it made contact with before taking the top of the savage's head with one backhanded movement.

 

He was almost there.. almost to the safety of the shield wall of his allies... when suddenly the boy's entire world lit up as if Magnus just suddenly woke from his slumber. He dropped his blade to the ground, shaking, a pain shooting up his mouth... blood...

 

My tongue... I bit my tongue...

 

Before he realized what happened, Daric dropped to the ground, blank. Footsteps were approaching, slow. A charge surged in the air... the assailant looking to finish the job and kill this silly little Nordic lad playing war. Except now that she was close, she wasn't so sure he was a N-

 

Too late. Daric had inherited the blood of his people, and like his father could shrug off magic that could put down grown men... almost. Daric got up and immediately dropped to one knee, not taking the spell as well as he thought he did. The woman laughed and raised her hand again, but before any spell could be launched, Daric's blade found its way in her gut next. Angered from the pain of her magic, Daric finally found enjoyment in death. Watching her die, watching the light fade from her eyes, it sent tingles up his spine and in his groin, like sex.

 

Just as his lips started to curve upwards into a smile... just as a warrior's birth had finally come, the most ungodly noise drowned out all other sounds on the battlefield. A warrior's birth had been accompanied with the sounds of cries, and they weren't the woman's. When Daric saw what it was, the young man dropped his sword a second time and fell to his knees.

 

Tears blinded him like rainwater on stained glass, and left him completely exposed to the Forsworn running at his back to take the boy's head.

 

Daric's name caught in Thomas' throat, as he frantically pushed through the Forsworn for his son. He was attacking with little more organization then they were, just slashing and hitting and kicking, whatever he thought would get him through. He cursed this heavy armor he wore, wishing he could move faster.

A woman tried getting in his way, but she went down without a scalp after one brutal slash cut her head in half. A man, wielding a greatsword, swung hard to kill the knight, bug he ducked behind his shield and plowed over him, not even turning back to finish him off. He was so close, he was almost there, when the thundering sound came again. He didn't pay much attention to it the first time, as his focus was on his son, but it was so much closer this time, and was that the ground shaking? The helmet he wore still limited his vision, but no as much as a full helm would. Still, he had to turn nearly around to see the mammoth barreling toward him, toward his son.

There was no time for thinking. Sir Maric closed the distance between he and Daric more quickly than he'd ever moved before, dropping his sword and shield to free his hands. He grabbed his son and chunked him sideways, with no time to stop the Forsworn's sword. This one was smart, and as soon as he saw his new victim was armored, slashed the blade at the axis of neck and shoulder. The chainmail coif helped soften the blow, but Sir Maric could feel his blood pooling beneath him as he lay on the flat of his back, the earth moving beneath him. Fumbling with his gauntlet, he got it off and grasped the wound, his hand glowing orange with healing magic. The Reachman must've run off with the mammoth coming, taking the knight for dead.

He didn't have time to stand up and run, so he rolled sideways. He could feel the mammoths massive legs crunch down next to him as be nearly became flattened, and he only stopped rolling when he hit a rock. The knight's chest moved up and down rapidly, and the rolling had broken the magical wound sealing, so blood was pouring out again. He used a stronger spell this time, and once that was done, hoarsely called out his son's name.

 

Daric hadn't a clue what just happened, but the sight of a mammoth gone mad was hard not to notice, even in his shock. The sounds of its horn-like cry snapped him out of his pitiful state, though he lost his food all at once when he came to.

 

These people... will do anything for just the slightest advantage... Stormcloak, Forsworn...

 

"I'm fine," he said finally, his voice sounding harsh and strange to even himself.

 

Sir Maric sat up, propping himself against the rock, and massaged his neck. "Good."

Looking towards the mammoth, who was taking a few Stormcloak arrows, he added. "I hope they can stop that thing."

 

***

 

"Brund... you were correct. The matrons are here, just like you said they'd be."

 

"Of course I'm ******* correct."

 

"Heehee... of course, brother."

 

"Don't call me that. You're not my ******* brother."

 

"But we are kin! Moreso than anyone else! You bear the heart, as do I... Only I can understand you."

 

"Just get me a ******* light already so we can get this over with. You creepy looking son of a bitch."

 

The Priest conjured up a light in his hand, illuminating his gleeful expression, as if to confirm Brund's words. "So, general. What's the plan?"

 

"You're like me, right? You should know the plan."

 

"I am not entirely like you. I killed my matron. And even when she was alive? I could not do what you seem to be capable of. You, are blessed. Or cursed. I'm not sure, yet."

 

"Doesn't really matter, does it? It's useful. The plan is stick to me and do what I say. Do that, and you can continue unliving. Fail, and I'll rip yours out and use it for a spare. They're near. I feel her..... yess...."

 

***

 

"Will they be ready?"

 

"They will. The city is locked down for a reason, Ezmeralda. Once we emerge within the Jarl's home, and his lifeless body lays at our talons, the people will rally around us and strike down all Nords. Markarth will be ours, this time for good. This time, we'll have all Reachmen on our side."

 

"How much further through this damn ruin?"

 

"Not much further..." said the the hag matron. "I don't like these dwarven ruins anymore than you do, but tonight, they are a blessing. So many corridors and passages... all you need is to know the way..."

 

The sounds of five talons clawing and scraping in the dark filled the ancient stone halls, water dripping in the dank blackness. The smell was only made more foul by the presence of these things that were best left in the dark. Even the rats fancied not to get too close. One failed to avoid their path, however, and met its end with the claws of Ezmeralda's foot running it through. "Dinner!" She cried gleefully, seizing the creature in her hand, if you could call it that.

 

She crunched down on the thing's head as it squeaked and shrieked, baring its two fangs in pointless defiance. The sounds of its skull crunching in her maw was more audible than anything else, and it would lead to her downfall....

 

"Now!"

 

Something flew out from the darkness into Ezmeralda's back... a huge pendulum, already stained with blood in the wood and at the dark blade. Flames suddenly illuminated the passage where the women stood, as their balding disformed heads turned all around to find their assailant.

 

"Show yourself!" She cried. "Why have you done this?"

 

"Because she was being an annoying c/unt with all that damn crunching. Should have chewed with her mouth closed, hahahahaha!"

 

The voice came from all around them without giving a source for the sound. "Who are you?"

 

"You know who I am... I don't see her among you... but I feel her. Where is she? My matron?"

 

The four things all looked to one another in recognition. "You know... her, do you? We had a little... bonding time for our rituals to Hircine before we left. Perhaps you still smell your love on us?" The women all cackled at once at the memories. Somewhere, Brund was gagging as the memories of what they said flooded his mind.

 

"I'll find him!" said a shorter hag with bright white skin. Her hands glowed with pink energy, illuminating her eyes with the same magics flowing from her grasp. "I.. I can't.... see him."

 

Another laugh came from nowhere in particular, but in the midst of it, the large weapon suddenly flew from Ezmeralda's shriveled spine into the dark, and a warcry the likes of which they've never heard surrounded their every being before Brund came charging through the one that cast the spell with Alfr Vega.

 

The woman was carried along with him in the powerful momentum, until Brund swung her lifeless body at the other to his right, knocking her against the wall. He could feel heat surging at his back, and he immediately turned to bat away the fireball the hagraven prepared for him, causing it to explode on impact and send the flames to her face. But the Bull was merciful, and he took her flaming head off quickly with one stroke.

 

When Brund turned his attention back to the other, two stood where there should have only been one. Ezmeralda cackled again, grabbing Brund's shoulders and gripping him as hard as she could while the other hag charged her lightning magics.

 

Just as she was about to turn this oddity of a man into ash, her magics suddenly left her, and Ezmeralda crumbled into ash. The last thing she saw was a nord man in the corner of her eye with a familiar face... hands glowing bright green... and then her world turned upside down, as her head left her shoulders.

 

"It's DONE!!" Cried the Priest. "All these years I sought revenge, and they're DEAD!"

 

"Yes, your magics are very handy, Priest. But we're not done yet. Come, lets rejoin the battle."

 

"Are you going to hunt down your matron after all this, brother?"

 

"....No," said Brund. "Not yet. I know things now... that I didn't before. Something about meeting them... Nevermind."

 

"Brother, let me ask you a question. When I approached you as per your request, and you asked me about my... condition. I never imagined that you could pull off.. this. When I was a boy in those prisons, sitting at the altar of Hircine adorned with deer heads and entrails, the matrons always told me that I would die for this unlife. And when I did, I felt bound, always. Never in my dreams did I imagine that what you can do was possible! Perhaps because my matron influenced them?"

 

"Get to the point already!" said Brund.

 

"Of course, heh. Why do you fight, General Brund? What drives you? What enables a man to have the fortitude of mind that you possess? What makes you special?"

 

"What makes me special?" Brund spat at the stone and shook his head. "Not a damn thing. Why do I fight? Because I LIKE it! Do I need another reason? Do I need some sob story? Ha, **** all that. I just want to hurt things and **** someone up. It makes me feel truly alive. Give me someone to kill and brutalize, and that's a day worth living. That enough of an answer for you?"

 

The Priest nodded and smiled at this and said, "As good an answer as any."

 

"Good, brother. Now move your ass. There's still more killing to do."

 

As Brund and the Priest burst forth from the bowels of the Dwarven corridors, the sounds of swords drawing as they made their way into the main halls of the keep was enough to even give Brund pause. What greeted him was the sight of a team of Nordic soldiers, covered in silver and black bear furs.

 

"General? What the, how did you get in here? Why aren't..." The sight of several heads tied to his belt silenced the Guard Captain's words immediately.

 

Smiling, Brund said, "I had a little inside information. I used it to catch their leaders by surprise. Where's the Jarl?"

 

"In his quarters, as per our recommendation. The citizens are in an uproar with the attack. Things can go south at any moment now that the Reachmen in the city have allies."

 

"HAD. Allies," said the priest, fondling one of the heads on Brund's belt. "When their people see these at General Brund Hammer-Fang's belt, all of them will bow to his authority. For a time at least."

 

"How do you know that?" said another Grim One, unimpressed at the notion.

 

"Like I said. Inside information," said Brund. "Now listen here. You may be Baldur's men, but right now, I'M the acting General, and you'll obey MY commands. You will follow me as my entourage through the city. Any man, woman or child that looks like they're causing trouble is to be cut down. This chaos ends now. I'm putting it down, and I'm putting it down HARD. IS THAT ******* CLEAR?"

 

The men's reaction to his swagger and boastfulness was what he expected, but all the wrinkled brows and flaring nostrils in the world wouldn't change the fact that they would obey.
 

"Good," said Brund, with a smirk as he and the Priest took the lead. The other original Markarth city guards were out in the streets, weapons drawn, arresting random citizens if too many bunched up in a group, or if someone got too loud. Fights broke out between Nords, Bretons and guardsmen, but all of that ceased when the sight of the General and the Grim Ones all together greeted their eyes. Mostly from shock as they thought the General was out fighting with the Stormcloaks.

 

Brund took in their looks of fear and drank it in. His head rolled back and his breathing shuttered. "Ahhhhh. Yes. I am alive."

 

"The Forsworn are coming! They're coming!" came a soldier's cry from the gates. "It's a bloody mammoth!"

 

"A mammoth? I thought your men would've had that killed by now," said the Priest.

 

"******* c/unts. Got to do everything myself. No matter. MEN! GET TO THE GATES. WHEN YOU GET THE SIGNAL, CHARGE THROUGH AND TAKE POINT!"

 

"What's the signal?" said the guard captain.

 

"You'll know it when you hear it. Now, get to the gate!"

 

****

"It's coming! Get out the way, we can't stop the charge!"

 

 

 

  Reveal hidden contents

 

 

The Stormcloaks were as brave a group of soldiers as any in Tamriel, but no man

had the stones to face such a creature when it broke into a charge.

 

As the Stormcloaks broke formation, some trampled over eachother to get out of the way, as even the Forsworn were doing this, being stomped and crushed by their own creature. Some of the soldiers weren't fortunate enough to be near the front and couldn't escape with the rest before the creature began its heavy footed advancement. All they could do was hold up shields and say their last prayers.

 

A blood curdling scream broke those prayers, however. Right above their heads, all they could hear was the sound of a man gone mad, as if Shor fell from the sky to do battle in their behalf. Some even believed it after what they saw next.

 

"I AM ALIIIIVE!!!" Cried the mighty Brund, Alfr Vega high above his head as he came hurtling towards the giant creature from Markarth's walls. Brund's pendulum landed square at the center of the mammoth's skull, with Brund at the handle, stopping it literally dead in its tracks.

 

"Fall before BRUND!" He yelled before laughing gleefully. This is what he was talking about. That thrill, that joy. Even being dead could not prevent killing from making him feel life. The mammoth came crashing down, splattering a dozen screaming Forsworn men and women in a thunderous quake. And when Markarth's gates flew open with the sounds of two score of well armed Necro Nord men charging, it was clear that they got their signal.

[TheCzarsHussar]

Gracchus, Dales, Tacitus, Skjari, Lilly

The Imperial Palace

Morning

 

Gracchus' office was as neat and tidy as ever. Ever book, organized by author's name. Every stack of paper, sorted, with the most important at the top of the stacks. His quills lay down beside the inkbottles, ready to sign orders and pen letters. Beneath it all, a map of Tamriel, with Skyrim in blue, High Rock and Cyrodiil red, and the Dominion in yellow. It was a fragmented Empire, but an Empire nonetheless. 

That was, if the rumors weren't true. News had slowly leaked that something big had gone down in High Rock, but what exactly no one could say. Some thought the king died, others his army was routed, while still some others suspected his army sacked and burned Evermor. Gracchus was slightly ashamed when he somewhat selfishly thought the rumors of secession were the worst. 

The knock that came was his worst fears realized. Gracchus' assistant, a young Imperial who showed great organizational skills, opened the door and admitted the sweaty legate. Gracchus stood, leaning forward on his desk, for his legs were shaking enough he didn't want to risk relying on them alone. The air in the room was still; the only sound the heavy breathing of Legate Montrose. 

"Please, legate, have a seat," Gracchus said, speaking slowly, with more confidence than he felt.

 

Montrose did as he was bid, and lowered into one of the cushioned chairs, all the while keeping his eyes on Gracchus, as if he expected to be attacked at any moment.

 

"I think I know why you're here," Gracchus said, taking a seat himself. He gave a sigh, and leaned forward on the desk, folding his hands together. His head was bowed slightly, and he caught the sight of the map, with High Rock in Imperial crimson. It would need changing, he supposed. 

"You had best start from the beginning," he said, voiced resigned.

 

Legate Montrose took a deep breath, and then nodded. "As you know, all of us stationed at High Rock were commanded to assist King Theodore in putting down a rebellion. I thought it was a good idea. My men needed the experience, and I figured Legionnaires fighting alongside Breton forces would be good for our relations... If you know why I'm here, Sir, then you know what happened. The campaign was hugely successful, and the "loyalist" armies split and pushed across High Rock, winning consistent victories. Our own men fought well. After we took Evermor..." The Legate looked apologetically at Gracchus, "the King told us to go home. He revealed an... inappropriate letter from the Empress, claiming that she insulted him, and then declared High Rock an independent nation."

 

Gracchus raised his eyes to the man, feeling nothing but pity. The legate was disheveled, his beard wild, hair long, and heavy, dark bags under his eyes. The High General gave a small smile, and said, "Legate, thank you. I know it must have been hard, but don't blame yourself. King Adrard deceived us all, and you were in the unfortunate position to bear the brunt of that trickery."

Gracchus paused as his assistant sat down a tray of food and drink on the desk corner, and waited until the man left before continuing. "Help yourself, Legate. If I may ask, did you get to see that letter? Was it authentic? And what exactly made it so damning it was evidence for secession?"

 

"I do not know." the Legate confessed. "I am not familiar with our Empress's handwriting, and the seal was already broken. I... I believe it was real. The letter was a rejection. Theodore's son had been set to marry the Empress, and she rejected him. Forgive me if I do not recall it all correctly, but after that came the inappropriate part. She went on to request, er, maids should she ever visit. The implication was sexual, but obviously a joke. I think Kin- Theodore's intent with this was strictly humiliation. The letter wasn't his only incrimination, though. He claimed that the Empress directly insulted his son to his face. I don't know much about that."

 

Gracchus nodded. It was as he feared. After so many rumors pertaining to Dales' sexuality, and then to have them proven false after that garden incident, to have it brought up again was an unforeseen blow. Unfortunately, Gracchus knew the letter to be true as well, as he'd seen it himself when Theodore accompanied him to Sentinel. 

"Was there any dissent among the nobles? From what I gather almost all of them were in attendance. It could be possible King Adrard's view was the minority..." Gracchus said, though his voiced lacked any semblance of hope.

 

The look Montrose gave him would've been answer enough. "None that I could see. He spent the entirety of the war bestowing titles and making friends. The people love him."

 

"Right. Well. We had best go tell the Empress." Gracchus rose from behind his desk, removing his cape from a hook on the wall and attaching it at his shoulders. A silly thing to do, after such a dramatic turn, but Gracchus knew that tradition was all they had left, now that the Empire was well and truly dead. 

The walk to the Empress' office was quiet, with neither general nor legate saying anything. Hanging over both of them was this distressing news, yet Gracchus did his best to keep his chin held high. He knew Dales would need strong people around her in such an uncertain time. 

He knocked upon her office door, and said, "Your majesty, it's High General Ceno. I have urgent news."

 

"Enter." Dales was sitting in her usual spot, behind the large oak desk. Her office was relatively clean, but books were scattered everywhere. She looked a good deal more cheerful then usual, she no longer had those large bags under her eyes, as well as her complexion much more healthy. One of her handmaidens, the same girl, Helen, Gracchus had meet at Colonel Quentas's party stood beside the desk, carrying a large pile of books.

 

She shyly asked, "Were do you want this pile Your Majesty?"

 

The young Empress motioned for the bookshelf to the right, "There, please Helen." She gave the two men a curious look, "Urgent News you say?" 

 

Gracchus glanced at Helen, saluted, then said, "Empress, I think we should have this conversation in a more private manner. No offense to miss Helen, but I do not think this should be heard by more than the necessary people, at least for now."

 

Dales eyed him oddly, before nodding her head, "Helen dear, can you please go to the kitchen, and get me a pot of tea?" The young teenager, bowed her head to all three of them, before taking her leave of the room.

 

Gracchus bowed his head slightly to Helen, then turned to the Empress. He hoped his face didn't betray the worry he felt. Motioning to Montrose, he said, "This is Legate Reyderic Montrosd. You might recall he was the head of the Legion troops in High Rock. He has now returned because King Adrard seceded."

 

"What?" she suddenly shouted.

 

"He cited you insulting his son, as well as your rescission of your promise to marry his son. He also presented a letter in which you expressed...a desire for female companions should you visit High Rock," Gracchus said, keeping his composure.

 

"That was a joke I made, I thought he appreciated humor..." Her eyes filled with shock, as she stared at her hands, not bothering to glance up. Finally she said, "Are...you sure?"

 

Gracchus cleared his throat. "I asked the legate if there was any chance King Adrard's opinion was in the minority, but it seems he made enough friends that there is little chance for resistance from the nobility."

 

Still stunned, the Empress stuttered out, "What...what should our course of action be..."

 

"We should inform the other members of the leadership. I will send for High Admiral Meridius, Lord Snow-Strider, and Colonel Quentas. As far as our plan for High Rock, it's possible Theodore will make some sort of demand. I suggest patience and caution. Until we know more of his plans, we do not want to make any hasty or desperate actions." As he finished speaking, Gracchus ducked his head into the hallway and asked a guard to find the aforementioned lieutenants.

 

She starred at the wall blanky, before barely muttering, "General...Legate...Please leave. And close the door behind you."

 

Gracchus started to object, but decided she needed some time to think before the others arrived. He simply saluted again, then turned on his heel and left. He and Montrose stood some distance down the hallway, patiently waiting for the others to arrive, and for Dales to halt her introspection.

 

Suddenly, a crash could be heard, furniture being violently thrown onto the ground. Mingled, was also the sound of curtains being ripped from there spots, and glass being shattered. 

 

Legate Montrose shot Gracchus a concerned look. "I... uhh... I didn't expect her to be so... young. Should we help her, or...?" his voice trailed off. Obviously the Legate had not anticipated such a reaction from the most powerful woman in Cyrodiil.

 

Gracchus shook his head, and frowned. "No, we had best let her express herself. Even if she destroys her office. I don't need to tell you how big a deal this is, and her being so young doesn't help either. But we must support her and not let her blame herself. Cyrodiil may be more fragile than ever after this."

 

Montrose nodded and looked ahead. "I had been in High Rock for years, and most of my men had as well." He glanced at Gracchus. "I swear Sir, we had no way of seeing this coming."

 

"I travelled with King Adrard, overland to Anvil then by sea to Sentinel. The man stayed under the same roof as I for the entirety of his visit to Cyrodiil. I had dinners with him, shared bottles of drink with him, and I never saw it coming either. I didn't think he was capable of such treachery. To be quite honest, I thought him a drunk, and somewhat oafish," Gracchus said. "What was your impression of the man?â€

 

The Legate's brow raised. "A drunken oaf? I never got that from him. Or first meeting came shortly after King Rolston was killed and Theodore replaced him. He-"

There was a loud 'thud' behind them, and then what sounded like books falling.

"He, uh," Montrose cleared his throat, clearly still uneasy. "-he seemed like a strong man. Born to lead. Throughout the campaign, he oozed of charisma, turning his enemies of yesterday into allies by morning, but he cracked down on his strongest foes with an iron fist." The Legate's brow lowered, and he frowned. "So no, drunken oaf doesn't describe the man I thought I knew at all."

 

He had us well and truly duped then." Gracchus shook his head. He wished to say more, but the High Admiral arrived, with a pronounced frown. 

Tacitus ran a hand down his gray and gold beard, then frowned some more. "Why the **** are we here. What's that noise?

