Kathodos: A Return of Exiles

[Docta Corvina]

Just want to thank all of you for the very kind words! They are much appreciated! I love this story to death and will continue it until it reaches its end. Even then, I'm liable to writing an epilogue, because I love everyone so much.

You guys have made this journey all the more amazing for me as a writer, and I cannot wait to get the next chapter posted. Not much longer now. I'm very excited, for it's very close!

 

[Lifts-Her-Tail]

Just want to thank all of you for the very kind words! They are much appreciated! I love this story to death and will continue it until it reaches its end. Even then, I'm liable to writing an epilogue, because I love everyone so much.

You guys have made this journey all the more amazing for me as a writer, and I cannot wait to get the next chapter posted. Not much longer now. I'm very excited, for it's very close!

Huzzah! Can't wait Docta!

 

[Docta Corvina]

Chapter 17

In the soothing quiet of the night, she would find sleep. The soft scraping and murmuring winds acted as a perfect lullaby. And she subconsciously treasured every moment of rest. Memory-filled dreams of home, of a