 

The Legate answered first. "It's the Empress. We've just informed her of recent events in High Rock." He glanced at Gracchus, then turned back to the High Admiral. "The province is lost to the Empire. I am Legate Montrose. I was stationed there when their king declared secession."

 

"What the hell happened? I though we were helping their king?" Tacitus asked. 

Gracchus answered, "We were. He tricked us. Now we need to discuss our plan, once Lord Snow-Strider and Colonel Quentas arrive."

"Right. And what do you think we should do, mister legate? You were there, so you have the most knowledge of the situation, I suppose," Tacitus said.

 

"The war in High Rock was quick." Montrose answered. "For all I know, Theodore captured and turned more enemies than he killed. I suspect the whole thing had been planned in advance, and their casualties were few enough that they remain a powerful force. I'm no general. I have been gone for years and have no idea how our military looks here in Cyrodiil. But I suspect we'd lose as many men retaking High Rock as we'd gain in taking it back. And that's assuming assault by land and sea, and that Skyrim or Hammerfell would let us cross their borders."

 

"I doubt neither Hammerfell, who has a good relationship with High Rock, nor Skyrim, who is likely opposed to Imperial expansion, will allow us to retake it. The prospects don't look likely," Gracchus said. He felt the same way as Montrose, that attacking High Rock was a fool's idea.

"We could raid, or blockade them. Force them to relent. That'll teach those dandies what happens to secessionists," Tacitus said with a smile. 

"We'll see what the others think," Gracchus said. He didn't doubt High Admiral Meridius would support any plan to retake High Rock, if only so he could get back to sea. It was no secret he was displeased with the council stopping his raiding.

 

A few seconds later Snow-Strider came walking down the corridor towards them, with the Spymaster in tow. "I hope this is important. We were talking with a few representatives from the schools of magic about the security in the mage tourney. And I don't really trust them to wait for us nor take the matter as seriously as they should."

 

"Much more important than the tournament," Gracchus said. "High Rock seceded. This is Legate Montrose, who commanded the Legion forces there. We have just informed the Empress who-"

"Threw a bitch fit by the sound of it," Tacitus said.

 

"Lovely." Skjari replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

 

"I say we should send some over there to give the fat slob a "shave"," Lilly said, angrily.

 

I was right to think an attack was a fool's idea, Gracchus thought. He didn't say anything, though, figuring the time for debate would come.

 

"A more tempered response would be much more prudent, ma em." Said a cold voice. Major Infernus joined the group.

 

Lillie's eyes raised in suspicion, he was clad in full combat gear, including wearing his skull balaclava "Major Infernus. I was unaware you were summoned."

 

The major shook his head, straightening out his grey longcoat, "I wasn't. One of my men told me about the news; I simply went to check to check on the Empress. I am head of her security after all." He said, giving a slight smile. He turned to face the General, "I was made aware of this meeting from one of the servant girls. May I be so bold to suggest, we send a member of the Oculatus to monitor the situation in High Rock only. No...rash actions to be taken unless expressed consent from upper Imperial Command, of course." 

 

"We could insert an Oculatus agent into the guard detail of an ambassador, but that would be the extent of it. Otherwise we could be seen as provocateurs," Gracchus said.

"Maybe they need a little provoking. Scare the Bretons back into place," Tacitus said.

 

"General Ceno, sir. Not to be rude, but this is pure provocation right here. They use our men in there war, and throw them away seconds after there no longer needed,  ..." He gave Lord Snow-Strider, a look.

 

It was impossible to see under his mask what expression his face held, but going by his voice, it was critical, “Also, if I may add, this wouldn't have happened, if Lord Snow-Strider "and" her majesty," His cool melancholic voice betrayed no emotion, but his voice lingered with a small trace of amusement,  "Did not cancel her betrothal to the King Adrard's son Responsibility doesn't solely lay on the Empress for this deception."

 

Skjari kept eyeing the new arrival from top to toe for another few seconds, "Why are you wearing a mask? And I thought the Oculatus was the head of security."

 

"Fear, sir. Intimidation."

 

Lilly snickered, "This is Major Infernus. He is part of the Oculatus, his unit of soldiers are the Empress's personal bodyguards." Lilly crossed her arms, "No doubt Theodore went asskissing to Ulfric, begging for his protection. A straight up Naval or military conflict is out of the question, if we want to stay in Skyrim's good graces."

 

“That still doesn't answer the question why he is bearing a mask."

 

"My unit was born in Valenwood, assisting cells of Elven Rebels. We all traditionally wear Bosmer leather balaclavas to this day. The officers are required to paint skull faces."  He said, continuing, "The good colonel is quite right. That doesn't leave us much options."

 

"Well you're not in Valenwood now. So please remove that silly mask," Skjari said. 

"It doesn't matter what I wear, court mage. You have no authority over me, you are not emperor yet. Remember that. I serve Dales, not you" He said, icily. He turned around, "I'm going to check on her majesty." He gave Lilly a slight nod, which she returned. 
As he left, Skjari rolled his eyes and muttered something incomprehensible before refocusing on the matter at hand.

Gracchus ignored the talk about the major's theatrical mask, and said, "Legate, would you relate to the others what you told me of our ability to retake High Rock?"

Frowning, Montrose nodded, and once again started from the beginning, telling the assembly all that he had Gracchus, and notably putting emphasis on the fact that the Bretons were not so war-weary as they might hope, and that they remain a powerful force. "The King booted us out with little other option." said the Legate. "And as I told the General, the nobles and leaders loved him. He had their support before and after his declaration."

Gracchus crossed his arms. "My mind is firmly made up; I will not risk legion troops to regain a province that, historically, has given us little than money from taxes. They have always been so politically divided that responding with patience could yield a new ruler within a year. But with their fortified cities, their location, and their alliance with the other provinces, they will not be retaken by force."

Tacitus scowled, his eyes narrowed in aggression aimed at the High General. "Coward. As if the Thalmor and the rest of Tamriel didn't view us as weak already, now we let the Bretons leave, without so much as raising a finger? Just like the Elder Council, scared of a little fight. Who took your balls, eh?"

Lilly nodded in agreement. "We still can’t let this go unpunished. If Theodore can walk all over us without retaliation, that might send messages to the other provinces they can do the same."

 

"Big problems are that we have no direct border with High Rock and the others wouldn't like for us to retake High Rock. Though I doubt most would blame us if we wanted some blood as payment for this betrayal. So the question would be how to collect that payment without creating too much bad blood." Skjari added.

 

"Raiding. Just a small force, enough to harass them and make their satin sheets stained yellow," Tacitus said, grinning, his teeth crooked and slightly yellowed. 

Gracchus shook his head, and tossed his hands up, in exasperation. "Why? Why should we seek blood? Yes our soldiers died there, but Theodore sent back gold to go to the dead troop's families. More than we would pay the widows. And we lost only a hundred troops. No more than bandits kill every year. Why risk open war, when our pride is the only injury?"

 

"Because betrayal usually should be punished. Though I agree that right now that would be a bad idea." Skjari said.

 

"And not only that, but he has likely planned for any retribution. He got Skyrim and Hammerfell to drop trade contracts with us, he made friends by visiting Kyne's Watch and trading with them, innocent acts at the time. He was in a war, after all. But now it shows just how far ahead he planned. He even fooled us here, by pretending to be a drunk. No major noble family opposes him, and he has likely joined in an alliance with the other provinces. Given the Thalmor at our borders, the lack of border with High Rock, his own foresight, and the resistance likely faced from Skyrim and assuredly from Hammerfell, I am adamant in refusing to divert troops. The Thalmor are still the main enemy we face, not the Bretons. Our pride might take a hit, but we should be smarter than to make that force us into a fight," Gracchus said.

 

"Hmmmm." Lilly scratched her chin, "Maybe we should wait for the Elder Council's view on the matter as well as the rest of the general's, before making any rash decisions."

 

Tacitus looked ready to fight, but relented, instead tightening the fist on his hand while grimacing. "This isn't over. We shouldn't abide secessionists and cowards who rely on politics and tricks. We'll see what the Elder Council thinks."

 

"Vengeance can wait.' Lilly added, "You'll get your pound of flesh, Tacitus. Just not now.â€

 

Tacitus nodded, then cast a vengeful look at Gracchus before heading back to his office, mumbling something under his breath that vaguely sounded liked 'craven'.

Gracchus scoffed, then said, "Montrose, I would like for you to give me a full report back in my office. It may be helpful to learn things about their cities, their nobles, and their troop composition. And I suppose I need to learn more about King Adrard."

 

"Yes sir." answered the Legate. "With your leave, I would go and compile what information I have."

 

"I'll accompany you back. Assuming we're done here?" Gracchus asked, glancing between Skjari and Lilly.

 

"For now." Skjari turned to Lilly, "We should get back to the representatives."

 

"Aye,†the Spymaster responded.

 

Gracchus left the group, with Legate Montrose alongside. Once they were a good distance down the hall, the general asked, "How'd you like your first taste of the palace?"

 

Montrose let out an exasperated sigh, and then shook his head. "It's uh... it's not exactly what I expected."

 

"Master Ceno!!!" cried a shy voice from behind. "Master Ceno!!!" Again, Lilly's niece, Helen rushed towards the duo, "Something terrible has-" Helen suddenly tripped, yelping as she fell forward straight into the two men.

 

"You don't have to work w-" Gracchus started, but stopped once he heard Helen yelling. He caught her as she tripped, then stood her back up and asked, "What's going on?"

 

"Her majesty locked herself in her room," she yelled desperately, her eyes tinged with some tears. "She won't come out...when I tried to get her to let me in she told me to go away...I...think she's hurt." 

 

Gracchus' eyebrows scrunched together. "And Major Infernus? Would she not let him in either?"

 

"No. He told me to find you. Your the only one she listens too."

 

"Do you want me to wait outside your office, sir?" Legate Montrose asked.

 

"You can go, Legate. My assistant will get you started on the report," Gracchus said. He then said to Helen, "Lead the way, ma'am."

 

The young girl took the general's hand, and led him to the Empress’ office. Major Infernus was banging on the wooden door, "Open up the door, your majesty." The major turned to face the general, stepping aside for him, "Thank Arkay. She won’t open the door, General Ceno." 

 

Gracchus put his hand on the major's shoulder, and pulled him from the door. He leaned close to the heavy oak and said, "Dales, are you okay?"

 

"Gracchus..." said the Empress from the other side of the door, melancholy. "Leave me."

 

"Now is not the time to mope. We need you, Dales," Gracchus said. He hoped she would listen. She needed to be strong, for herself more than anyone.

 

"What's there to be strong about...The Empire is dead...What's an Empress without an Empire? I...I failed...I failed everyone..." The sound of broken glass being tampered with could be heard from beyond the door, as she muttered, "Maybe...it would be better for everyone if I disappear." 

 

Gracchus didn't hesitate, backing up a step just as a fireball formed in his hand. It was one of the few times he wished he knew an unlocking spell. The flames did their job, and the lock exploded away with such force the door flew open as well.

 

Helen practically screeched, "YOUR MAJESTY!"

 

Just a little beyond, Dales lay on the floor surrounded by shards of glass, her eyes appearing as if they were soulless. She blankly starred at the trio, covered in blood. Bits and shards of glass were impeded in her body, mostly her arms and legs. Dry tears littered her face, as her head was cast downward, her long blonde hair messy and uneven. She was clutching the shard of glass with an iron grip. Her injuries didn't look self-inflicted, despite the shard in hand biting down on her palm, causing blood to pool up on her hand.  

 

At the sight of trio, Dales panicked, her face being filled with worry, she placed the shard of glass to her throat, as she shouted in desperation, â€œStay back, don’t come any closer!!!" 

 

Gracchus held his hands up in the air, showing he hand no weapon or magic. He took a tentative step forward, and said, "Dales, put that shard down. You've done nothing wrong. Theodore tricked all of us. And you know as well as I that your decision to not marry his was...not your own. Be strong, like you were when you killed your father, when Elan died, and when you were Red-Snow's hostage. Remember? How strong you were?"

 

"I'm not strong...I'M NOT STRONG!!!" She screamed, her voice becoming frantic, and her eyes spilling tears. Months of pressure and stress that were building up were about to explode in a splendid display of crimson, "There all dead because of me...Elan...Miku...Tulluis...all those legionaries..."  

 

Major Infernus readied a throwing knife under the sleeve of his long coat. He whispered, the events not dampening his emotionless voice, "My knife is coated in the venom of Bullshock Scorpion from Hammerfell. It delivers a non-lethal toxin to the bloodstream, paralyzing the victim in a handful of milliseconds." He solemnly said, "Keep her talking, and let me line up a shot." 

 

"No," Gracchus whispered back. "She must regain her confidence. Otherwise she'll never be the same, she'll be nothing but a weakling. She must be strong."

To Dales, he said, "Do you know how many men I sent to their graves? Not just legion soldiers, but Stormcloaks, and even Dominion men. I've killed countless, through both the fire of my magic and the orders I gave out. But I haven't saved many. Unlike you. Think of how many of my men, our men you saved at Falkreath. You stopped the pointless bloodshed. You are strong. You've survived assassins, your abusive father and brothers, and more emotional abuse than I will ever know. Do not let this fat, egotistical, power hungry puppeteer send you over this edge. He's not worth dying over."

 

"Nobody would miss me..." she said, the blade inches away from her skin. 

 

"That's not true." Helen Quentas said bluntly, her voice becoming hard edged and completely different then before. She had wiped her tears away, she needed to be strong. Strong for her Empress. Making sure she wouldn't cry, Helen readied herself, taking off her silver pair of glasses, and standing tall. She took a step forward, putting her hand on Gracchus shoulder. She whispered, "Let me try getting through to her." 

 

Gracchus nodded, then stepped back to let Helen have Dales' undivided attention. Nonetheless, as he placed his hands behind his back, the tips of his fingers glowed green, ready to snatch away the shard at a moments notice, though he hoped he wouldn't need it.

 

The young girl stepped forward, slowly approaching the hysterical monarch. Dales put her back to the wall, bringing the shard even closer to her neck,  "I'll do it. I swear by the Nine, I'll kill myself right here!!!"

 

Helen gave her a sad smile, saying "Then why haven't you?" Dales tear stained eyes filled with surprise, as Helen continued to draw the distance between the two of them.

 

Dales tried to formulate a response, "Because...because-"

 

The young maid cut her off, "You could have slit your throat when we were trying to bust open the door. You could have done when I was trying to get you out. Why, didn't you if you’re so dead set on it?" Helen's face suddenly became uncharacteristically cold, when she was only a few steps away from reaching the Empress. She muttered, "Suicide is a weaklings way out. A cowards excuse."

 

Dales stuttered, as she blurted out, "You-think...I’m-a coward, Helen?" For some odd reason, hearing those words from the teenager stung the most. 

 

Helen's right...a weak, spineless puppet like me deserves this fate I- 

 

Dale's many dark thoughts were silenced in an instant, as warm arms wrapped themselves around the Empress, Helen had reached her.  The young girl placed her hand to her back softly, saying gently, "No. Gods...no." The young girl intertwined her fingers with Dales, there hands touching. Helen let the shard bite into her soft hands drawing blood, as she took the piece of glass from Dales, who offered no resistance. The warmth coming from Dales body dampened the growing pain.

 

Helen began to rub the Empress's back, telling her, "I think you’re strong, Dales." Helen never called the Empress by her first name. "So strong."

 

Dales, her eyes now filled with tears, asked, "How do you know?†

 

Helen smiled, "Everyday, you’re up early in the morning, trying to make everyone's lives better. You feel so much pain when you hear news about something bad happening to your people, but you never show it, you put on a tough act for the people around you so they don't have to worry about you. You always visit the guards, the servants, the soldiers, asking them how there day was, bringing them tea, showering everyone with little acts of kindness that brightens up there day." She paused, wiping the tears off the Empress's face with a handkerchief.

 

Helen continued, placing her hand to Dale's cheek. "I don't care what anyone say's. Fat egotistical Breton king. Slimy politicians. Nordic Warrior-Monarch. Strength isn't just about how hard you can swing a sword, how many people you can kill, or the amounts of time you can lie and manipulate to get what you want. Strength is about principle."

 

She said, grabbing the Empress's hand, "Doing the right thing no matter how hard it is.  Living for your people. Showing endless amounts of kindness." Helen herself wanted to cry, but she didn't. Even if she was a weak, useless person, Helen needed to be strong, this one time. For her Majesty. "You’re not weak."

 

The young girl said, cradling Dales in her arms, who was now sobbing uncontrollably in the teenagers lap, "You’re strong." 

 

**

 

Gracchus needed a drink, although he wasn’t sure that he needed the three subsequent ones. It was late, and he’d just finished reading over the legate’s report. He hoped, prayed, that it wouldn’t come to blows with High Rock, but in case it did, he needed to know all that he could. Even so, he couldn’t quite seem to focus. His mind kept drifting back to the event with Dales, when he hadn’t been able to talk her down.

 

Why couldn’t I get through to her? Helen evidently thought I could, as did Infernus, and I’ve always been like a father to her, but she wouldn’t listen. Thank the Nine Helen was there, otherwise…

 

He took another drink of the Colovian Brandy, remembering his first adventure with the stout liquid. It’d been in the first Great War, just after the city was retaken from the Dominion. The day fighting ended, that the last pockets of resistance were swept from the sewers and the tunnels beneath the arena, he and the other battlemages celebrated. He’d never been much of a drinker prior to that, always focusing on his studies at the Arcane University, and then during the Great War, finding drinks was difficult, though that’s when they were needed. But even he enjoyed that night, as he and the survivors joked and jested amidst the ruins of the city. It was the first time in a long time they were able to relax, and they took advantage. Not much was remembered from that night, but Gracchus easily recalled his headache from the morning after, and at the rate he was going tonight, he’d be experiencing a similar one tomorrow.

 

His glass was empty, as was the bottle, so he cast out the self-doubt he felt about not convincing Dales and focused on the report. After all, this was his job, not babysitting the Empress, and Helen could do that much better than he could, apparently. With his focus on the events of High Rock’s war, he almost didn’t notice the pit in his stomach that said that somehow, he’d failed Dales, and more importantly, the Empire. Whether that was in regards to High Rock seceding or the Empress’ near suicide, he couldn’t tell.  

[TheCzarsHussar]

Stalks-Deep-Waters

Valenwood

Noon

 

Stalks hated going on patrols. It went against the freedom he had sought as a mercenary. They were seven in the patrol, including Stalks, walking around on the outskirts of an area where some rebels apparently were causing trouble. Their job was to contain them to that area Stalks had been told. The patrol itself consisted of six wood elves and Stalks. Their job was walk around on the outskirts of an area where some rebels were apparently causing trouble and that they were to keep them contained to that area. That was at least what Stalks had been told.

          Stalks himself made sure to keep a little distance between him and the others, as they sometimes gave him the look like they were going to stab and eat him. The elves' equipment was mostly bows and arrows along with daggers made from bones. Only two had blades long enough that they could be classified as short swords instead of daggers. Stalks had also seen them practice a bit; they were generally about as good as he had heard the Bosmer to be with bow and arrow, but in melee combat they were savage to a point they were more likely to hurt themselves than the opponent. In one sparring fight Stalks had gotten into as a part of a bet; the Bosmer swung the sword so hard that when Stalks sidestepped it, the blade continued till it instead hit the elf himself in the leg. That was some of the easiest coins Stalks had ever made. 

          The patrol dragged on and Stalks tried to keep himself from loosing focus as the patrol continued to bore him. It was simply walking along a road, with no real destination in mind but to later turn around and go back to their camp. He tried to keep an eye out for dangerous animals and possible rebel ambushes but as nothing came, his mind began to wander. He wondered about the moustached snake and the odd troll. He hadn't seen either since he had signed that contract. Stalks felt relief at the prospect and hoped that the crazy would now be behind him.

          Stalks thoughts were interrupted as the group came to a halt and as Stalks stretched out his legs, so much he began to lose a little balance, to peek over the heads of the Bosmer to properly see why they were stopping. What he saw was a group of little less than a dozen other Bosmer, almost all of them unarmed and unarmored. The leader of Stalks' group and the one who appeared to be leading the others began to exchange words. It began with questions over who the others were and what they were doing, which the answer was that they were refugees fleeing the fighting in the nearby area. Soon the questions turned into demands more fit to have come from bandits. Stalks was at first a little surprised but it had also been something he half expected from this group of thugs he had been walking around with. The situation began to heat up and Stalks began to wonder if it would come to blows. And his suspicion would soon be realized. One of the refugees began to slowly move his hand behind his back and one of the thugs in his group yelled: "Hey!" and quickly stepped forth and gutted the refugee. He didn't even get to make an excuse for why he had done so before all pretence that the situation wasn't going spiral out into all out violence went down the lake. Both groups clashed and some of the refugees tried to flee while the others took their chances by fighting. Stalks quickly drew his spear but hesitated about joining in. It didn't matter though as the refugees were quickly cut down and those that tried to flee were shot by arrows. The chaos subsided as quickly as it had broken out. Though they weren't without casualties themselves, one lied dead with a dagger stuck in the head through the left eye and a second one was bleeding from a big wound in the stomach so much that he was soon to join the first one. When the surprise and slight shock Stalks felt over what had happened subsided, Stalks sheathed his spear on his back as he quickly walked to the corpses. While he had missed the fighting, he didn't intend to miss out on the looting. The others seemed to have completely forgotten about what hey had done as they joined in on trifling through the leather sacks and few pockets of the now dead. Stalks went straight for what looked like the best bet, a corpse of some woman with what could be described as somewhat fancy clothes. She had a delicate golden ring with a small emerald on the finger. It had some kind of sign or motif on it that he didn't recognize. But it didn't matter as it was sure to be valuable. 

          "Hey lizard! I killed that one!" one of the thugs yelled as Stalks had just gotten the ring of the finger. 

          Stalks looked to his side to see the man who had started the fighting. The elf had his dagger in hand, still dripping with blood. "So?" was all Stalks said. 

          "It means it's my loot. And that mean it's my ring you're holding." the elf pointed at the ring Stalks held. 

          "How do I know you're not lying?" Stalks said as he rose up while also slipping the ring into one of his pockets. 

          "Give that ring to me. Now." the elf said in a stern and threatening voice. The others were still occupied with looting but turned their heads to watch a little anyway.

          "No." Stalks said calmly. He didn't trust the elf and he wasn't going to easily let go of such a possibly valuable item.

          "Filthy lizard." was all the elf said before ramming the dagger into Stalks gut as he had done with the refugee. 

          Stalks at first grunted at the force as the blade hit him with, but the crude blade was far from enough to penetrate the bronze scaled armor he was wearing. Stalks quickly grabbed the wrist of the hand holding the dagger and quickly drew his own. But as he was about to stab the throat of the elf, hisopponent also quickly grabbed the wrist of Stalks' hand and they were left in a deadlock. They both began to struggle back and forth and while Stalks proved somewhat stronger, the elf began to use kicks which Stalks had to deflect. When the elf landed a hard kick on his knee Stalks had gotten enough. He opened his mouth and revealed the sharp needles that were his teeth and the last thing he saw of the elf's face was a mixture of surprise and fear before Stalks sank his teeth into it and tore the face off. The elf quickly stopped struggling and fell down screaming, allowing Stalks to quickly end it by cutting the throat right open with his dagger. Then the taste and smell hit him and he quickly spat out the skin, flesh and blood of the dead elf's face. He felt disgusted and as he also felt that some had gotten stuck between the teeth, it made him feel like he was about to puke. He continued to spit and used the claw on his index finger to pick between the teeth.

          The others were still looking on in silence. None of them seemed to care that much that Stalks killed that man. Most likely because it left one less person to share the spoils with. Though they still seemed disgruntled by the fact that Stalks had just killed one of their group, even if it was in self defence. But as none said anything about it, Stalks was sure he wouldn't hear about now or later, at least not untill they got back to camp. Once Stalks were done with picking the leftovers of the elf's face from his teeth and take a gulp from his water pouch to rinse and spit out the taste, he continued to loot the dead woman in fancy clothes. She had some coin in a leather pouch at her belt and that was all. The others were done looting the rest by then and they hadn't turned up with much else either. Then they headed back to camp with what they could, Stalks had to carry the two sacks that had been the refugees provisions of meat while the other three helped carry the most of meaty corpse of the refugees.

 

Back at camp the corpse they brought was quickly turned into dinner for the Bosmer and leader of Stalks patrol went to the commander of the camp to give a report. Stalks was from there on, to some of his relief, reassigned from the patrol group to scouting. The following days was a sweet freedom in comparison to the patrols as he could almost go wherever he wanted. Then he began receiving assignments about scouting more and more dangerous areas. One of which was a hoarvor nest (hoarvors were like giant bloated beetles) to see if their population was growing and expanding. Stalks enjoyed a little danger to keep himself from growing bored and keep his senses sharp, but he got a feeling that his superior either wanted him dead or simply didn't care if he lived. 

 

One day he sat on one of the lower branches on a tree near a river. He scouted out the area he had been assigned to and he could spend the rest of the day how he liked. His superior might want him to head back immediately with the information but as long as there was nothing urgent to tell, he figured that he could afford himself some free time. And he was technically still scouting. He sat there for some time and relaxed to the sounds of the forest.

          Later when he got bored of sitting around he got up and headed back to the tree trunk to climb down. There he noticed something odd, at first he thought it was a simple deformation of the tree next to the branch that was covered in some vines. But as he looked a little closer he saw that the deformation was a narrow staircase, grown directly out of the wood of the tree. Stalks' curiosity drove him to investigate and he began to rip and kick away the vines covering the stairs. It ascended slowly in a spiral around the tree till it reached a large round hole. Stalks peeked inside to see a simple room grown into the middle of the tree. It was round as the tree trunk and had three windows, one on the other side of the doorway and two opposite of each other to the left and right. There was a table and two chairs grown out of the tree as well near the window on the left and something that looked like a bed in similar fashion in the faraway right corner. A few shelves were also grown into the room of the wall on the right side. Only thing that wasn't part of the tree was a large fur rug covering the middle of the floor, it was old and some of the fur had begun to fall off. Even with the rug the room looked completely abandoned. The shelves were as empty as the void and there was nothing else but a couple of old leaves covering the floor and the bed. Stalks walked in a felt slightly disappointed at the room being so abandoned and, above all, empty.

          "What a borrring place." a familiar voice suddenly said from behind Stalks.

          "Whua?" shouted Stalks as he more jumped than turned around in surprise and fright. When he realized who the voice belonged to and he saw the big moustached snake slither in through the doorway, he gathered his composure. "What are you doing here?"

          "Same as you. Looking arrround." the snake said and stuck out it's tongue to smell the air for a second. 

          "Well there isn't much to look at here." Stalks replied sarcastically, and slightly bitterly because of his own disappointment over the room. 

          "Oh rrrreally? Even borrring places can have secrrets waiting to found." the snake said, sounding slightly amused. Then it slithered across the floor, past Stalks's feet and in under the rug. "Interrresting." he heard the snake say. 

          "What did you find?" Stalks asked as he lifted the rug. And under it he saw what the snake had a found. A large squire stone block, about three feet broad, in a perfectly matching hole in the ground. The stone and the floor was so evenly and tightly placed that as he ran his finger along the stones edge he barely felt gap at all. The rock itself lacked any kind of handle and only had what looked like a large keyhole in the middle of it. There was no way for him to lift the stone short of actually cutting up the floor. 

          "Interrresting." the snake said again in a now smug tone.

          "How did you know?" asked Stalks. 

          "I didn't. But I thought it was odd that whoeverrr left this place didn't botherr to take the rrrrug."

          "Well do you mind finding the key to this thing as well?"

          The snake turned the head around and looked behind the chairs and the table before returning to Stalks, also bringing up the tail to twirl moustache. "No key here." 

          Stalks couldn't help but to feel like the snake was mocking him. "Really?" he said with his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

          "Rrrrreally." the snake simply replied. "Well good luck. And good bye." the snake said as it did something akin to a bow. Then it slithered to and out a window. 

          "Bye." Stalks muttered as he barely paid heed to the odd snake leaving. He stared at the stone block for a minute more before he put the rug back over it and then left. He descended the staircase to the branch he had found it on. Oddly enough he found that the staircase didn't continue to the ground, which also explained to why he hadn't seen anything on his way up to the branch. While wondering how the previous resident of that little house had lived the daily life without the stairs going all the way down, Stalks simply had to climb down the way he had gotten up: by burrowing his claws of hands and feet into the thick bark of the tree. Once down on the ground he made his way back to the nearby road. And on the way back he kept thinking on the stone block in the floor of that little tree house. Which made him think of the snake and wondered how it had known about what had been hiding under the rug. He also began wondering more about the snake this time and if it was real. Those thoughts lead to wondering if the stone block in the tree was real or even if the room had been real. Those thoughts kept gnawing at him so much that when he reached the road he turned around went straight back to the tree. He climbed up the branch, found the stairs and went up them a second time into the little house and lifted the rug to see that the stone block was still there, perfectly seated into the floor and the large keyhole in the middle. Stalks drew a slight sigh of relief that he had at least not imagined those parts. This time he left the tree and went straight back to camp. Hoping to put that place behind him. The curiosity over what lied beneath that floor however lingered in the back of his mind. 

          Once back at camp he ate his food (which he had hunted himself as he didn't trust the Bosmer to not serve him elf or human flesh) and then went to bed. He tried to forget about the room, the stone block and the snake by instead thinking of the next day. As that was when he and some others in the unit would get leave to head to the nearby town for some fun. With the thoughts of having a proper drink and maybe finding a little extra work that he could do out in the jungle, he slowly slipped from the waking world.

[TheCzarsHussar]

Lorgar Grim-Maw

Night

Dream?

 

The wind howled and blew a bitter chill past the dying trees; it danced with the leaves and dragged them away unwillingly from the autumn ground. The floor was damp and stagnant with the odor of decomposing wood, diamonds pierced the black sheet held up above and looked down with vengeance. The twisted forest seemed to never end; tall silhouettes shadowing the ground, ravens circling overhead, and screams echoing through the wind. Beady eyes hidden within the bramble scanned the area, oblivious that they were prey to this Forest. A paranormal presence lurked in the essence of the devils grasp, shadowing the single living organism with dire precision. Dark whispers echoed everywhere, whispers of...people who were tragically familiar to Lorgar.

 

“Please spare me…â€

“You dont have to do this…â€

“I have a wife and child…â€

 

The damnable whispers continued to haunt the nord, who was sheepishly glancing up into the nights sky. His right crimson eye gazing at the blood red moon, which shone dark red rays of light upon the earth. Something felt...wrong. The more Lorgar looked at his surroundings, the more they would almost contort, and disappear in a cloud of darkness.

 

This must be a dream...

 

"THOU ARTH IN DOUBT...OR MAYBE YOUR DISBELIEF IS WELL FOUNDED? MAYBE YOU'RE ASLEEP, BESIDE YOUR DEAR MILLY, HUDDLED IN BED WITH A FUR BLANKET WRAPPED AROUND YOUR INTERLOCKED BODIES? BY SACRED CHANCE PERHAPS IN A TENT, READYING YOUR TROOPS FOR THE FINAL MARCH ON WINDHELM, AND DESTRUCTION OF THE STORMCLOAK RESISTANCE? OR MAYBE ABOUT THE DAY BEFORE THE EXECUTION OF THE REBEL COMMANDER, BALDUR RED-SNOW?  

 

A shrill, hateful, demonic, as if it was the emotion of rage made manifest in speech, suddenly entered into the Nord's hearing from behind. Seeing that he was clad in old Wolf-Pack armor, Lorgar reached for his greatsword from behind, drawing it and turning around to face whatever was speaking to him. When he caught sight of what awaited him, he almost felt regret. Huge in size a black wolf smiled devilishly like a Hyena at the Nord, it's soulless eyes sparkling with what appeared to be red lightning. It's jaw was disgusting narrow, but nonetheless in comparison with everything else, massive, it's mouth filled with hundreds of razor sharp fangs that looked like they could tear apart plate-mail like parchment paper.  It walked on all fours, and it's paws ended in large claws colored like the void. The way it moved was unnatural, smoothly gliding across the dead grass like a weasel. Lorgar’s betrayed an emotion he hadn't felt for a long time

 

Fear.

 

Lorgar pointed his sword at the Eldritch monster, slowly backing away. Shadows danced around it, appearing in clouds leaving and then reforming around it, The creature continued to grin revealing even more ranks of sharp teeth, a hideous mockery of a wolf’s smile. Lorgar barely managed to form a coherent sentence, "What-...what in the All-Makers name are you?"  The creature let out a ear piercing scream...that appeared to be it laughing mockingly at the nord.  It advanced against the nord, which caused it's dark paws to emit black smoke. Every breath it took sprayed black mist across the dead grass, causing the decrepit land to further decay and die. Speaking once again, it said, greatly entertained,

 

"YOU KNOW WHO I AM..."

 

Lorgar shook his head, "No...no, I don't..." The wolf continued to grin, but his voice changed, going as low as a whisper, but at the same time, as thunderous as a mammoth coming from the depths of Lorgar soul, as well as from its gaping jaw. The creature's evil eyes glanced down into that Pitt, as it leaped towards Lorgar, leaving behind a trail of dark Miasma. It's body seemed to flicker, once second being as physically as a breathing human, to see-through, and mist-like. Lorgar wasted no time jumping away, pointing his sword at the monster,  

 

" I AM THE DARK SHADOW THAT CHILLS THE HEARTS OF MAN AS YOU WALK PAST . I AM YOUR HATRED, YOUR DESPAIR, YOUR FURY, YOUR VENGEANCE.  THE MELANCHOLIC WHISPER THAT CARESSES YOU IN YOUR  DARKEST HOURS. I AM THE BEAST OF THE MIASMA….!" It laughed maniacally

 

Lorgar's face contorted with anger, as he screamed, "Shut up!!!"  The creature, who refered itself as the “Wolf of Miasma† pounced on the Nord, causing him to fall over onto the evil earth. The wolf's wolf-like grin faded, replaced with cool fury. It's long, slimy, black, sinister tongue extended, licking Lorgar's cheek, causing nausea and disgust to well up inside the nord. The demon laughed in his face, telling him,

 

"I’M ALREADY INSIDE YOU, AND YOUR WEAKNESS, IS MY STRENGTH."

 

The nord screamed, “I don't know you!!!†the wolf cacled once again, showing it’s razor sharp fangs to the nord, â€In the end you and I will become one. “The wolf grinned, spitting dark slime across Lorgar’s face, â€œOnce all your friends lay in the earth, bodies torn and ripped, I will consume you.â€

 

Lorgar shook his head in desperation, “No, NO!!! The Wolf went in, howling in laughter as it’s gaping maw went in, spreading at an impossible angle for the very reason of devouring the nords head in a single gulp, â€œI will consume you…â€

 

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

Lorgar awoke with a scream, his face covered in cold sweat. Placing his arm to his head, he started to breath heavily. Glancing around him, he let out a sigh of relief. He was in his Quarters at Fort Bylderfang. 

 

Was that a dream...it...must have been, 

 

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

Later that day

 

The clangor of the swords had died away, the shouting of the slaughter was hushed; silence lay on the red-stained leaves. The pale bleak sun that glittered so blindingly from the -fields of vegetation and the overgrown tendrils of vines struck sheens of silver from rent corselet and broken blade, where the dead lay in heaps. The nerveless hand yet gripped the broken hilt: helmeted heads, back-drawn in the death throes,  The battle was won, the enemy had lost.  Soon, the dominion army would be here, and would destroy the Rebel Stronghold. The Bloodwolves were only instructed in eliminating the outer defenses, patrols, and draw out as many Elven archers as possible rip for the picking. Black hooded commando's prowled around on the desolate battlefield, slitting the throats of any enemy combatant still drawing breath. Mounds of dead bodies littered the killing grounds, an eternal monument of flesh

 

The battle was a complete massacre, like every one before it. Lorgar himself was drenched in Blood, under his black leather longcoat and leaf camouflage no one could see them, but the festering black burn marks on his skin were covered in thick linen bandages. Combined with his supernatural regeneration, as well as the help of some magic he could call up from Wraith and the other magics in the company, Lorgar would be able to restore parts of his old appearance. 

 

Glancing at his blood-soaked hands, the nord suddenly felt he was being watched. He dismissed the feeling, turning around as quickly as he could and went to regroup with his men. If he had lingered for no more then an extra second, he would have saw a pair of eyes that emanated red lightning. Wolf-like in appearance, the spectre danced around a mound of dead bodies, grinning and showing off it's terrible fangs. As soon as the creature appeared, it disappeared in a cloud of black miasma

[TheCzarsHussar]

Akamon 

Hammerfell

Night 

 

 

The night was cold. Freezing cold; just like it was when Akamon was undertaking his Walk-About. This cold though was different, he felt alone. Very alone. Looking around, Akamon tried to find Lashana or Cyrus, but no one was there. He realized he wasn't in the Hall, but somewhere completely different. Where though? Thinking about it Akamon looked up and saw the stars. They shone brightly tonight; brighter than he's ever seen them before. So if Akamon was outside, then where? He started walking aimlessly, constantly scanning his surroundings, but all he saw was pitch darkness. 

 

After what seemed like hours, Akamon decided to give up. There was no point in looking anymore, the more he tried to find anything or someone, the more he felt alone and frightened. Seeing the situation as useless he drooped to his knees. His body trembling from the cold, but also from the memories of seeing his village, Divad's Calling, in charred ruins and seeing his parents amidst the corpses. Upon recalling the memory the weight of melancholy and guilt weighed down on Akamon so much that he dropped to hands. 

 

"Is this my punishment for not saving my village? Will I have live with this guilt for the rest of my days?"

 

**************** 

 

Quickly packing his bags Akamon smiled with excitement, today he was going to leave with the Sword Saint Lashana! He couldn't believe it. This was going to be his chance of becoming a great warrior. An Ansei! Finally throwing the last of his clothes into the knapsack, he reached under his bed and pulled out his iron longsword. Strapping it to his belt, Akamon was about to throw the knapsack over his shoulder when a knock came at his door. Setting the knapsack down on the bed, Akamon turned to open the door but before he could reach it, the door flew open hitting the wall with a soft thud. 

 

Standing in the doorway was a beautiful Altmer teenage girl. Her golden hair hung loosely on her shoulders, and her deep golden eyes shone with such fire. Though it was the look of surprise, shock, and anger on the Altmer's face that took Akamon by surprise. 

 

Nervously looking from her to his knapsack and back to her Akamon hesitantly started to say,"Hey, Qwin. I was just finishing packing--" 

 

"You're going through with this?! Why?!!" 

 

Akamon was not ready for this reaction from Elqwinwe. When he told her that Lashana offered take Akamon along in her Walk-About, she seemed somewhat ok with it, but he never remembered her being angry with him. Taken by surprise, Akamon tried to see if he could somehow reason with her. 

 

Walking closer to the doorway where Elqwinwe stood, Akamon stood only couple feet away from her and said,"Yes I'm going through with this. Qwin, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. I may never get this chance again. I would become a great warri--" 

 

He didn't expect nor did he see the hand that smacked his face. Holding his numbed cheek, Akamon stood quiet looking at Elqwinwe. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. He tried reaching out to her but she smacked his hand away. Lifting her head and looking at him, Akamon could see the sadness and anger in her face. 

 

Trying to soothe her, Akamon began saying,"I know how you must feel about me leaving, but I don't want to be stuck in this village for the rest of my life. Father always said,'farming comes before swordplay'. That's not the life I want to live." 

 

************ 

 

I can't believe him. After all I done for him, he's just going to leave like it's no big deal. He doesn't understand the village looks up to him; I look up to him. Who's going to defend the village from wild animals? Who's going to put Wayn in his place? Fine if he wants to leave let him. 

 

"Akamon! Hurry up! Lashana is waiting for you at the edge of the village! Don't make her wait, she might leave you behind!" Elqwinwe heard Akamon's father, and with that Akamon quickly ran to his bed, threw the knapsack over his shoulders, and ran past the doorway Elqwinwe was standing in. 

 

"Qwin!" 

 

Elqwinwe turned around to Akamon's voice. He was looking her straight in the eye. Tightening his grip on his longsword, Akamon said to her,"Goodbye, Qwin. I'll miss you", with that he was gone. Gone forever. No longer would she wait on him to get done with helping his father. No longer would she sit against the juniper tree, watching him spar with the other Redguards in the village, admire his swiftness, the way he held the blade, his fighting style almost seemed like he was dancing. She missed him already.

 

After what seemed like a few minutes standing there, in the doorway of the only person she could call friend, she dusted her self off, and wiped her dress, she turned around to walk out the door of his parents house before looking back into his room and whispering,"I love you."  

 

************ 

 

"Qwin!" 

 

Breathing heavily, Akamon sat up in his bed. Looking down, Akamon realized he was in the Hall of the Virtues of War, in his own room. Still breathing heavily Akamon was holding his scimitar defensively as if waiting for an enemy to strike. Letting go of the blade, Akamon brought his hands to his face and thought, What is happening to me? For the past two years I've been having these dreams on and off. I don't have them every night, but when I do have them, they're so vivid and real. This one though, I swear I was looking through her eyes and did she say 'I love you'? Impossible how can I have a dream through the eyes of a dead person, but if I did then that would mean that she is.... Akamon hesitated for a minute. Everything that Akamon went through told him that his entire village was killed, slaughtered like animals by the Dominion. He knew, he buried their bodies. Then at the same time, he couldn't specifically recall if he buried Elqwinwe's body or not. 

 

Throwing the sheets of his body, Akamon got out off bed and stretched. Right next to his bed on the left was a water basin. Bending over and splashing his face with the cold liquid, Akamon felt awake and somewhat refreshed. Though standing there and looking at his reflection in the water, Akamon sighed. Lashana would think I'm going mad if I told her, but I have to. She's the only one who would listen to me. Drying of his face, Akamon dressed in a simple tunic over white clothe pants and slipped his feet into a pair of kagouti leather sandals, and left the room. 

[TheCzarsHussar]

Gracchus

Imperial Palace

Morning

 

As if the Elder Council didn't make a lifetime soldier like Gracchus nervous enough, this meeting seemed to multiply the High General's anxiousness. With such a large decision looming, he found himself thrust neck deep in the political intrigue he'd always hoped to avoid. A week had passed since Cyrodiil learned of the news, and this meeting had waited until then for the entire thirty members of the council to make their way to the capital city. Within that week, Gracchus found him beset on all sides by those hoping to either bring him over to their side, or shame him for holding a contrary opinion. Now he was about to willingly go into the same room as all those who wished him well or ill, and he knew that no good could come of it, no matter the decision. 

 

The Elder Council's main chambers only had sitting room for thirty, and no other room in the palace would hold that many, so they moved in another table for those wishing to watch the proceedings. Most of the councilors were there already, including two Gracchus immediately recognized. Quintil Wirich, a Breton, who supported no Imperial retribution against his home province. Surrounding him were the other four Bretons on the council, who all seemed to be in good spirits. Whether because they thought they would win today’s vote, or because it was a show, Gracchus couldn’t say. Nearly across the room from them, Serivus Marillan, a Colovian who earlier had berated Gracchus for his “cowardly and docile stance." Several other Imperials conversed with him, but most of them were Colovians as well. The members made their way to the circular table, were the High Chancellor and many other Nibenese councilors already sat.

 

Ample amounts of sunlight streamed through the tall, skinny windows in between each of the room’s support pillars, which highlighted the extravagant dress of the Breton party, and the rather less eccentric clothes most others wore. In front of each pillar stood a guard, and though he didn’t expect any violence to occur, Gracchus had made sure there were as many of his battlemages as there were Oculatus soldiers. The door to the chamber opened, and in walked Manis Adrard, cousin to the Breton king and ambassador to Cyrodiil. He got smiles from his brethren, and scowls from Serivus’ allies, but most said nothing to him, besides the curious glance. Evidently, he didn’t want to sit next to Gracchus, so he took a seat a few chairs down from the High General. Much to Gracchus’ surprise, the next person to come in was General Floyd Renoit.

 

His hair seemed to be on fire in this light, and he sat down next to Gracchus and said “Sir. Surprised to see you here.â€

 

Gracchus responded “I must see to it the best course of action is chosen, and I cannot do that from my office.â€

 

“And what is the best course of action?†the Breton general asked.

 

“Patience. Prudence. We don’t need a war right now, yet some wish it to be so only because of their injured pride.â€

 

“Yes, I had heard that’s what your view was, but I wanted to be sure for myself.â€

 

“You’re older brother is a Duke in High Rock, is he not?†Gracchus asked.

 

“Baron. It’s why I joined the legion. I wouldn’t ever become more than a knight there, so I came here.â€

 

Gracchus just nodded. The Breton seemed to have lost some of the fierceness in his personality with the news of his province’s secession. No doubt he recieved some pressure to return home, and some people from both sides had probably called him a traitor. Gracchus didn’t envy his position in the least.

 

The High Chancellor, a thick, burly man wearing a gold circlet, which held back his curly black hair, rose, and said, “Take your seats. We need to begin.â€

 

The councilors who’d been milling around found their way to the table, and soon everyone was seated.

 

“You all know what we’re here to discuss,†Doron continued once everyone was seated. “and there will likely be differing opinions. So, I will start.

 

“The end of the Empire has been a long time coming. The days of total control of Tamriel are a thing of the past. We must stop living in that past, and accept this future. Our goal is now to survive the coming invasion, not build up an empire,†he planted a thick finger on the table, and jabbed it up and down with each word to emphasize his point. “The Empire is dead. Accept that, and gear up for the next Great War.â€

 

Chancellor Zethus sat down, crossing his arms over his chest as he waited for the inevitable landslide of voices. He got it, as the Bretons clapped and cried, “Hear hear†while Serivus’ group yelled out their backlash, with such angry words as “Coward,†and “Traitor!â€

 

A Dumner went up, unlike everyone else in the room whom were clad in fine clothing, he was wearing traditional Dark Elf Bonemold armor, minus the helmet. Going by the insignia he bore, and the design of his armor, he was a member of House Hlaalu. This was Council Nerosh Hlaalu, one of the few well-to do members of the now infamous house. Councilor Nerosh was one of the legion's biggest supporters on the council as well as, automatically, Gracchus'. He spoke in a deep, raspy voice, showing that he was actually born in Morrowind. "Silence your tongue, filth."

 

Serivus stood up, his shaggy white hair swaying back and forth as he shook his head. “What is left, if there is no Empire? We must continue on, for our pride demands it! Not only is this a matter of losing our identity, but we cannot stand by and let people walk all over us, especially the Bretons.â€

 

“And what does that mean?†Synette Perrick asked. Her brother was a baron in High Rock, much like General Renoit’s. “You had best remember that a Breton sits on our throne right now. I suggest you follow Councilor Nerosh’s advice and silence your tongue.â€

 

"I think both sides should silence their tongues. Make no mistake, I don’t approve of you and your little gang, intent on sucking Theodore's fat ****." Nerosh had served in the legion for seventy years before getting a seat on the council, and he still had the attitude and mannerism of a sergeant. Extremely outspoken, however, the other councilors tolerated it because he was the oldest member of the council, and had served the longest. "Saying the Empire is no more is traitorous at best, but we should acknowledge the gravity of the situation." He sat back down, and motioned to Gracchus. 

 

"I would like to hear the High General's opinion on the matter," Nerosh said firmly.

 

"This is highly irregular-" Serivus started, but a look from High Chancellor Zethus cut him short. The chancellor knew where Ceno stood, and so hoped such a high ranking voice would supplement his own position. 

Gracchus, however, hadn't expected to be called to question, but managed to rein in his surprise. Standing, he said, "I have talked extensively with Legate Montrose, who commanded our forces in High Rock. I believe each of you received a copy of his report, yes? Right, well, after reviewing the events, and going over what options we have, I believe it is in Cyrodiil's best interest to do nothing."

A few voices started up, but Gracchus raised a hand, indicating he wasn't yet done. "Furthermore, it would be disadvantageous to exact retribution. The Thalmor have spies, possibly some in this very room. I do not need to remind you I was nearly killed after one of your own and one of my own conspired to help the Thalmor. So they will know if we send a force to High Rock, and they will seize that chance to attack. And with as much support as King Adrard has, it is unlikely we could retake the province unless we use considerable effort. Given the Bretons' penchant for castles and walled cities, we would be forced to play a waiting game. Retaking the province would take months, even years. Not to mention the very likely opposition from Hammerfell and Skyrim.â€

Finished, Gracchus sat down. No one moved to immediately talk, so Serivus again stood, not at all phased by the High General's opposition. 

"Well, not exactly the reaction one would expect from a general of the legion. If we accept your report as fact, that only means we cannot take it by force. Why not subterfuge? The Bretons," Serivus cast a sideways glance at Quintil, "think themselves superior to us in that regard, yet I think we of all people know how to conduct clandestine actions. An Oculatus team, perhaps, or a flotilla disguised as pirates, used to disrupt their trading."

A small, quiet laugh nonetheless echoed throughout the chamber, and all eyes eventually found its source. The High Rock ambassador covered his mouth to stifle the chuckle, but it was too late. He had everyone's attention, but took some time to adjust his ponytail, as his brown hair was evidently falling out. This garnered several disdainful looks, and Gracchus noticed the Chancellor Zethus was among them, his being particularly unpleasant. "You obviously do not know my cousin. I do not deign to threaten the council, but I do have a word of warning: do not underestimate Theodore Adrard. You did that once already, and look where you are."

 

Nerosh gave a cold smile, saying in a rather scary tone of voice, "Did we give you permission to speak N'wah? Remain silent, or I swear by Boethia, I'll have your skin torn from your body, pickled, and fed to my household dogs, and the rest sent to your cousin." Nerosh with his glowing red eyes, and heavy armor didn't look a councilor, more like a warlord. A terrifying one.

 

Manis simply shrugged, though Gracchus was sitting close enough to him that he could see sweat forming on the ambassador’s brow. His pompous confidence was an act, then, though Gracchus would not dismiss what the man had said. King Adrard had already proved himself dangerous, and was not to be taken lightly.

 

A fat Imperial with a bob cut coughed awkwardly, raising his hands, "The merchant guild would be up in arms if the council authorized something like disrupting trade routes." Councilor Fross calmly continued, "Maybe something more subtle? I hear there's many Orc war bands waiting for the chance to attack the nation. Perhaps we should consider...supplying them?"

 

"I would like to voice my opinion on this," said a slightly elderly Nord by the name of Bjor, coming from a wealthy and prominent family in Bruma. His hair and beard were so evenly cut that it made his head look a like ball. "What the traitor king in High Rock did demands a prize of blood to be paid. May Talos himself smite him for this unlawful deceit. But right now he is sitting half a province away while we're threatened by the Dominion. So I fear nothing short of the gods themselves would be required to bring this Adrard to justice."

 

A Nibenese councilor, wearing a dark purple set of mage robes, and who proudly displayed her cultural tattoos across her cheek and neck, said, “What’s to keep these Orcs from raiding the trading caravans? With the Oculatus, at least we could control them. Though I agree with Bjor, we cannot do much. Let the gods decide.â€

 

“Oh, how pious of you, Javolia. And I’m sure that when the Dominion comes calling, we will find you in the chapel, hm? I think not. To defend ourselves, from both physical harm and harm to our national conscious, we must rely on the strength of our sword arms,†Councilor Maximus said, to which Serivus said, “Aye! Too bad we have cowards leading the legion, the council, and sitting the throne. Perhaps Admiral Meridius will be keen to help.â€

 

Gracchus squirmed in his seat, his lips twisted in a deep frown. He was not a violent man, nor quick to anger, but Councilor Marillan was pushing his luck. General Renoit seemed primed to release his trademark fiery temper, but Gracchus stopped him, knowing it would bring no good. As he put his arm across the Breton’s chest to hold him back, it was then he noticed Lord Snow-Strider leaning on a pillar, hidden in its shadow. Evidently no one else did, to which Gracchus suspected some magic must have been involved.

 

Nerosh got out of his seat, pointing his index finger at the man, "And have you fought in any wars, experienced the frontlines firsthand? How dare you call the leader of our legion a coward. The only thing you've ever done is sucked the milk out of your nannies ***, and been spoon fed your entire life. If you’re so keen on violence, maybe you can lead the first wave personally?"

 

"If you people are just going to throw insults around, we might as well end this meeting right here and settle it as inconclusive,†said one of the two Redguards in the council.

 

"Ahem," said a woman, Pelena Tridus, now holder of her father's seat since he had decided to retire soon after his other daughter's death. "I think we almost might as well end it here and call it inconclusive. The army won't be able to intervene and assassins would have to be sent in private regardless. So I suggest we look to any non-violent action we can take against High Rock." She said in a calm voice. Then she turned her gaze quickly to Lilly who was seated to her right and looking rather tense and then to Lilly's mother, Aveline Quentas, that was seated to Lilly's right with a stone face. Pella gave Lilly a quick smile as if hoping to lighten up her mood before returning her gaze to the others.

 

"Like what? Trade restrictions? Then we might as well send a raiding party disguised as pirates," said a burly Nord almost before Pella had finished her sentence.

 

"As long as money flows, I have no comment on this matter,†said Aveline, her voice being barely above a whisper, and emotionless. Physically, she looked like Lilly greatly, but had the same lustrous golden hair her wayward sister, Milly had. Oddly, she looked only a few years older then her daughter; the countess was rumored to be a powerful mage. She wore a beautiful and frilly green dress.  

 

Lilly, who was fidgeting uncomfortably, said, "An extended Oculatus operation would be unfavorable. Like my mother, I abstain and my stance is neutral. I will abide by the council's will."

 

High Chancellor Zethus rose, and said, "I don't suppose either Serivus or Quntil have any more outbursts? No? Thank the gods. I too am willing to declare this inconclusive. The future may hold some message from King Adrard, or he may be foolish enough to take some antagonistic action. Until then, we'll stand pat."

Practically glaring at the council, Doron said, "Any objections?"

 

"I object," Serivus said, rising. "I object to serving on a council with traitors. It is fairly obvious our Breton members have no loyalty to Cyrodiil. I move we disbar them from the Elder Council!"

"Seconded!" Maximus said quickly.

"What? You can't do this. You have no proof we've done anything wrong!" Quintil said.

 

"Not that we, or at least I know of. Though your smugness isn't helping. If something smells foul it usually means something rotten is nearby." said a longhaired and long bearded Nord.

 

"And yet you Nords weren't persecuted after your war with the Empire. What makes us so different? Why should we bear the brunt of your anger towards High Rock?" Councilor Synnette asked.

 

Gracchus was ready for the debate to end, so when the notion of disbarring the Bretons came up, he sighed, and shook his head in defeat. Looks like he’d be stuck here while they debated whether or not to ban the members. He knew Councilor Serivus was out for blood, and he couldn’t blame him, but his fellow councilors hadn’t done anything wrong. He was looking for a fall guy in place of Adrard, but unless he found some proof, kicking them off the council was unlikely.

 

Nerosh got out of his chair, saying rather calmly, "Treason is dangerous business. You can’t accuse someone without proof."

 

"You're right." said Skjari as he stepped forward to many people's surprise. Behind him was someone in dark, full steel plate armor who remained by the pillar. "Simply being a Breton isn't a crime. My beautiful love is a Breton."

 

Skjari now began walk in along the backs of the council chairs. One councilor tried to begin to speak but soon found that no audible words came out of his mouth. "And as long as no one here has a loyalty outside our borders, you should have nothing to fear. And I dare say that while we have lost High Rock, Cyrodiil still stands as the largest and wealthiest province in Tamriel. Our harvests are the largest, our trade fleet may have diminished over the years but still have stand as a dominant force of the seas and our legions may have suffered defeats but still stand unbroken and unwavering to defend our borders. 

 

But there is one problem. Apparently a book, a book containing almost all Oculatus agents and contacts throughout the provinces, has been stolen. Imagine what would happen if someone with no good will for the Empire got hands on that book. Now there was a bird sent from this palace carrying a letter detailing the current holder of the book is willing to sell that book to the current ruler of High Rock, putting us under the thumb of the traitor that just deceived us."

 

Skjari stopped behind Quintil who looked about as confused as the rest, but now also became a little tense. "The price was a duchy and a big heap of money. Luckily that bird was caught and eaten by a bigger bird that then coughed up the letter to me."

 

 Skjari added before suddenly summoning and driving an ice spike into the Breton noble's shoulder, to which no audible cry of pain came, and using it as a handle to force the man down onto the table in front of him. Skjari also pulled out of his pocket a small half folded letter with the red seal attached to one end, showing that letter had been opened and held it up for all to see. "This letter was sealed with the sigil of Wirich family. Written in Quintil's handwriting. And I just had all this confirmed as the book was found hidden behind a painting in his office," he then threw the letter to the councilor to his left. 

 

It was Councilor Synette Perrick who caught the letter. She read it over, then looked up, a hand covering her mouth. "It's his handwriting. And his family's spider sigil."

Quintil rolled his head, so he could talk. His face was a twisted grimace of pain, his breathing heavy. "He's lying! It's a forgery, he's trying to use me as a scapegoat!"

Serivus rose, slamming his hand on the table. "I told you he was a traitor. The rest probably are too! We should place them under arrest and monitor their letters!"

 

An old Bosmer said, “You cannot do that! They’ve done no wrong!â€

 

A blue spectral blade materialized in Nerosh's hand, as he shouted, "Guards, arrest that traitor, and throw him into the deepest darkest dungeon." He pointed at the Ambassador, "Throw that N'wah in as well. Leave the others alone." He motioned towards the other Bretons in the room.

 

Gracchus rose and held up a hand. "Wait. Councilor Quintil is to be arrested, but the ambassador will not be touched. He has done nothing wrong, as his allegiance has always been with High Rock. And Councilor Nerosh, might I remind you, it is not your place to command these guards."

 

Captain Imperius, who had a squad of imperial palace guards on station coughed awkwardly, "Security of the Imperial Palace falls under the Oculatus, with all due respect sir. Meaning Colonel Quentas has higher jurisdiction." He gave Gracchus an apologetic look. Like his brother Marius, the captain was by the books.

 

Gracchus said, with a respectful nod to Lilly, "I apologize, Colonel Quentas, it would seem Captain Imperius is right. You are in charge of the Oculatus agents, but I count half of the guards stationed here that are my battlemages. And so long as they are here, only those who have been proven to be traitors will be arrested."

The High Chancellor had risen from his seat. He the wasn't saddened in the least by Quintil being arrested, as the man was leader of the Breton bloc, but there was no reason for the whole lot to be detained. After all, they could prove valuable allies, and they would be much more likely to follow his lead than Serivus’. "The High General is right. We can't arrest people just because Serivus accuses them of treason. If we did, I imagine everyone would be in jail. Take Quintil away, but leave the rest."

 

"Agreed," said Lilly. "However I insist on an inspection of his mansion and private belonging…for all we know he’s guilty of spying."

 

"I'm staying at the Tiber Septim Hotel. Third floor, room 8. Here is the key, if you wish," Manis Adrard said, tossing it over to Captain Imperius. "Oh, and please do be careful. I am only renting it, after all."

Gracchus ignored the ambassador’s smugness, and added, "Same with the other Bretons. We cannot be to careful after Councilor Quintil."

 

The imperial caught the keys, saying, "It shall be done."

 

"Get up." said Skjari as he lifted Quintil up from the table and then up from the chair. Quintil groaned and whimpered a bit as the ice spike still forced him to move. Some Oculatus and Skjari's apprentice approached and the wizard handed Quintil to the apprentice instead, who grabbed the ice spike and forced Quintil out of the room surrounded by half a dozen Oculatus agents in tow. Skjari then turned back to the council. "Now I don't think he was working alone. He didn't have access to where the book was kept. Lilly, go and gather all members of the Oculatus that are in the city and get them accounted for. I'd wager someone is about to make a run for it with a big sack of gold."

 

"More work..." She yawned lazily, her mother placed a hand on her shoulder, whispering something into her ear. Lilly adopted a scowl, before adding, "Anyone who confesses to spying right now, and detail it, will be given a much lighter sentence then they would have gotten if we find something in there house." She smirked, "My Grey Wolves will sniff anything out that you’re hiding. You might as well take this offer."

 

No one moved, for fear that any sudden movement would display their guilt. After a prolonged silence, Chancellor Zethus said, "Right. Doesn't look like you're getting any confessions. Better get to sniffing, Colonel Quentas."

 

"With pleasure, my lord." Getting out of her seat, she approached the Breton Bloc, drawing her longsword. The blade's hilt was decorated with silver vines, showing her allegiance to the county of Chorrol. A ceremonial blade, nothing more. Half a dozen Oculatus agents, two of which were part of Grey Wolf, followed behind her, drawing their weapons. Smirking she said, "Alright spectres, I want a detail on him 24-7. If does any form of resistance, throw him into The Oubliette " Her face becoming sadistic at the mention of the dreaded "forgotten chamber". She turned to face the High Chancellor, "Shall I handle the investigations immediately?" 

 

"Yes, I suppose you should get to work now," Doron said with a dismissive hand wave. "Though first we should vote as to whether to do anything. Those in favor of action raise your hand, and those against action do nothing.â€

 

One grumpy looking Nord and a few Imperials raised their hands, among them Serivus, Maximus, and Councilor Fross, but they were in the minority. Some members gave the High Rock ambassador disapproving looks instead as if to show their displeasure with his presence and smugness. 

 

"The vote is in favor of taking no hostile actions against High Rock for the time being. Then it's settled. I hereby declare meeting as over," Doron said and rose from his chair, to which all others did the same in unison.

 

The ambassador quickly hurried off before anyone else could leave, to report the council’s decision to his king. As the councilors followed suit, Gracchus couldn’t help but feel grateful that the council agreed with him. Not only that, but no hostile actions would be taken, and this feud was unlikely to escalate, while Skjari uncovered an attempt at spying within their midst. All in all, a good day. He’d have to keep his eyes and ears open for any action taken in secret, especially from the Oculatus, and the High Admiral was always a wild card, but at least his troops would be kept out of it, in the mean time.  

[TheCzarsHussar]

The Horn-Hands and Friends

The Rift

 

The air in the Rift was quite a bit warmer than in Eastmarch, but as heart of winter came, the temperature dropped even there. Roggi wasn't too worried, but he could feel the nip on the tips of his ears and nose. The sight of thatched roofs flashed in between barren tree branches. They were almost to Shor's Stone, then. He was about to comment on the groups ability to finally get inside, when he spotted a bush full of blue flowers. It was hidden slightly behind a rock, which seemed to block it from both sight and the wind. Roggi left the path and gathered up as many as would fit in his hands.

 

"Mivanu, I found some more ingredients," he called out to the front of the group.

 

"Hmm?" Mivanu had been talking to Jurik. It took her a moment to realize what Roggi was talking about. "Right, I'll take a look."

 

"You sure you're not giving one her too? You two seem pretty friendly," Cidius winked to Jurik, who just rolled his eyes.

 

"Keep your head on straight," the Horn-Hand said back. "That way I wouldn't have to put it in its place with my hammer."

 

"Ah, Nords. Puts a new meaning to the phrase 'warhammer diplomat'."

 

"Hey! I like my hammer," Jurik winked back.

 

"They're blue. Those make..." Roggi wracked his brain, trying to recall just what potions Mivanu said she used the blue mountain flowers for. He'd taken some interest in her alchemy, since he liked seeing these flowers and plants he'd seen his entire life be made into conpletley new things. "Health potions? I think that's what it is."

 

"Yes. Useful for healing. Sometimes poison. But mostly healing," Mivanu smiled and drew her dagger. It would only take a few moments to collect what she could use. "So, what do you remember about the other mountain flowers?"

 

Roggi said, with some confidence, "Purple restores stamina, and red restores magicka. Oh, wait, it's the other way around."

 

Mivanu smiled. "No, it is the other-other way around. Purple for stamina, red for magicka. And the yellow ones?"

 

"Had it right the first time. Damn. Yellow...yellow is rare. It's useful for resisting poison!" Roggi said.

 

"Aye. Not much of an antidote though. Some people don't know the difference. Easiest recipe for something to treat wounds?"

 

"Blue mountain flowers and wheat. Though you'd miss out and a good loaf of bread that way," Roggi said.

 

"Good, you're a quick study. Now if I could only get you to actually try mixing something," she stuck her tongue out at him as she placed the flowers in a small pocket in her satchel. "So, poisons? Any ideas?"

 

Roggi frowned, shaking his head. "Sorry, poisons are cowards work. A true Nord relies on the strength of his arm, no something smeared on his blade. I've been sticking to the potions, really."

 

"You sound like my man. Jurik's a bit more openminded, luckily. Mercs don't need to be ******* with their own chances of living, is my opinion. Besides, poison is much better in drinks than on blades."

 

"Jurik uses poisons? News to this one," H'Reni seemed to appear out of nowhere besides Mivanu and Roggi.

 

"Not really a warhammer thing. But he doesn't have a problem with it. I think."

 

"Bah, you start poisoning drinks, and soon you'll find yourself turning into a Breton. No thanks, not for this Nord," Roggi said.

 

"And this one thought it was the Nords who betrayed the Bretons to side with Tiber Septim."

 

"They were no true Nords," Roggi said, though it was more in jest than him being serious.

 

"H'Reni does not mind. If his enemies in this land will be the sort to overlook the cunning ways of dealing with a problem, he will not lose."

 

"And what would you do with people like Jurik and I?" Mivanu smiled at him.

 

"What this one does now, of course. Make you his friends."

 

"Oh, we better catch up, the other ones didn't wait for us," Roggi said, looking out at the now empty road.

 

"Bloody hell," Gjoring frowned at the Khajiit. "How do you do that?"

 

"Do what?" H'Reni teased when they caught up to the others. "Keep this one's fur so clean? I can show you."

 

"Nono! Ugh, cats..." Gjoring let out a groan. "No, how do you disappear like that? I just... stop noticing you one moment, then you're gone."

 

"H'Reni is not sure what the hairless mo- the Nord is talking about. Have the mead addled his brain?"

 

Gjoring rolled his eyes and grumbled to himself. Jurik and Cidius smiled.

 

"You do have a knack for slipping off. How'd you get to be so sneaky?" Roggi asked.

 

"H'Reni has no idea," the cat winked at him. "Between the moonsugar and the lovemaking, no one knew where I got the time to practice. Of course, H'Reni would say he learned to be so sneaky because he had to evade his mentor when he wanted to do his sugar and bed-exercises. That's good training."

 

"Sounds like quite the, uh, interesting life you led," Roggi said with a chuckle.

 

"One always meets interesting characters when one is a murderer for hire. Once I was asked to... deal with a witness. He had seen someone... hang around the graveyard, to put it delicately," H'Reni pulled out a dagger and started to toss it from hand to hand, switching which part of the blade he griped from toss to toss, ever fastening the pace. The Horn-Hands, Mivanu and Cidius gave him some space, not wanting to be on the receiving end of a misfire. H'Reni seemed to be doing it absentmindedly. "This one hopes to never see that contractor again. The witness gave too many details for H'Reni's liking."

 

Roggi stepped back too, keeping a wary eye on the blade, while his lips twisted in disgust at the story of graveyard escapades. "I can't imagine that was pleasant. Graveyards are spooky enough without strange people prowling around."

 

"H'Reni has also had more pleasant contracts. Like this lovely Suthay who pleaded for this one to spare its life rather aptly. Shame for her that H'Reni is a professional."

 

"That story sounds kinda familiar," Jurik winked to Gjoring and nodded to Mivanu, who puffed up her cheeks and shook her head. "Except Mivanu wasn't as much of a professional."

 

"Watch out!" Gjoring pulled Mivanu and Jurik behind him when it looked like H'Reni lost control over the dagger. He would've helped Roggi too, but he only had so many arms.

 

"What?" H'Reni said with some strain, grinning to the best of his ability. He had caught the dagger with his teeth and now he had some fun looking at the reaction of the others.

 

Roggi nearly jumped out of his fur pants, and he knew H'Reni had made a fool out of him. Judging by the looks of the others, he made a fool out of everyone. "Damn fur ball!"

 

"Forgive this one, H'Reni must find ways to amuse himself."

 

"Halt!" up the road a man in the colors of the Riften Guard shouted at them. "Who goes there? And what's your business in Shor's Stone?"

 

"I am Jurik horn-Hand," the Horn-Hand brother stepped forward, pointing to his companions as he mentioned them. "This is my brother, and our friends; H'Reni, Mivanu, Cidius and Roggi Knot-Beard. We're passing through on our way to Riften. And we hoped you had some spare beds and mead." He delivered the last line with a smile.

 

"And what's your business in the Hold capital?"

 

"We're mercenaries. We heard word that they'd be glad for more fighting men there," Gjoring took the word, surveying their surroundings. He could count three guards, including the one speaking to them.

 

"Mercenaries, eh? You better speak with Filnjar, our blacksmith."

 

"What for?" Mivanu asked.

 

"Just speak with Filnjar. He'll get you what you want."

 

"I wonder what that's all about," Roggi said to the group once they were clear of the guards.

 

Jurik shrugged. Gjoring didn't seem to have noticed Roggi said something, while Mivanu was busy trying to sneak up on H'Reni. When she was about to grab him, he stepped to the side and grinned at her. She let out a frustrated groan. Cidius followed her attempt with mild interest before he turned to Jurik.

 

"What's Riften like?"

 

"Hmm?" Jurik had been looking into the distance when Cidius spoke, so it took him a moment to return to the present. "Oh, eh, I dunno. The Rift is beautiful, but the city itself? Never did like the place. It just feels like I've stepped into a sewer."

 

"You did step into their sewer," Gjoring corrected with a chuckle. Not a fond memory, but they made it out alright. Mostly. Better than the coward who fled.

 

"Yeah?" Jurik got all up in Gjoring's face. "Well, your scar is ugly!" he said and stuck out his tongue at him.

 

"Hey!" Gjoring grabbed Jurik's arm. "I like my sca-ouch!" he retracted his hand almost immediately; his brother had given him a small shock. Jurik smirked at him and Gjoring just shook his head in response.

 

Roggi smiled as well. He was glad to be part of such a fun group, particularly one who was becoming more family like all the time. It was better than being cooped up in a mine for the rest of his life. He was living like a real Nord now.

 

Jurik gave Cidius a quick wink, before he went on to lead them into the settlement proper. That was what their little exchange had been about. It was easy to make out who Filnjar was, being the only one hammering. There was precious few others out, but this was nothing new. Shor's Stone was a mining town.

 

"Filnjar?" he raised his voice in hope of drowning out the constant hammerblows, but it didn't seem to be working. Or maybe his ears stopped working because of all the noise. Instead of wasting his voice, he went up and put a hand on the man's shoulder.

 

"What!? Oh, visitors!" Filnjar was elderly, balding and bearded. His hair was grey and belly fat. He wore a thick apron. "Wish I could offer some welcome, but we're all of edge here. And the Jarl won't send more men. I suppose there is no chance you and your friends happen to be sellswords, is there?"

 

"Heh, that's exactly what we are. The guards told us to see you," Roggi said with a friendly smile.

 

"Oh, good," Filnjar seemed relieved. He even put his hammer down. "Come on inside. I'll tell you over a mug of mead."

 

Roggi licked his lips expectantly. He was more than happy to get indoors, and to get a mug in his hands. He and the rest of the group followed the old smith inside, who went over to a bed and kicked a sleeping young man.

 

"Get out and tend the forge," Filnjar said to the apprentice. The young man left in a hurry, before running back in, grabbing his apron, and leaving again.

 

The group took places around a rickety old table that obviously saw little use. Once they got a few sips of mead in their bellies, they looked to Filnjar.

 

"Well," the old man began, drawing a long breath. Hopefully he could afford these people. "We've got some bandits giving us some trouble. Sometimes I wonder if it is worth staying here. First the spiders and now the lowliest of human scum."

 

"Bandits?" Jurik smiled and looked to Gjoring, who nodded in return. "I think we might be able to help. Where are they?"

 

"H'Reni thought we'd be discussing payment first," the cat commented. Jurik gave him a look that told him to shut it for now.

 

"Don't mind, friend," Jurik returned his attention to Filnjar. "We'll take care of them. We can talk payment later."

 

Roggi drank from his mug, deep and long, and let out a satisfied "Ahhh."

 

"Payment will come once we do the job," Roggi simply said.

 

"That's mighty kind of you."

 

"Well, what can you do?" Mivanu shrugged. "Civil war, the Dominion and dragons. Some should try to help."

 

"We'll get it done, then discuss payment. Give you some time to pull coin together anyhow," Roggi said.

[TheCzarsHussar]

Dilbon the Rat
Riften

It wasn't until both his legs had fallen asleep that Dilbon the Reproved finally allowed himself to stand and stretch them out. For a while, he'd been worried that his spying would be noticed by one of the many mercenaries that had flooded from Black-Briar Manor, but it eventually became clear that they were much too busy to pay him any mind.
They'd been heading elsewhere, but when Dilbon and his friend Arnath noticed the activity, he'd taken it upon himself to follow them while Arnath kept an eye on their manor.

Twenty minutes into the commotion, the Bee and Barb had been emptied of patrons, and the owners been kicked out, replaced by mercenaries dressed as commoners. What the hell are they doing? Dilbon thought, confused as to how this could possibly help them.

Shortly after this newest development, Arnath arrived at his side, and leaned on the canal railing that gave a good view of the inn from the west. "Two groups of the sellswords left the manor back-to-back." the Dunmer whispered. "First one had a girl, looked young. No older than thirteen. Second one had Sibbi Black-Briar himself, and he was with a woman. Pretty, but I didn't recognize her. Didn't recognize either of the girls. They went around through some pass ways, and entered the inn at the other side."

"What use've the Black-Briars got with little girls?" Dilbon wondered aloud. He turned to his friend. "They were with sellswords? As in, guarded by them?"

"Guarded, aye. But to me it looked like the sort of guardin' you get from a jailer. Their eyes were on the girls. Not the city."

Dilbon contemplated this as a new group arrived at the scene: Three men in cloaks, with weapons visible beneath them. They were big, and carried themselves like fighting men. A short time passed before another even larger figure, this one fully armored and more familiar, appeared and followed.

"Sibbi and Maul?" Arnath frowned, and his red eyes narrowed. "Now if only we could get close enough to burn the place down."

"Mara's sake, Arnath! There's a kid in there!"

"It was a joke." The Dunmer's stoic expression made it hard to tell if it truly had been.
They remained quiet for several minutes more until the three cloaked men exited the building and made for the city gate. Not long after came Maul, who called up a few of the sellswords and went north, towards the market.
A few more minutes passed and then a party of five exited the building. Among them, Dilbon and Arnath could see the figures of a woman and young girl.
"Shame of it is that the Barb's closed." said Arnath. "We may have to settle for paying Dreth a little visit when we're done with-"

"Shush!" Dilbon whispered sharply. He squinted, wishing they'd moved to a spot that didn't put the lowering sun into his eyes. The woman was familiar. She had a pretty face, easy enough to recognize, and this one... Dilbon's jaw dropped a bit. "What in the..."

"What?" Arnath asked him after his voice trailed off, and trying in vain to determine for himself what interested his friend so much about this group. "Is it the girls? They're the ones I saw goin' in."

Dilbon frowned and briefly glanced at his pointy-eared companion. "And you didn't recognize the woman?" He nodded towards the group, which marched on across a canal bridge in their direction. "She was at the executions. The big ones some months ago. Name was Iron-something or another. I saw her get beheaded right after Garthar."

Arnath remembered the executions, and the riots that accompanied them, but he hadn't gotten any better a look at the woman's face there than he could the one approaching them now. "You sure? Her head don't look cut off to me."

"Positive." Dilbon could forget a stranger's face as easy as any man, but the hopeless look of fear the doomed woman had worn in her final moments, that stuck with him.
"If that ain't her twin at the least, then I've still got all of my fingers." As if it helped prove his point, Dilbon lifted his right hand to show the half-length stumps of his middle three fingers.

"If that's true, then the Boss might want to hear about it. That's the execution he was caught at."

"Heh, yeah, and he went down swinging too."

They went quiet as the the group they spied on hastily made its way across the nearest bridge, headed straight for them. Dilbon and Arnath quickly ducked into an alleyway and disappeared into the confusing maze of buildings and narrow streets.
"I'll go to Etienne with this." said Dilbon as they expertly traversed the slums they'd grown up in. "He'll make sure what we saw reaches the boss. You go and find the Lioness. She may be be interested herself."

Arnath nodded and stopped at a path that veered off to the left. "Sounds like a plan. Shadow hide you, friend."

"And you as well." The two outlaws turned and headed off their separate ways.

***

Aerin
Midnight, one day later

Carlotta is alive. The phrase continued running through Aerin's head, over and over and over. He couldn't grasp it, couldn't touch it, couldn't comprehend it. As he lay propped up in his bed, unmoving, his eyes poured over with salty tears. Bittersweet tears, he realized. The Rats' entire mission was based on his sister being dead. Retribution, vengeance, revenge, those were their motives. Now...now, he was lost. Brand-Shei snored softy in the corner, and thankfully that noise drowned out Aerin's pitiful sobbing.

We cannot stop. We will not stop. They still have Carlotta, they still have Mila, and they're after Boldir. He'd want us to continue, to kill as many of them as possible.

But who was it they had killed in his sister's place? That part had perplexed him, as she, he, whoever it was, looked exactly like Carlotta. It was obvious, now, though. The face sculptor, who left town soon after the execution. His Rats told him that. And they also told him about Constance leaving town, which he thought convenient. Why the Black-Briars killed her, though, he didn't know.

Aerin sighed, wincing as he raised an arm to wipe away the tears. His ribs were purple and yellow, like a garish shirt. His hand shook as he raised it, clumsily smearing the tears around his also bruised face. Aerin's nose was crooked and lumpy, his eyes shadowed by a dark blue, his ears missing pieces, teeth shattered or missing.

This was the price paid to get to this point. Thinking back, he'd willingly submit to the guard's brutal punishment again if it meant forming his clandestine hit squad. Nothing brought people to a cause like someone they knew, someone they respected, being nearly killed. If nothing else, it clearly demonstrated just what lengths the corrupt Riften guards were willing to go to silence their opposition.

The mission was still to kill the Black-Briars, even if their cause was different. Instead of revenge, it would murder, plain and simple. Righteous murder was still murder, no matter what the Black-Briars did to deserve it. And they deserved it, there was no doubt. Who knew how many lives they had taken, families they had ruined.

What would Mjoll think? Would she slam me for stooping to their level? Laud me for continuing the crusade? It doesn't matter, they can't know either way. I can't risk them losing faith in the cause. Boldir will need us, whenever he returns. We need to find him, and soon. He has to know his family is safe, and that we're here.

Aerin coughed, grimacing as the pain in his ribs shot through like lightning. "Brand-Shei. Brand-Shei."

The Dunmer stirred in his sleep, finally snapping away with a grunt. "Your bandages need changing?"

"No. Not yet. I want...wake up Mojald."

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Brand-Shei checked to make sure the guards weren't coming. Seeing them busy at cards beneath a dim lantern, he began wriggling loose the fist sized stone they used to pass messages between the two cells. Mojald was asleep too, it being close to midnight after all. The dark elf tossed the stone at him, waking the Nord up with a jolt.

"What is it?" he growled between clenched teeth.

Brand-Shei looked expectantly at Aerin, who said, "I need to send a message. Two messages. Now."

"Fine," Mojald the Craven said.

Tiptoeing on top of his overturned chamberpot, he held up thumb and forefinger near the grated window. Snapping, a small spark of flame briefly flashed. They always had someone watching, day or night. No one expected the Nord could use magic, so he had been put in an unwarded cell. Unfortunately, his magic extended to his ability to make a spark, but even that had it's uses.

Within five minutes, barely audible voices could be heard conversing, and soon a slender pen and scroll came through the hole. Scribbling, Aerin quickly wrote out first his message, for Mjoll.

Find Boldir. Rumored to be with Bandits. Whoever finds him, give him the other scroll. DO NOT OPEN OTHER SCROLL.

On the second, the one meant only for Boldir, he said,

Carlotta is alive. Her and Mila unharmed. Maul used armor to pretend to be you. Stormcloaks came to town looking for you. You have friends in the city. -Aerin

It was dangerous signing it, he knew that, but he needed Boldir to believe it. If he did, maybe it would encourage him to find help, or go to his friend the High-General. They needed allies of some kind. He was about to hand back the scrolls for delivery, but flipped Mjoll's over and wrote out the next hit target. The biggest one yet.

Hemming

***
Arnath the Rat
Riften Warehouse

The morning was supposed to be a quiet one. Supposed to be. After a long previous afternoon of spying on Black-Briars, Arnath and Dilbon had both wanted nothing more than to go to their homes and at least make it through the dawn hours of the next day without being disturbed. Indeed, most of their little assembly was a little miffed over the timing of their unexpected summons, and now they all waited in tired silence for the last person to arrive.
Hofgrir Horse-Crusher, with his wide arms and stout build, was beginning to doze off in the corner, his head leaned back against the wall, and Etienne's elbow was planted on a desk, propping up his resting head. Sitting at the foot of the stairs, Dilbon and Arnath quietly argued about the existence of Snow Elves, and nearby, Anise the Harmless leaned on a wall and listened to them in amusement. The last of their currently assembled group a hunter from the Reach named Kolach. He was upstairs on the main floor, keeping an eye on the window so that he could warn them in the event that somebody other than those summoned were to come sniffing.

"She's here." called the Reachman from above.

"Finally." muttered Etienne, as he sat up and tossed an empty inkwell at a snoring Hofgrir, who woke with a start. "I was just thinking of starting without her."

"Just like the Lioness to plan something before the break of dawn and be the only one to show up late." muttered Arnath.

"Lay off her." Anise said. "Not all of us grew up sneaking and skulking around."

"You took to it quickly enough." the Dunmer retorted with a sly grin.

"I don't stand out like Mjoll does." Anise responded with a frown. "She has to take her time and make sure she's not followed."

The door opened upstairs, and they all heard the Lioness's heavy iron boots drum their way down into the basement. Mjoll was an attractive woman once, in a strong, Nordic sort of way. But after being beaten by Maul's men, she now sported several poorly healed scars and a slightly crooked nose. Her stripe of blue war paint hid some of it, but not all. She also walked with a heavy limp, and would do so for the rest of her life. Despite all of this, Mjoll still somehow carried herself tall and would fight a saber cat if asked to.
When she arrived downstairs, she looked at them all and nodded. "I don't know how many of you know this, but as it turns out, Aerin's sister is still alive." She glanced over at Dilbon and Arnath. "At least if you weren't mistaken."

"Unless that were his sister who was at the executions, then I'm not." Dilbon answered confidently.

"Though alive doesn't count for much when she's a Black-Briar captive." said Etienne. "Now, Aerin obviously wants her free, so that's something we're going to work on. We're going to have shifts to watch Maven's place from here on, from a distance of course. If that woman, or her daughter, the girl seen with her, leaves that house again, we will make sure they don't go back in."

"And that is only our long-term plan for saving her." Mjoll said. "There's another matter as well. I've met Carlotta's husband, Boldir. If nothing else, he cares about his family. That much was obvious. It's been rumored for months that he's gone and become a bandit, and Aerin seems to believe these rumors. He wants us to find him and deliver him this letter." she held up a small letter, rolled up and tied with an old string."

"Anise, Dilbon. That is what we need from the two of you." said Etienne, looking at Mjoll then nodding for her to give Etienne the scroll. "Aerin also says that he'd rather you not read it... so don't."

Dilbon's brow lowered. "Meanin' no offense to you, Anise, but I work best with Arnath. Always have."

"Yeah, well not this time. We need Arnath for something else."

"Then I'd rather be a part of that."

"No, you wouldn't." It was clear from his stony expression that Etienne did not intend to budge on the matter, so Dilbon turned to Arnath.

"Aren't you with me on this, brother?"

To his surprise, Arnath shook his head. "Just listen to Etienne, Dilbon, if you want to help, then this'll be the best way for you to do it. This time, we'll be more useful separate."

It seemed to Dilbon like Arnath knew something he didn't, but Dilbon wasn't an argumentative man by nature, and he didn't want to make too big a deal over this. He took the scroll and went to stand by Anise, who gave a brief smile to show that she was not offended by his attempts to work with someone else.
"Were do we start?" he asked, glancing back at Mjoll.

"There are two major clans along the lake." she said. "The closer clan lives at Faldar's Tooth, and the other, Treva's Watch." She pulled out a scroll and unrolled it to reveal a map of the Rift. "Both are marked here. I don't have much else to give you."

"So you want us to just go knocking on bandit doors looking for a man who may or may not be there?" Dilbon asked. As this plan was now, he wasn't certain it was worth the risk. What did he care if this Boldir knew his wife lived?

"It would be wiser to hide and watch the places for a while. See if there are any familiar faces in them. Boldir is supposedly with a few ex-guildmates. And he's a big fella himself. Black hair, most likely with some scars. You couldn't miss him." Etienne went back to the desk and grabbed a third scroll, this one bigger than the map or note. "This here's a magic scroll. It'll paralyze anyone in front of you. Take it."

Dilbon looked at the rolled up parchment, unsure if he was supposed to open it. "So do I throw it at people or...?"

"I'll explain to you how to use it on the way." Anise said, gently taking the scroll from his hand. "And we do have a lot of walking ahead of us, so maybe we should get going."

"That would be best." Etienne agreed.

"Talos guide you both." Mjoll added, as they made their way upstairs.

When the two were gone, Arnath turned to Etienne. "You didn't want me to go with Dilbon. Does that mean we're killin' someone?"

"What makes you think it would mean that?" asked Etienne, more curiously than anything.

"Dilbon's a good thief, but he ain't got the spine for the gritty work that needs doing. And he don't approve of the killing, so you sent him and Anise the Harmless off to do a job that don't require your sword arm."

"You're right." Etienne said. "Though Anise is far from harmless. That's why I sent her with him. Dilbon may need the protection if they do get found."

"So who are we killing?" Hofgrir asked, scratching his beard.

"The biggest target we've had by far." Mjoll said. Of everyone here, she stood out the most. Murder was so far from what anyone would expect of the Lioness that most of them still weren't used to the idea of it. Though, she refused to call it murder, herself. She called it justice, for crimes the city refused to acknowledge. "We're going to kill Hemming Black-Briar."

The room was silent for a moment, as everyone grasped what she said. Arnath was the first to recover himself.
"Well, it's about damned time."

***

The Bee and Barb
Two days later

"There is a mighty King,
The bards do sing,
Has axe real sharp and a voice real mean!
And forevermore,
That voice is a little sore
Since King Ulfric shouted down the Emperor's whore!"

"Nords." Kolach murmured, sure to keep it under his breath so that Arnath alone could hear him. "Win a war and they treat you like a bloody god, and they can't just let Torygg be dead without insulting him."

Arnath half-grunted, half-choked, but it was mostly to stifle his laughter at the uncomfortable Reachman's reaction. The man would've stood out like a sore thumb, if he had been tall enough to be seen over a Nordic child's head.
Personally, Arnath liked the song, and thought it funny that Kolach had spoken to him in hopes that he could relate as a non-Nord.

The pair pushed their way past the unusually crowded room to the Argonian inn-keep, Keerava. They'd been waiting over a day for the Black-Briars to contact her, and apparently, they finally had. "Keerava!" Arnath grinned as he approached her, though she only returned it with a scowl. At least, he was pretty sure the lizard was scowling.

"What do you want, thief?" she asked, her slitted pupils darting from Arnath to Kolach, and back to Arnath again. "I already paid your friend this week."

"If he was collecting protection money, he's no friend of ours." said Kolach, ever self-ritcheous. "We didn't come here to take anything from you. We came because a letter was delivered to you today from Black-Briar Manor."

The lizard's eyes slanted. "If you are not here to rob me, why does my business concern you?"

"It doesn't." Arnath said, "But the family's does. Maven rarely leaves her home anymore. Is it true that her son has been the one coming to you as of late?"

"Her son and the men that follow him, yes." Keerava looked at them both suspiciously. "He wrote me this morning, telling me to be ready for today's delivery, and..." she paused. "And I have work to do. So if you two aren't going to buy anything-"

"We aren't here to make things difficult for you, Keerava." Kolach said, gently, his eyes full of what may have even been genuine concern. "What we're doing might even help you."

"I know what it is you're doing." The Argonian snapped. "If you're not here for the thieves or Black-Briars, then you can only be with that other lot. Those Rats who've been killing people in the streets. Even if it is Maven's men, I won't have any part in that. It's wrong, but it could also get myself or my husband killed. Or our inn taken. They already threw us out a few days ago."

Arnath's thick grey brow furrowed. He was getting tired of this lizard thinking she could keep them from what they needed. "I don't know nothin' about anyone doing any killing. But if I did, I sure as Oblivion wouldn't want to be the scaly crone who's turning down the killers. Especially when I don't know nothin' about them. Or their friends."
He rested his hands on the table, and allowed a small sliver of steel to poke out from his sleeve.

Keerava,

The delivery will be late this evening. Closer to 6. Markarth isn't buying right now, so prices are up. 3,000 for the whole shipment. Have ALL of the the money this time, or you won't be seeing a drop of mead for the rest of the month.

Hemming

"You didn't have to do that." Kolach muttered, breaking the long silence that had been between the two of them as they waited at their position in the marketplace.

"Do what?" Arnath asked with a smirk.

"Threaten Keerava. What makes us better than them if we're just going to be thugs ourselves?"

"We needed to know when he'd be out again. And it's for a good cause. Did you have a better idea?"

Silence was his only answer, and Arnath was content with that. His hands thrummed on an old fish barrel as he seemingly smoked his pipe and watched the market throngs. But one eye was always on the mansion, waiting for the regular hired patrols to clear out and allow Hemming Black-Briar through. It was pretty dark now, so he could get away with less subtle peaking than he could've an hour ago.

It was ten after six when the doors opened, and a small entourage of sellswords, clad in leather and armed with steel, marched outside. There were six in all. It took a minute for Arnath to make out Hemming's exquisite, dark brown furs in the midst of them. He removed his pipe and whistled. Moments later, another whistle called out in answer from across the canal.

Another man met Hemming's group from behind their fence, with a push cart full of crates in front of him. He led the way. They moved quickly, wisely not trusting the streets of Riften at dusk. Arnath and Kolach waited. They were approaching the canal bridge now, almost to the market.
Arnath hummed the Stormcloak song from earlier as he removed the lid to the barrel he'd been standing by and very slowly removed a longbow, careful to keep his back between it and his target.
He turned and lowered the weapon behind the barrel, then pulled out one of his own hawk-feather arrows. "You good?"

Kolach nodded. His face looked pale in this lighting, but maybe it was always like that. The Reachman lifted out his own hunting bow in turn, and kept his back to the approaching group as he began to string it. You couldn't have done that earlier?

Arnath's eyes pried the shadows across the canal for Etienne, but found nothing. Either their best man was lost, or, much more likely, he was exactly where he wanted to be.

They were on the bridge now, crossing the canal with the wagon of mead leading the way. That was when Arnath saw it: a small flame on the other side. It was small, but grew larger quick, and for a brief moment, he could see the burning arrow whistle through the air. It stuck it's mark, thudding hard into the mead wagon. All the men drew their swords as two more arrows followed, then a third. Eventually, the fire spread, and the wagon was aflame, blinding Hemming and the sellswords to one side of the bridge.

Arnath lasted no time now in nocking his own arrow. He took aim and fired, smiling to himself as one of the confused sellswords fell over the railings with a hawk-feather arrow buried in his chest.

Another man fell into the fire and rolled around in agony. And a third fell with one of Etienne's flaming arrows embedded in his chest. Arnath prepared a second shot and fired. It struck sellsword number four in the arm. Damn. He'd been aiming for Hemming. Right now, Black-Briar was frightfully shoving through his remaining three men, trying to go back the way they'd come. Arnath saw one of Kolach's arrows strike the noble in the shoulder. He fell. Before he could get back up, Arnath, Kolach, and Ettienne all aimed and fired again. Two of them, one with hawk feathers, struck true.
If that didn't kill him, then he ain't gonna be much of a threat afterwards. thought Arnath, who tapped Kolach and made a bee-line for the other side of town. They could hear guards calming out and approaching, but most of Riften's houses were built in haphazard patterns, and disappearing amongst the ditches and alleyways was easy for two light-footed men such as themselves. The guards saw them, but so what? Both wore cloaks and cowls, and the shadows cast by dim evening light would've hidden anything else.
Arnath grinned as a pang of excitement washed over him. They'd killed a Black-Briar!! Now, all that remained was to meet back up at the warehouse and discuss what comes next. Dilbon may not have liked this sort of thing, but Arnath sincerely hoped that his friend would be back in time for celebration.

 

[TheCzarsHussar]

Dilbon the Rat

Morning

 

West of Riften, the trees grew thicker, and the hold of always-autumn began to show new signs of the mid-winter. Dying leaves crunched beneath their boots, and the usual reds and oranges Dilbon had grown up with slowly became faded browns and grays.

Anise had led them north a good few miles before they even took a step off the main road. She claimed to know the land well enough to turn them west without following the shoreline of Lake Honrich. That way, they could loop north of the bandit forts and watch them from the forest rather than have the bandits spot them first, completely exposed on the beach.

It had seemed like a good plan at the time, and unlike Anise, Dilbon seldom left Riften for anything other than the odd guild work in Windhelm, and even that was rare enough these days. But unfortunately for them, the hold's conditions were not what they once were. They whole way north, they did not spot a single guard patrolling the road, and even the Rift watchtower was abandoned. Here and there they passed a wagon, always empty of supplies, but more often than not with dried and crusted blood dotting the road around it. It was only when they passed the fourth one that Anise had decided they should get off the road and start west through the trees. That was when the bandits had revealed themselves.

 

"Bad time for goin' north." the first had said through yellow teeth and a patchy brown beard. He was brandishing a rusty old meat cleaver as though it were a sword. There where three of them in all, each with a different weapon of equally low quality. Dilbon had frozen in his tracks, immediately going for the scroll Etienne had given him. Anise had stopped him with one hand while raising the other.

 

"Do you know a man named Boldir Iron-Brow?" she'd asked, carefully easing in front of Dilbon. "We've been sent to meet with him. We're friends."

 

The three raggedy men had only looked at each other and laughed. "You ain't no friends of mine." said another one. He was bald and scarred, with a chipped Imperial sword. "Especially if you're a friend of one of those lake clans." He spit at their feet. "That's what you'd been thinkin' right? That we're lake clan?" He took a step closer. "It's the damned lake clans that've been stirring up trouble 'round here. Can't grow crops without them stealing 'em." he'd growled.

 

"Can't travel without getting robbed by them." said the first one.

 

"And now you can't even collect tolls on the roads, since they got Maven to let her dog off his leash." The third man added. He was the largest of the bunch. A burly Nord with blonde hair and a pockmarked face half covered in beard. He carried a woodcutter's axe in his left hand. "But we followed you a mile, just to make sure he wasn't in the forest keeping an eye on you."

 

As they'd spoken, Anise had gradually eased right. They were not experienced fighters, that was made obvious enough when she'd drawn her sword and cut down the big one before he could even raise his axe. The bald one followed, he was still so startled by her attack that he couldn't hope to defend against the flash of steel that ended his life. The brown-bearded man was the only one who even had a chance to put up a fight, and he was hopelessly outmatched. Anise swung at his cleaver so hard that it flew from his grip, and she followed up with a swift jab into his belly. 

"I'd say it's time to move into the woods, now." she'd said between breaths. "Agreed?"

 

Dilbon had been almost too stunned to respond. "...Uhh... Yeah, agreed."

 

That was two hours past, now. And they hadn't seen any life, bandit or otherwise, since. In all that time, they'd shared barely a word for fear of a repeat event with the apparently more dangerous bandits of the lake clans. The further west the pair moved, the closer they came to land controlled almost entirely by them. The unavoidable crunching of dead leaves made the trek feel all the more dangerous, and there were plenty of times when Dilbon was certain that anyone within a mile must be aware of their presence. 

It's all in your head, Dilbon. It ain't as quiet out here as it seems. Talk to Anise or something. You need t' ease up.

"So, Anise... Why do they call you the Harmless? That don't seem like a good description after what you did to those bandits."

 

The breaking of such a long silence startled her for a second, but Anise chuckled. "Oh, they've called me that since I was a girl, out playing with my brother and sister. I was always the good one. Never did anything to get in trouble and never broke any rules. So people took to calling me the harmless one of the three. But like half the other Nord men of his age, Pa was a veteran of the Great War. He taught us all to fight. I never liked it the way my brother did, but I was the best. I admit, it wasn't a name I cared for, but it stuck nonetheless, and I got used to it. What about you, 'Dilbon the Reproved'?"

 

Dilbon grinned and held up his right hand and showed her the finger stumps. "No fairy tales here. I got caught stealin' back when Laila's Pa was still Jarl. They took a few fingers as punishment. So that's that. Dilbon the Reproved. Not that it matters. We're all Rats now. Doesn't sound any prettier, but rats are crafty creatures. Resourceful. Don't often have to deal with being reproved. Not that I've ever cared much about what people called me anyways."

They walked a few more minutes in silence, the crunch of the leaves beneath their boots the only sound they made. Dilbon's mind lingered for a while on their two very different names before it began to wander, and then it eventually came back to the job at hand. "So which fort should we go to first?" he asked. "Faldar's Tooth is closer. 'cording to the map."

 

"Treva's Watch will be easier, though." Anise said. "It sits beneath a hill, and we'll be able to figure out more quickly if Aerin's friend is there. And if we're pretty sure he's not, we can move on to Faldar's Tooth, which will probably take a lot longer."

 

"Sounds good."

They traveled slowly and uneventfully for the rest of the day and much of the night. Dilbon almost suggested stopping for camp a few times, but ended up holding his tongue. Anise clearly knew what she was doing, and he was surprised to find that he was grateful for her company, even if he was accustomed to working with Arnath. Eventually, at what must've been an hour past midnight, they came upon a steep hill, and he didn't need Anise to tell him that they needed to be especially quiet from here on. 

The climb wasn't too difficult, but it took the better part of an hour to make it up as silently as they did, and once they'd reached the top, Dilbon was glad that they'd made the effort. Perhaps twenty feet to the south, he could make out torchlight in the darkness, illuminating the shapes of patrolling men on a fortress wall. He and Anise crawled over to some shrubs and hid themselves from view of the fortress. "I'll take first watch." he whispered, sitting up and leaning against a rock. It would be difficult to look out, with so many ways to be approached, but there was no way Dilbon would want them both asleep so close to the fort.

Anise nodded graciously and quickly fell into a deep slumber. The first hour or so of watching wasn't too hard, but after a while, Dilbon began to feel his eyelids grow heavy, and then begin to droop.

 

"HEY!" His eyes snapped open and Anise shot up, hand on her hilt. It was dark, but above them stood two men, both in rugged fur armors and wielding iron swords. Dilbon looked guiltily at Anise, who didn't seem to realize that he'd fallen asleep and missed the approaching bandits. 

"What're you two doing out here? Trying to spy on us are ya? Friends of Hrokvild's, maybe?"

 

The one on the right stepped on Anise's sword and kicked it so that it went tumbling down the hill. "You won't be needing that, woman. Not for where you're going." He turned to Dilbon. "So, my friend asked you a question. What are you doing here?"

 

"We're looking for Boldir Iron-Brow!" Dilbon answered quickly. "We're friends."

 

"Boldir Iron-Brow?" The bandits looked at each other. "Never heard of him."

 

Well, that makes our job easier, then. Dilbon thought. At least, if we survive this.

He had every intention of surviving. His fingers wrapped around the paralysis scroll at his belt and he shot up, brandishing it before them. "Stand back! I'll use it if I have to!" 

 

Now that it was being waved in the faces of these two armed men, the scrap of parchment didn't look all too threatening. The bandits must've shared this belief, because they only laughed, but the distraction was good enough. Dilbon had no idea how to work the scroll, but he drew his dagger the moment that Anise shot forward, tackling the larger man while he went for the smaller. His blade struck the bandit's chest, but it abruptly stopped on something tough, like iron, and he was quickly shoved to the ground. Anise faired a little better, as her opponent at least ended up on his back. Dilbon heard them scuffle as he regained his feet, but then his heart sank when his ears met a sickening wet sound. The smaller bandit's sword was in Anise's back. He watched in horror as the man wrenched it out and kicked her off of his friend. The bandits turned their attention to Dilbon as she tumbled down the hill. 

 "All right, now the funny one. I'll be having that scroll for myselouugh..."

 

For a wild moment, Dilbon thought it was Anise's sword that burst from the bandit's neck, but the figure he saw behind was smaller and male. The blade disappeared and then plunged itself into the chest of the second bandit as he was rising. Before the man could scream, a pale, bloody hand covered his mouth. 

"Shh Shhh Shhhhh... There we go. You don't want to wake your friends, do you?"

The voice was strange. Masculine, but not quite normal, as if it belonged to an Argonian instead of a man. The owner, who had seemingly appeared from nowhere, was a thin bald man wearing hide armor on all but his bare feet. "Don't be afraid, you slimy little cretin. You're a Nord and you died sword in hand. Father Shor will appreciate that, no doubt. Hehehe." The man didn't even seem to notice Dilbon as he knelt down over his dying foe. 

Not foe. Prey.

"You want me to put you down?" The man let out a half-cackle, and Dilbon worried that other bandits might hear. "Well, since you asked so nicely." He drew what Dilbon now saw to be an Imperial shortsword out of the bandit's torso, drew it deep across his neck. There was a twitch, and then the man died. Dilbon's 'savior' turned to face him, and the moonlight revealed a gaunt face, a patchy grayish beard, and the lightest blue eyes he'd ever seen. His tongue shot out at the corner of his lips as if to wet the one spot, and those pale eyes hungrily undressed Dilbon down to his very soul.

 

"Who- who are-"

 

"Ollus." the man breathed. "I am Ollus. Also a friend of Boldir Iron-Brow." He flicked his sword and knocked the dagger from Dilbon's hand, and before the thief could even react, he was in his face, their eyes inches apart. The man's breath reeked of uncooked meat. "Which is why it is strange that we haven't met." He sniffed Dilbon's shoulder, making him flinch. 

"You're a man of Riften, I take it. A spy, maybe? Why's a friend of Boldir's all the way out here?"

 

Dilbon gulped, and forced himself to meet the terrifying eyes again. "I could ask you the same."

 

"Hehehe. hehe. haha. Funny and a bold." The stare grew more intense, and Ollus cocked his head. "I asked you a question. You're answer was neat and all, but if I don't like the next one, I'll gut you and decorate my room with your bones."

 

Dilbon liked his bones inside him. "Aerin sent me." he said without hesitation. "We've been working against the Black-Briars in the city for some months now, and he had a message for Boldir."

 

"Aerin's alive, eh?" That seemed to please Ollus enough to get him to back out of Dilbon's face. "Well that's just great! I'd hoped he'd make it. That man was one of the original seven, you know. Those of us that took Goldenglow. Of course, that bastard sellsword ruined that little fellowship right quick."

 

Dilbon didn't understand half of what the strange man was talking about, but the Goldenglow bit had made its rounds in the rumor mill. Any association with Aerin though, was new. He had always just believed it'd been random outlaws.

"Can you take me to him?" Dilbon asked. The man seemed insane, and he was a little worried to even ask the most mundane of questions, but this was the best chance he had of getting to Boldir.

 

"Take you to him?" Ollus's eyes shot back to him, and he flicked his tongue again. "Boldir ordered me to come here and scout... but a message for him... I can always come back tomorrow. And you've ruined my camp spot anyway..." The man nodded to himself a few times and grinned. "Yes, yes. I can take you to him. He would want to know his brother lives."

 

Brother? That was news. They pushed back west at a much quicker pace than the one he'd taken toward Treva's Watch. Ollus moved through the woods quickly, and without the caution that Anise had. Dilbon was nimble, but even he had a little trouble keeping up the odd man's lead. "So," Ollus called back to him as he skipped over some tree roots, "What is your name, Messenger?"

 

"Dilbon." he answered, weary to give his name, but ultimately too afraid to lie. "Dilbon the Re- the Rat."

 

"Heheha! You'll fit right in!"

 

After some hours of brisk jogging, the sun cracked over their backs and Dilbon realized that he had never been so exhausted in his life. By the time they arrived on the shore before the walls of Faldar's Tooth, he was in such a daze that he'd almost just kept running right on past it. He'd been thinking about his friend, Arnath, and hoping that whatever the Dunmer was doing, he was fairing better than they had. Poor Anise. She mentioned siblings and a father. Are they still alive in Riften? Did they know what she was doing?

The shouting brought him back to the real world.

 

"Ollus here! Open up! ... Open up! Open up! Open up!" Ollus ran his sword along the barred gate as he shouted, and Dilbon heard what had to be a pack of wolves howling from somewhere inside. "ArooOOOO!" The pale Nord shouted back at them. "Good morning to you too, pooches!"

 

The portcullis raised to reveal a trio of Nords waiting near the entrance. The one on the right was unimpressive, just an ordinary enough dark-brown haired Nord with a spear. The one on the left, however, was huge. He had long red hair and a twin-braided beard that reached his chest. Some kind of silvery mail glistened beneath the thick pelts that made up most of his outfit, and a baby troll skull was strapped to his shoulder. Slung over his back was a big ebony warhammer. He smiled lightheartedly, as if Dilbon's arrival was a funny joke to him.

As interesting as the man's appearance was, however, it was the right Nord who drew most of Dilbon's attention. He remembered the description Etienne had given him. "He's a big fella himself. Black hair, most likely with some scars. You couldn't miss him." 

There was, indeed, no chance that Dilbon would have missed the figure before him. The red-headed Nord was an easy head taller than he was, and yet Boldir Iron-Brow stood a couple inches above even him. His dark black hair fell down either side of his face and to his shoulders, and matched the thick beard that hid most of his lower face, and burn marks were just visible to the left of his eye. Boldir wore fur armor mixed with Nordic steel boots and bracers, and rested the butt of a large iron battle axe in the dirt before him. There was nothing notably iron about Boldir's brow, but the same could not be said of his gaze. The man's blue stare was as hard as the substance he was named for.

 

"This man has a message for you, Boss." Ollus said, grinning as he grabbed Dilbon's arm and yanked him toward the procession. "He says it's from Aerin."

 

The red-haired Nord glanced at Boldir questioningly, and Boldir gave him some answer that Dilbon couldn't make out. It seemed to satisfy the man though, as he just chuckled and wandered off to speak with some others in the courtyard. Boldir himself, nodded to them, and his lips twisted into what he must've thought was a smile.

"If this is true, then it gladdens me to know that he's alive." he said. "We've gotten little enough good news as of late. What news does my brother have for me?"

 

Dilbon procured the letter from his pouch and handed it over. The old rolled up parchment had gotten a little crumpled during last night's events, and the string that tied it had slid off. Boldir's eyes poured over it for only about three seconds before widening and loosing all of the stoniness they'd displayed moments before. Dilbon watched them read it, and reread it, and then once more before Boldir carefully rolled up the letter and pocketed it himself. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, the iron had returned, and it was focused on him. "Is it true?"

 

Dilbon didn't need to ask what the Nord referred to. "She lives. I saw her meself."

 

This time, Boldir's smile seemed much more genuine. "Thank you, Friend. What is your name?"

 

"Dilbon, Sir. Dilbon the Rat."

 

"You don't seem like a rat to me. Would you not prefer that we call you by a different name here?"

 

Dilbon thought back to Anise, and the way she'd died because of his negligence, and the way he'd been so quick to put it behind him. "No, thank you. It fits just fine."

 

"As you wish. Well, Dilbon the Rat, we have warm food and decent enough bedding. The non-Nords complain that it gets cold at night, but you look tired enough not to care. Enjoy whatever comforts you can find, because tomorrow I'll be sending you back with my reply. Go on, rest easy."

 

***

 

Boldir

 

Boldir watched the exhausted man in thieves' garb graciously head off toward the tower he'd pointed him to. Runar stood beside him, spear in hand. "Do you trust him?" the boatman asked.

 

"No." Boldir answered without hesitation. "His letter had Aerin's name at the end. It said that my wife lived and that we have friends in the city. That's it. If Aerin was discovered, then faking a letter in his name to throw me off wouldn't be difficult at all."

 

"I can kill him." Ollus offered. "It would be easy, and for all we know, he's here to assassinate you. Though if this were the case, it seems unlikely that he'd have started searching at Treva's Watch. He'd make a mediocre assassin to be sure. Of course, if you give him too much in reply, it could go straight to Black-Briar."

 

Treva's Watch? Boldir had wondered why it was Ollus who had brought their guest in. He'd sent the man to scout out Treva's Watch days ago. The assault would be soon. And he wanted to know if there were any weaknesses to exploit.

"There's no need to kill him. And there's no need to potentially give Maven information either. My reply won't be in letter." He motioned toward the door Dilbon had gone through. "Keep an eye on him for me, Ollus. If he's here to harm any of us, he's yours to eat, or whatever it is you do with the people you kill."

The odd man smiled and clacked his teeth together. He did a mock bow before heading off. "Looking forward to it, Boss."

 

Boldir turned to Runar. " Ever since Aerin left, you're the closest thing to a friend I've got. And that's to say, you're not a murderous bastard like the rest of this lot. And you're the only person here who I'd trust this next task to."

 

"Gee, well when you put it like that, I feel a little pressured."

 

"Don't. You'll be safer in Riften than Treva's Watch when the attack starts."

 

"I'm going to Riften, Boss?"

 

"Aye. Accompany our rat friend. Find out if he's lying or not. If he is, get back here as quickly as you can. If he is telling the truth though, and we do have friends in the city, I want you to meet up with them. Find Aerin and learn what you can. Help how you can. And most importantly, if you see any opportunity, any to free Mila, or Carlotta if she lives, I want you to take it. I can't command you to do this, but I-"

 

"Say no more." The boatman interrupted. "Everyone in my family before me has died some gruesome and meaningless death. I remember before all of this happened. You're a good man. And your wife and kid are good people. If it comes down to it, I will be proud to spin tales in Sovngarde of how I died for Boldir Iron-Brow's wife, or Boldir Iron-Brow's little girl."

 

Boldir put a hand on his shoulder. "You're a good man, Runar."

 

"Funny how it takes living with a bunch of bandits to realize something like that, eh?" Runar nodded to him. "I'm going to go indoors before lightning strikes me. If I can make it through these next two weeks, I'll be the first of my family to actually have a tale to tell that doesn't involve my parents dying. Maybe I'll make a new name. Start a clan of survivors."

 

Boldir chuckled as they parted ways. He was too skeptical to believe Dilbon's story, but even the off chance of the man being honest gave him some hope. That, coupled with the impending attack on Treva's Watch, brought on a strangely anxious feeling in him. His chest felt tight, and his stomach knotted. Whatever the thief was here for, the end of all this conflict was now in sight. And that meant that very soon, either his family or Maven's own would be gone from this world. It was a strange thought, after all this time and all this fighting, that within just a month's time, this all will be nothing a memory. For better or worse.

 

***

 

Maul

"First Ingun, and now my father, your son! We cannot let this go unpunished!" Maven's new heir proclaimed.

Maul's fingers danced on the pommel of Grimsever as he watched, and waited. Maven had summoned him to meet with the remaining Black-Briars in the basement of her manor. With only Sibbi, Lady Maven herself, and the pale corpse of the late Hemming Black-Briar in attendance, the family members numbered few enough.
Maven's son was positioned on his back atop a table in the center of the room, where a healer had spent three hours trying in vain to prevent the wounds from killing him. She was now floating in the canal, along with the other employees who had failed to protect Hemming during what should have been a standard business transaction.

"-The woman." Sibbi growled, looking back at the two locked doors at the back of the room. Two thick oaken doors, that had together locked away secrets more numerous and sinister than many of the Dark Brotherhood's own black doors. "Boldir's bitch. They think she is dead. Let me make it so! Let me send her back in pieces. Show our enemies that we are serious as well!"

"It would serve only to confuse them." Maven finally answered. Her eyes were fixed on Hemming, as they had been for the past ten minutes. They gazed over her dead son, but they showed no sadness, no remorse or regret, only an ever so annoyed sort of thoughtfulness.
"It was not the bandits who killed your father. Cynric has confirmed that they have no influence within the city walls. Nor was it anyone who would care if Carlotta lived or died. No doubt this is the work of the same criminals who have been harassing and attacking our employees in the city." For the first time since the meeting began, Maven's eyes left her son, and turned to Maul. "The same ones who killed your brother, if I recall."

Beyond the flaring of his nostrils and his working fingers upon his pommel, Maul said nothing. Only waited for Maven to continue. He knew Maven could read him regardless though. Knew that while his face remained like stone, the hairs on his neck stood erect as if electrified. He was excited to see what Maven would do next, and hoped it would get his fingers around the throats of those responsible.

"Then we should deal with them for good." Sibbi started. "Let Maul and me gather some men and hunt them down! This is our city! We shouldn't have to fear going outside!" We-"

"Stop shouting. This is not a large room." Maven gestured to Hemming's corpse. "Look at him."

"I have looked at him." Sibbi muttered, averting his gaze from the dead man.

"Look again." It wasn't a suggestion. Maven's own eyes watched Sibbi. The man who now, in the presence of Maven and the corpse of his father, appeared more like the boy Maul had known years ago than the man he was now. Sibbi hesitated, staring at the ceiling with a forced scowl for a before finally bringing his eyes down upon the late Hemming Black-Briar.

"There, I see him. He's dead." The scowl grew tighter, and he glanced up. "Are you satisfied?"

"My only son is dead. Of course I am not satisfied. But I want you to look at him a little longer and tell me what you see."

"I see a dead man."

"You see a dead Black-Briar. Heir to the wealthiest family in Skyrim. A man who could have raised armies had he but said the right words. He is dead because he wasn't careful. He did not have the caution or the strength befitting someone of this family, and he was a fool to ever believe he did. Hemming was my son, but he was weak."

The young Black-Briar's look of defiance surprised Maul. Sibbi had rarely ever agreed with his father, always appearing to be either on Maven's side or his own. And now, despite his attempts to appear uncaring about the death, he was still Hemming's son, and it was clear that there was a certain loyalty there.
"He never feared our enemies. At least my father has left the damned manor this winter! He never let a bunch of angry drunks and sewer rats worry him, and he sure as Oblivion wouldn't have stood passively by after his own child was killed!"

Maul had seen the family Matriarch legitimately and visibly furious on only three occasions. For a moment, he was certain that this would be the fourth. But Maven surprised him. Her eyes narrowed, and she stepped forward, Hist beside the table. "For all of your words in defense of Hemming's actions and values, he is dead. So in the end, who's methods proved superior? It is not Hemming who turned the Black-Briar name into an Empire, and it was not Hemming who dealt with a thousand enemies in the process. As it so happens, I have every intention of retaliating for this crime, though not against Iron-Brow. His trespasses were the most dire, and his time will soon come. But it is our enemies within these walls, the traitors and cravens whose whispers of fear are growing defiant, who will first have to be reminded of their place. As far as Riften is concerned, these have been acts of terrorism and rebellion by the law of Skyrim. I shall speak with the Jarl. Things have been too lax, and that will soon change. A lockdown is necessary until this threat can be taken care of. That includes fishing. The people won't like it, but it is the only way to ensure that no one communicates with Iron-Brow and his bandits on the lake."

"And what of the bandits?" asked Sibbi. "Cynric says that they are training and clearly preparing for a fight. They're a greater threat the longer we wait. And they already haunt the roads, targeting our shipments. They've been moving about the Rift practically unchecked!"

Briefly, Maven's eyes met Maul's. "That is being taken care of." She said. "The last three shipments finished their journeys, and the bandits who tried to prevent that are dead. We shall hire more sellswords in the coming days to make the task of protecting them easier, and to consolidate our more loyal fighters here in the city, where they will be ready in case of attack. I've already sent word to Ivarstead, Shor's Stone, and Heartwood Mill to be on the lookout for men who can help deal with any bandits in the region."
She paused. "Now, Sibbi, you will get your 'retaliation'. I will forgive your outburst on account of you having just lost your father. Maybe you are weaker than I thought, to let this loss drag you so low that it affects your loyalty to this family, but you have always proven useful enough that I would still include you in the rest of the plans."

"Loyalty?" Sibbi looked lost, as though he wanted to be angry, but was afraid to be. After his last attempt, it was hard to blame him. "I am not weak, and have always been loyal to the family."

"You want to see true loyalty?" Maven gestured in Maul's direction. "Look at Maul. His name is not Black-Briar and his wealth pales in comparison to anyone whose is. He bloodies his hands daily for us, and does so unquestionably. Less than a year ago, he lost his brother, but did not cry out for us to right that wrong. He continued to do whatever was best for the family, as he has done since you were a child. You may not be as great a fool as your father was, but you still have a lot to learn. And you can start by watching Maul. Now, would you stay and help with the remainder of my plans? Or shall I have you locked away again?"

Maul had never seen Sibbi look so defeated before, but to the young noble's credit, he did maintain eye contact with Maven the entire time she spoke, and continued to do so for the when she was done. "I will help."

"Good. Because we will personally deal out these next two blows. And it is you and Maul who I want in charge. You were right when you said that the bandits have been moving throughout the region virtually unchecked. Maul has already set to dealing with those attacking the roads, but the forests of the Rift are large. I want you to pick out our very best men and have them go out for a hunt. They are not to attack the forts, but anyone found outside the walls is to be killed. If someone is found helping the bandits, kill them. If someone dresses like a bandit, kill them."

Sibbi's brow went up. "If someone smells like a bandit..."

"Kill them. This has grown beyond a feud. It is a war. And whether we like it or not, it seems that we will have to begin treating it as such."
She turned to Maul. There was no way Maven could see his eyes beneath his visor in this dark basement, but the way she looked dead into them would've fooled most men. "And Maul, the second task goes to you and whatever men you choose. That will include the city watch. In two days' time, Riften will be in lockdown. It will be up to you to search this city inside and out for these rats that plague us. Catch them alive if you can, so we can use them to send a message, but do not take risks. Some have been seen wearing Thieves Guild clothing, meaning we have traitors in our midst. You should start your search in the Ragged Flagon, and work your way topside from there. If no evidence comes up, speak with the Jarl's Housecarl. He has wanted to cleanse the sewers for years now. The guild has long been useful to is, but if it harbors traitors, then that usefulness is at an end."

"It's been a long time coming," said Maul, his voice almost strange to the others after such silence. "Searching the city will be tough, but nothing we haven't had to do before. The people know the drill. A few threats from me personally will go a long way. They know I keep mine. Before it comes to that though, I'll make sure to question the guild first. There's still some amongst their ranks eager to prove themselves loyal. Like good little weasels."

"Good. Then take whatever men you must and get it done. You too, Sibbi." Maven turned and made for the stairs and halted at their foot. "This conflict has drawn on for too long, but Cynric has found an upcoming opportunity to free Ingun. Once she is back, we will make our move on Boldir, and finally end this chapter."
She began her ascent, before stopping and looking back one last time. "Oh, and Hemming's burial must be today. I will not have his corpse rotting in the basement. It would be wise to bring protection."

 

With that, Maven Black-Briar disappeared up the stairs, leaving Sibbi and Maul alone to deal with her son's corpse.

The moment she was gone, Sibbi let out a breath, and his shoulders slumped as he looked over at Maul. "You know, I agreed with her the moment she said he was weak. I agreed, but I didn't want to show it. It seemed... disloyal. He was a lot of things, but he was still my father."

 

Maul's helmet turned slightly to face Sibbi as he spoke, his arms crossed. For a while it seemed like he'd say nothing. For a while, Maul decided he'd say nothing. Then, "Learn from his mistakes. Listen to what Maven told you. But whatever you do, never forget family. Don't show that you are affected by their passing. It is insulting to both yourself and to your father. Be stone faced. So that when our enemies pass you by and think you a statue, they won't expect the wrath you unleash. I will avenge my brother. And when I do, it'll come like a thief in the night and as quick as a lightning strike. If you want the same for your father, follow my example. M'lord."

 

For a moment, Sibbi didn't seem to understand him. His grieving eyes looked at Maul the way a lost deer looks at a hunter. But it was only a brief moment, and then Sibbi's expression hardened, and he became like Maul, and like his own grandmother. "Maven is right." he said. "You are no mere brute. That's for damn sure... Send some men down here to help me with his body. I've got a lot to think about."

 

"Of course," said Maul, heading towards the door with his heavy footsteps. He stopped suddenly and said, "Oh, and for what it's worth, Maven wasn't right. I do question Maven. Daily. I'm just not brave enough to do so out loud. Hnh, or stupid."

And with that, Maul let him be.

 

[TheCzarsHussar]

Daric and Maric

Falkreath

 

The craggy rocks of the Reach slowly gave way to Falkreath hold's rainy forests. A night's stay underneath the towering timbers left the clothes of both father and son perfumed with rich, earthy sent of the pines. Thomas recalled the days of his youth here, riding atop his stallion, his steel armor shining, with all the naivety and confidence of a young man. He fought bandits with reckless abandon, took women the same way, yet that all changed when he met Madeleine. He was ready to settle down, live here in Skyrim, forsake his homeland.

Now he was back, and this time he'd at least leave with his son, if not his soulmate. The hold's namesake city, with its recent stone walls, flashed through the trees, with smoke rising from a thousand chimneys. Guards stood atop the walls, and some armed with spears, others with bows, all keeping a watchful eye trained toward road and wood.

Thomas turned to his son, and gave a slight smile. Everyday, it seemed Daric looked more and more like the young man who'd ridden into Falkreath those fifteen years ago. Daric had all of the sense that Thomas now did, and none of cocky arrogance the young Thomas had.

"You better let them know who we are," Thomas said.

 

Daric wasn't sure what he was expecting to see, but unfamiliarity certainly wasn't it. He of course recognized the old town, but now with everything that happened, with everywhere he's been... it couldn't look more strange to see... "home" again. No matter how many bad memories he'd associated with the place, no matter how much he'd wanted to leave it all behind, he still couldn't shake that association. It was home.

 

Daric stood ahead of his father, and said, "We're just passing through! We've come from Markarth!"

 

"You, boy?" said one of the men from the walls. "How goes those parts, did we win yet or what?"

 

"More or less, if you can ever truly tame the Reach. And aye, me! I'm the High General's second!"

 

The Stormcloaks were hesitant to let him in with his foreigner friend behind him, even if Daric was a Stormcloak. But after his answer and hearing the weight in his voice, as well as realizing who he was, they finally gave the order to let him pass. That was at least one thing that was different from his memories. Falkreath was never blocked off like this before. Would make it easier leaving it behind again, if he couldn't see much of the town beyond its walls.

 

Thomas dipped his head in respectful greeting at the guards atop the wall, noting how new it appeared to be, though it didn't lack for scars. His stomach twisted when he heard Daric call himself the High General's second, but he ignored it. Daric was his son, and was coming with him. He'd already chosen.

"Any idea how the people are doing after the Imperials invaded? I heard the Hi-that you lot burned their farms. Good strategy, with the avalanche in pass. Though can't imagine the farmers liked it too much." Thomas watched a pair of Nordic women whisper to each other as they passed he and his son . The knight wondered if they recognized Daric, or if Daric knew them.

 

He recognized them... one of them made Baldur and Rebec cakes or cookies or something when they'd gotten married. She was always baking things as if she had nothing else to do in this sleepy town. They likely had no idea who he was though, even if they did remember him. Daric was taller now, more physically fit. His hair was long and more shaggy compared to the way it was before. And his uniform likely added on another five years unless someone looked directly at him.

 

"Baldur says some of them are still bitter about the whole thing. They gave up a lot only for Skyrim to have agreed to an alliance with the Empire. Some who bought into the propaganda consider it settling, but don't realize we pretty much won. They also expected more in the ways of reparations for the damages. Ulfric got some from the Empire, but couldn't outright embarrass them, so the farmers for instance still didn't gain back what they lost in potential profits and they likely never will. They only got enough to make Falkreath functional again."

 

"Sacrifices of war. Though Falkreath will likely always bare some resentment for it. People won't forget, because they don't want to. And it better they remember what the Empire forced their leaders to do. In that regard, the people will always be suspicious of Cyrodiil," Thomas said.

 

"I guess the milkdrinkers have to take what victories they can get at this point," said Daric, with no humor in his tone at all.

 

The knight nodded. He was all to aware that only a month before, he was one of those milkdrinkers. Probably still was, in most people's minds. Though he never felt any loyalty to the Empire. They were a foreign entity, with hardly any presence of influence in High Rock, and the legionnaires that were stationed there were only used to man some old forts, and protect a few roads.

"Where are we looking?" Thomas asked, his voiced edge with a harshness he rarely had. "Local shithole, I expect."

 

"Actually, it's not too bad," said Daric. "It depends. If mom is keeping up the garden, which she wasn't last time I was here. The garden's on the house's walls outside."

 

Thomas coughed into his gauntleted hand awkwardly. "I...I uh meant that shit stain husband of hers. I figured he'd be getting liquored up regardless of the time, at some tavern. I'm sure the house is nice."

 

Daric laughed despite himself and said, "Oh, right. He can drink anywhere, really. Normally he does so at the house after chopping wood or something. But, lets check the tavern first. Last owner was killed in the war. Catapult. Lets see if Dead Man's Respite's still in the same place or not. I'd rather find him there and take care of things with mother not around."

 

The knight have a solemn nod. He was looking forward to dealing with the man, though he wanted to do it himself. But, he supposed his son had the better claim, having actually met and lived with the man. "Lead the way, son."

 

"Another mead, Grinvuld?"

 

"You know it. Keep 'em comin."

 

"It's not even noon. Maybe you should take it easy."

 

"I said. Keep. Them. Coming."

 

"Alright," said the old man, chubby fingers raised in defense. The barkeep quickly got his friend his favorite mead, Honningbrew, not bothering to pour it for him. He knew the drill and knew Grinvuld would be taking the entire bottle.

 

He sighed in sorrow for him, noticing the new bruises on his knuckles. People assumed it was from defacing that pretty wife of his that they now rarely ever saw outside, but that wasn't the case...

 

"Thank you, Svenvor," said Grinvuld before the mead tip disappeared behind a wall of black hair. He drank greedily, the mead pouring over his black beard from the corners of his mouth.

 

People close enough to see him in the tavern just shook their head at the display. Mostly the non Nords of course.

 

"Drink a little more, why don't you? Wouldn't want to be sober when you're beating your wife!"

 

The bottle suddenly hit the table, though there was nothing left. "Another one, will you Svenvor?"

 

"Of course, Grinvuld," he said.

 

"Did you hear me asshole?" Grinvuld turned slow to his right, eyes resting on a mother of two, Redguard woman with an orange bonnet over her head.

 

"Not today, Jesena," he said. Her husband was glaring at him from where they were sitting as well, he and his kids waiting to be served. The man had a deep cut under his eye, puffed up from what was obviously a very good hit.

 

"Jorin, control your woman. I don't want any shit today in my bar," said Svenvor.

 

"Why do you always stick up for him? This man is an ass and a wife beater! She hasn't come out of that house in weeks!" said the Redguard man.

 

"Not like he's the only one in this town," said someone else in the room. Grinvuld looked around at the hateful eyes on him and listened to the whispers. The Redguard wasn't the only one around the tavern that was embarrassed by him in a tavern tussle. Most didn't care, but he could tell Jesena and her whipped husband had support.

 

"I guess I'm not going to be able to drink in peace today," he said.

 

"Why should you get any peace when your wife doesn't? 'Cept when you're here drinking and getting ready to beat on her again," said Jesena.

 

Grinvuld stood slowly, only because his slowed senses demanded it. But Jorin took that as a sign he was rearing to go. Well so was he, after the beating he got in front of his wife the last time. And his children...

 

As Grinvuld moved to walk out of the tavern, the Redguard moved in front of him, staring him down. To Jorin it looked like he was approaching to fight, and Grinvuld was too buzzed to care to explain otherwise. "Go away, little man. Before I beat you like you think I beat my wife. Again."

 

"Think? We know! We saw!"

 

"I slip up every now and then, I admit it. A man does every now and then under the bottle. But it's not how you think," said Grinvuld.

 

"That why your boy ran away?" said Jorin.

 

"Don't!" said Svenor.

 

"Don't go there, Jorin. Just stay out of my damn business. If you want to settle our little fight from last time, fine, but keep my family out of this."

 

"You didn't keep my family out of it when you beat me like a dog and hit my wife! In front of my children!"

 

"Well maybe next time you won't bring your children to a damn tavern around men! Looks like you learned quick, Redguard. And your wife wouldn't have gotten hit if she stayed out of it! If she's man enough to hit a man, she's man enough to get hit too! And I'll do it again!"

 

"The hell you will!" said Jorin, and this time he made sure to get the first hit off, sending a quick and powerful right hook into Grinvuld's nose. The other people watching gasped simultaneously.

 

The punch forced Grinvuld's head to turn almost all the way around. When his gaze met Jorin's again, it was accompanied with the same bottle he was drinking from, flying straight into his face, glass shattering on impact.

 

***

 

Outside the tavern, Daric could hear the shouting well before he and Maric even saw the tavern. By the time they reached it, guards were sprinting for the door. Before they got to it, a large man came crashing through the door with two redguards and some Nord on his shoulders, throwing them into the dirt before the guards drew their blades.

 

Thomas rushed forward, his hand automatically going to the hilt of his sword. He stopped just short of drawing it, as he knew the guards wouldn't react well. His instincts told him the big man was Daric's stepfather. He instantly hated the man's drunken brutishness.

 

"That's enough! I've seen all I needed to see. Slap 'em in irons and take him to the special cell!"

 

"Aren't you even gonna let me explain?" said Grinvuld. "The Redguard swung first. Svenvor will vouch for me."

 

"Svenvor always vouches for you. Why, I have no idea, but I don't want to hear it! Y-,"

 

"Hold!" said Daric, hand on his blade. "Let him go, I have business with this man."

 

"Who are you?" said the guardsman, looking down at him. Grinvuld looked up too, wondering. Maybe it was because of the mead, or the fact that Daric had grown and changed a lot, but the man did not recognize his son. His voice however was familiar...

 

"...Daric? That you, boy?" said Grinvuld as deadpan as possible.

 

Thomas stepped forward, hand still on his sword. "He's my boy. Daric's no son of yours. Breton to the bone."

 

Stepping forward, and suddenly appearing more sober, Grinvuld looked at the man who spoke almost with amusement in his eyes. "Hnh, so, we finally meet, face to face."

 

Sir Maric's face twisted into a mocking grin, as he looked up at the man. "That we do. See you're just as drunk as my son described."

 

Daric looked at his "father" and said, "Wait, what do you mean by that? You know him?"

 

"I know of him, boy. I knew for some time that you weren't my son. Your mother was a whore, boy."

 

Daric drew his blades instantly at the insult, causing the guards to point theirs at him. "Take it back!"

 

Grinvuld tilted his head and said, "No. Truth is truth. Your mother ran off and slept with this puny bitch, then lied and said it was my child. And like the dumb sap I am, I believed her. She was my woman after all. Why wouldn't I."

 

Thomas chuckled. "I've killed more men than you can imagine, drunkard. If it wasn't for my son, I'd add another to that list. No one calls Madeleine a whore."

 

"And what do you call a woman that does what she did then? Whore's all I've got for her. I'm not a man of many words. Whore's all I've got."

 

Daric threw one of his blades at Grinvuld's feet. Chuckling beneath his beard, he said, "You can't be serious. You think I'm lying then."

 

"We were in love. Like that feeling you get whenever you see a bottle of mead." Thomas gripped his sword hilt just a little tighter. "You're move. Fight the boy, me, or whoever. Just keep her out of this."

 

"She told me she loved me too you know. That was a long time ago..." Grinvuld sighed and said, "What are we fighting about anyway? Maddy? You can have her. I raised the boy. Wiped his ass, fed him. Clothed him. Another man's child for a decade and a half. I've done my duty as her husband."

 

"You've done nothing but make us miserable!" said Daric, voice trembling with anger. What confused him was that all of it wasn't directed towards Grinvuld... What he said was starting to make sense. Why he cared so much that he looked more Breton than Nord. He was realizing that he wasn't his son. Trying to push that out of his head and focus on the bad memories like Baldur taught him, Daric gripped his sword tighter and said, "Pick it up."

 

"This is the thanks I get for raising another man's child? I take it you've met the General if you two are here. Heh, surprised you got him from his 'cold dead hands'. Did he get this treatment too? What about me? Am I not aloud to be angry? Hurt? How would you feel in my shoes, Breton?"

 

"I didn't beat your son! I didn't beat the love of your life! You're a drunk layabout who abuses people, children and women. You can be hurt and angry, but that is no reason to hit and beat others. You don't think her leaving me hurt? I didn't beat others, I dealt with it like a man, learned to live with it and move on. Even if I never stopped loving her." Thomas' blade began sliding from his scabbard as he spoke, but he caught himself and let it slide back down. This was Daric's fight.

 

"Back then, he wasn't your child. He was MINE. The wife was MINE. They ate MY food, lived in MY ******* HOUSE. You have no right to judge me when you left, you worthless deadbeat. I handled it like a man. Better than you."

 

Daric felt his anger leaving him until his father's words rekindled it. And when his father spoke again, he'd heard enough of it. "No more talk, we fight now. Guards, don't interfere. Accept my challenge, 'Blue-Knuckled'."

 

Grinvuld took a look at the guards to see if they'd allow him to. He knew they would. They were hoping the boy would kill him and take him off their hands for good. Looking to Maric, he said, "I will kill him. He's not a boy any longer, that much is clear. I'd rather not kill what I wasted these years raising, but I will. Fair warning. You better talk some sense into your kid if you want him to remain breathing."

 

Thomas glared at the man with an intensity he'd only ever felt in battle. He only broke it to pull Daric aside, and put both hands on the boy's shoulders. "Do you want do this?"

 

"I don't want want to. I HAVE to! He ******* dies!" said Daric. "Now pick up the ******* sword!"

 

"Well alright, then. Boy. What a waste. When I kill your boy, take the whore with you, Breton."

 

"I'll cut out your lying tongue!" yelled Daric, not waiting any longer for his stepfather to grab his blade. The once sluggish Nord showed surprising quickness for a man supposedly under the influence of alcohol before. He was faking, that much was obvious as he kicked up the blade into his hand in time to counter Daric's blow.

 

Daric backed off immediately, knowing that he couldn't match his strength. Memories of the fight he had in Baldur's name still going through his head.

 

Grinvuld didn't fight defensively, refusing to wait for the brat to come and instead pressing the attack. Daric rolled away quickly, so as not to let himself be put on the defense and slashed towards Grinvuld's back. Grinvuld cried out briefly, then turned his glare back on the man that he once knew as a sniveling little bitch. That was the last time he's get a glimpse at him clearly, as Daric took no chances and threw dirt into his eyes.

 

He missed, but it was enough to get close and roll under the much taller man's overswing and slice at his knees. When he fell on one, he was on Daric's eyelevel, which allowed Daric to slash over the man's eyes, blinding him for good.

 

"AAAAAHHH!" Cried Grinvuld, slashing out wildly. Daric easily parried and disarmed him, knocking the blade back into the owner's hand.

 

Fist full of his beard, Daric cut the Nord's Nordhood off, shoving it into his mouth as he screamed. Daric paced back and forth, savoring the moment with eyes that had the fury of Dagon in them. When Grinvuld cleared his mouth and tried catching his breath, he soon felt Daric's cold steel at his neck....

 

"Do it. Go on! Give me death already! Send me to Sovngarde so I can feast amongst heroes! Send me away from this hell!"

 

Daric frowned at his old father's attempt to sour his enjoyment further, but soon smiled. "I made you a promise, didn't I? If you're going to Sovngarde, I'm sending you there with memories of a very sore throat."

 

Without any more words, Daric sliced Grinvuld's neck open and dropped a blade so that he could shove his hand in his open neckhole. Then he yanked his tongue from his throat and held onto it, watching Grinvuld gurgle for air as he faded away slowly.

 

It wasn't until Daric was sure that Grinvuld's lights were out fully that he cut the tongue away, letting the old man's body drop dead in the dirt.

 

Daric spat on his father's tongue and threw it at his back. "Good riddance!"

 

The crowd murmured amongst themselves. Duels were common, but such brutality was unheard of, even in the most vicious of blood feuds. They all knew Daric, and of course knew that Grinvuld deserved it, but several shuffled off with sickened looks.

Thomas wore a look of mild surprise mixed with some admiration. "You fought well son. I'm glad that monster won't hurt anyone any longer. Now let's go find your mother. But first wash your hands off. You look like a butcher."

 

Daric ignored his father, refusing to look at the blood on his hands as he sheathed his blades. Wiping his hands on his tunic, which proved ineffective, he said, "I'll do it later at the house. There's a well." His face was still hard from the murder he'd committed, but it was a labored effort, to remain that way. Grinvuld's words... things were not the way he'd thought they'd been. "Follow me. Madeleine is that way."

 

The words of the slain man seemed to hang over both father in son. In Thomas they produced an itch like feeling, that what he knew of his love was not what it seemed. He couldn't shake it, couldn't scratch it, and a cold sweat formed on his now clammy hands. For the first time this trip, he was nervous to see Madeleine. He only hoped his doubts could be cast aside when he did. The knight followed behind his son, ignoring the apple sized lump in his throat. To Mara, he sent up a silent prayer.

 

When they approached the home, Daric almost didn't recognize it. The bushes, vines, all the berries, flowers and fruits that he remembered surrounding it were all just gone. Nothing was left, not even the rotten remains of what he remembered. It was the only thing his mother had to work on, though with how much rain came to Falkreath, it wasn't that much effort. It used to be such an odd sight for such a gloomy town, famous for its grave. But now it finally matched.

 

"I should have figured. He was always threatening to tear it all down. I bet he did this," said Daric.

 

Thomas simply nodded, slow and meticulous. He just hoped the person they found inside wouldn't be as depressed and dilapidated as the plants.

"Right. Seems like something a drunken brute would do."

 

Thomas walked to the door, and after a moments hesitation, knocked quickly and loudly. The noise seemed to hang in the damp Falkreath air, for what seemed likes ages. He heard feet shuffling just behind the door, and two locks being pulled, before it swung open.

Before the knight stood a hazel haired goddess. Madeleine initially looked somewhat confused by the two men in her doorway, and once the realization came, so did the tears that formed on the brim of her eyes. Thomas fixed his pale green eyes upon her deep brown ones, which flicked from his face, to Daric's, to Daric's clothes, and back to Thomas' face. His hand slowly, tentatively reached to caress her cheek. It never made it. She flinched her face away, then took a step backward, before running away into the confines of her home. They followed without hesitation.

Father and son found her standing over a cooking pot, stirring it as though nothing were amiss. As they entered, the room smelled of nothing, no stew or broth, and bubbling was heard. She was stirring water. The dancing flames cast shadows upon her pale form, making her defined Bretic cheekbones sharp as razors. Her simple woolen dress was drawn tight around her spare waist, which seemed even slimmer from the days of their affair.

Gazing at her, watching her hide the tears from those whose presence she seemed unable to comprehend, Thomas forgot entirely about his son's fight, or that his son was even in the same room with him. Their son.

"Maddy. It's Thomas."

She turned, skittish as a colt, using her apron to wipe away the few tears that found their way through her stalwart defenses. Her expression, a mixture of awe and shock. Her lover was here, her now grown son was here, covered in gore, and they knew each other. No amount of Sheogorathian madness would ever have conjured such a vision as this, not for her.

"What're you...Grinvuld wouldn't like you being here. You should leave."

It was Thomas' turn to flinch. Those words hurt more than any wound he'd ever received.

"He won't hurt you anymore. Our son saw to that."

Comprehension of what Thomas' words meant, and of the blood that covered their son, sent her crumbling to her knees. She no longer held back the tears, sobbing into her hands. Thomas asked himself, was it relief, or was it sadness? Was what Grinvuld said true? The thoughts did not impede his moving to her, cradling her and rocking her softly. They sat on the floor like children in a fierce storm, crying and holding each other tight. Even if she felt sadness and sympathy for her abuser, Thomas did and always would love her.

 

Daric watched from the side the whole time, though he had to fight the bleariness that his tears had brought to see them. Tears had never flown so hard from his eyes, not even as a child when witnessing his mother's abuse, or his. He smiled as his face flushed and his eyes shut fiercely. He couldn't help but wonder what things would have been like had this been the way things were from the start. His mother, and true father, together.

 

"Ma? Go get what you can't leave behind, okay? We're leaving this place tomorrow, for good," said Daric, forcing composure upon him finally.

 

Thomas and Madeleine disentangled themselves from each other, and Maddy looked at her son. Thomas reached up and wiped away her tears, yet didn't care to wipe away his own. This time, she didn't flinch. "Thank you, both of you. But I won't be taking anything. Nothing here is worth it."

Thomas stood up, and hoisted Madeleine to her get as well. "Maybe someone will buy the house? Sell it, furniture and all."

 

"We burn it," said Daric. As he looked around the place he once knew as his childhood home, Daric saw nothing but the mistake it all was and what he missed out on. He wasn't a child anymore. He'd spent those years all on a lie. Wasted it. "Burn everything."

 

Thomas grabbed a cloak off a hook on the wall and put it around Maddy's shoulder. She gave it all a glance over, eyes lingering on a few momentos, but Daric's courage rubbed off on her, and she left without hesitation. The knight conjured up flame once she'd left, and touched his flaming hand to a wooden wall.

"Let's go son. We had better tell the guards, make sure it doesn't spread."

 

"I'll take care of it," said Daric. Smiling at them, he said, "You two meet me by the city gates."

 

**

The piney forests and gloomy hold, behind them, the reunited family found themselves nearing their final destination of Kyne's Watch. The journey was mostly quite and awkward, after Madeleine explained the true nature of her and Grinvuld's relationship, but now they were becoming more and more talkative.

Thomas had just explained what he'd been up to in High Rock, so now Maddy asked Daric, "What've you been up to son? You mentioned something about a general back in Rorikstead."

 

"Uhhh..." How to explain the Red-Snows.... "I was Red-Snow's apprentice. You remember him at the town? And the woman he was with? I fought with them," said Daric. He noticed his mother's shivering as they walked and couldn't help but snicker. He was very much used to this by now.

 

"The one with the hair? And the woman...she was gruff, to say the least. Do you know them well?" she asked, running her hands up and down her arms to warm herself up. Thomas removed his cloak and placed it over hers, though he almost instantly regretted it.

 

Daric smiled at her quick synopsis and said, "Yea, that's them alright. I knew them well." Trailing off for a while, Daric finally said, "We won't be seeing them. They're probably busy anyway and we shouldn't keep pa's king waiting."

 

Maddy shook her head, a big smile plastered on her face. "Sir Maric, in the employ of a king. Think about it, we'll be living in a castle, a palace even!"

"The king's castle is even nicer than you can imagine," Thomas said, with an equally large grin. He seemed to feel her joy, her sadness, he felt complete around her. It was as if part of his soul was missing, but now he'd found it.

"What'll you do there, Daric?" Madeleine asked.

 

Daric didn't say anything for a while, just listened to the moans of the winds. Finally he said, "I have no idea, honestly. I hadn't thought that far..."

 

"Oh," Maddy said, and began wondering just what she would do. Any number of exotic things, she imagined.

Thomas jumped in quickly after Maddy. "I think I can find him a job in the guard. Or, he can stick around the castle, get to know the nobles, spar with them some. You needn't do anything if you didn't want to, son."

 

"And just stand around chatting with nobles all day? No thanks pa, I'll get a job." Changing the subject, Daric thought about what they talked about on the way to Kyne's Watch.

 

Madeleine did cheat on Grinvuld, but not for no reason. Grinvuld assaulted her once when he was drunk and promised he'd never get that drunk again. And he kept that promise, until he realized Daric wasn't his. That made it a little more understandable for Daric, as his mother was hurt and shocked... but knowing Grinvuld did keep his promise... all of it just hurt his head to think about. Especially thinking about it and remembering that he ripped the man's tongue out. A man he knew as father... the image hadn't left his mind the entire way here.

 

Sighing, Daric said, "Mother?" But then Daric suddenly thought better of it and decided not to continue. The whistling in the wind blocked his weak attempt at speaking anyway.

 

Thomas and Maddy chatted, mostly about how elegant and stylish the palace was, until they arrived at the docks. It was mindless talk, but Thomas would talk about rocks with her and be happy.

Theodore's flotilla bobbed anchored offshore, though the king's own ship was docked at Kyne's Watch. The brown bull's head banner snapped in the wind, and Thomas knew that with the wind blowing from the north like that, it would be easy sailing south and west to Farrun. Once the swung around the Northpoint, it would be even smoother sailing, unless the winds changed. But he looked forward to a brisk ride home.

A Breton soldier caught sight of the approaching party, and sent a man below decks to fetch the king. Theodore, once told, threw on a cloak and rushed up top. He smiled, glad to see his guard captain returning, with what appeared to be his entire family.

"Sir Maric," he shouted above the wind, "how pleased we are to see you. I fear we've overstayed our welcome. You know how these Nords grow restless in the presence of strangers."

"Quite so, your majesty," the knight responded.

They soon came to the docks themselves, and Thomas helped Madeliene up to the ship. "King Adrard, may I present the love of my life, Madeliene."

Flustered, she bowed awkwardly, somewhat awed at meeting a king. "A pleasure to meet you, King Adrard."

Theodore bowed back, and said, "Nonsense. The pleasure is mine. You must be a fine woman indeed to pry Sir Maric away from the duty he holds so dear. I look forward to getting to know you as we journey home.

"And Daric, boy, I'm anxious for you to meet my son. Roland is a few years older than yourself, but has so few friends his age. Most people are intimidated by a prince, but if I've judged you right, I don't think you will be."

 

Daric seemed to be wearing a face of uncertainty, but whether it was because of the King's presence or not was unclear. Cracking a smile, he said, "I survived meeting Ulfric Storm-Cloak. I think I'll be okay."

 

"Quite so!" Theodore boomed. "Now, if there is nothing else that needs doing, I would prefer we make way. A king's duty is never done, and I've been away from home far too long for my wife's liking."

Thomas looked to Daric, somewhat expecting his son to go see the Red-Snows again. "Anything you need to do, son?"

 

Daric turned behind him to watch the town shrouded in cloudy frost. It wouldn't take long to do what Maric and Daric were both thinking, but...

 

"No," said Daric, glumly. "Lets go. I won't keep the king waiting."

 

"Right. We're off then, your majesty," Thomas said.

The sailors began unmooring the vessels, loosing ropes and pulling up gangplanks. Soon, they would be underway. Thomas and Theodore disappeared below decks, intent on discussing Thomas' trip through the Reach, but also Theodore's trip to Windhelm, as well as his return stops at Dawnstar and Solitude. He'd made an entire survey of the coastline, since he had to wait on Sir Maric to return.

Maddy stayed topside, gripping the handrail tightly as Skyrim she looked over Skyrim for the last time. She'd never left Falkreath Hold, much less Skyrim, but now she was returning to the province of her parents, and their parents. She could have family there, long lost cousins and uncles and aunts. She looked forward to the new adventure.

 

Daric watched as the ship drifted away, hands on the rails so tight that his knuckles were even whiter than they already where. The wind stung his cheeks as the familiar flakes collected in his hair, and it reminded him of the way Baldur'd watch the coast, waiting for Rebec during the trials. He pictured him doing that now, wishing that he was somewhere watching him leave.

 

He gripped his stomach suddenly, looking at the blue sash in his hands, still stained with the brown of his past father's dried blood. His mother's words kept playing in his mind as the ship began sailing away. "What will I do... live in some fancy castle, talking with nobles. A guardsman?"

 

Daric bit his lip, as his mind went to what he and his father talked about in Markarth. Being a knight for a foreign king.

 

"Foreign," he said aloud, this time. Shocked that this was the term he used. Those soldiers in Markarth actually listened to him. They did see him as their own. He had their respect. And now, he was just throwing it away.

 

"It's too late. I'm not a Stormcloak any longer," he said, removing the blue sash from his chest. After a time, he looked to the town and his sash, then finally forced himself to cast it to sea. He was finally decided.

 

***

 

They were slow getting underway, so when Thomas came back up top, the ship wasn't far from shore. But his attention was drawn to his son's ever increasing pile of clothing. Maddy was already trying to talk to Daric, but the effort was futile.

Thomas went over, his eyes wide with surprise. "Son...you're going back, aren't you?"

 

Daric turned to his father with brows wrinkled as if in anger and his hand resting on his blade's hilt. "I'm sorry, father. I can't abandon my home for a new land and king. Whether I liked it or not, this is my home. I've had three men in my life now that I've known as papas. I just killed one. It's made me realize I'm a man now. You, Grinvuld, Baldur, I can't let you all choose my path. This is my home, and I'm choosing to live and die for it."

 

Thomas looked over his son. He wasn't a boy, he was a man. He had the beginnings of hair on his chest, he had lean, sinewy muscles, he'd killed men in combat and lain with women. And he'd made a decision, in spite of everyone else. He was doing what he wanted, not what others wanted for him. Nothing could've made Thomas respect him more.

"Okay. But just know that there's always a place for you in Camlorn. Don't think I'm angry or upset. I did the same thing when I was your age. Maybe someday you'll come back to your mother and I. This armor, our armor, will be waiting for you if so."

 

"One way or another, we'll see each other again. There's the war in Valenwood to look forward to, right?" Daric was laughing, even though he was holding back tears. "Thank you for helping me find myself."

 

Thomas clapped him on the shoulders, then pulled him in close for a quick hug. After they broke apart, he said, "Don't go jumping off ship yet. I have something for you."

As the knight disappeared below decks, Maddy grabbed her son as well, pulling him closer and tighter than Thomas had. As tears streamed down her face, and between sniffles, she said, "Just know I love you, son, and I always have. I wish things had been different, that we'd never known that monster. Be safe, and if you ever need anything, write us. I love you so, so much."

 

"You to, ma. I love you too. I'm sorry I left you there. But I came back. And I got you out of there, just like I promised. I promise I'll come back again."

 

Madeleine gave him one more tight squeeze, and let go just in time for Thomas to come back up. As he walked the deck, the boat shifted, swinging back towards the shore.

"No sense in you swimming back all the way. You'd freeze before you got there. Plus, you need a way to keep this dry." It was a spell book, with a picture of a flame on the front. "I know you aren't too keen on using magic, but being able to conjure up a flame is one of the more useful spells a man can know. You'll never be cold as long as you have that and some dry wood."

 

Daric's eyes lit up as he took the gift from his father's hands. It was better than a trinket or something like Daric was expecting. This was something that would prove useful anywhere he went. Now more tears fell over his freezing cheeks, but he hid them by quickly hugging his father one last time.

 

"I'll do the family name proud," he said. Looking a bit awkward now, he said, "I guess I should get going now. Before I change my mind again."

 

Thomas looked past his son to the sandy shore, which was as close as they could get without docking. It was foreign to him, even if his own formative years were spent here, yet it was his son's home, his wife's home, and for that he would always love it too. "I know you'll make us proud. I hope to see you on the battlefield someday. Don't be a stranger either, and be sure to write often. Gods know we'll miss you."

 

Smiling, he said, "I will, promise. I was thinking of doing some sailing eventually anyway." Turning away from the two now, having said all that could be said, the young Breton man put his boot on the rail. Then, he turned back to see his mother and father one more time before saying, "See you later, milkdrinkers!"

 

Man overboard, Daric swam the short distance towards the shore, keeping his tome overhead as he shuffled through the water's cruel embrace that claimed many a soldier in the Grim Trials. Luckily he wasn't there as long, and he'd grown to know the sea's cold while helping to drag the bodies of failures from the sea.

 

When he reached the shore, Daric was tempted to curl up and lay there from how impossibly cold he was, but forced himself to flip through the tome and see if he couldn't conjure up flames like he saw his father do numerous times. He remembered the conversations with Baldur about the thu'um as well, which seemed to have paid off, as flames quickly began to dance around his fingers and brought heat to his freezing body.

 

He turned and waved with the flaming hand so his father might see it. As he did, he noticed something washing up ashore as well, and smiled, taking it as a sign of the gods. Finally, Daric made his way back into town, blue sash in one hand, dripping with sea water, flames of Breton magic in the other.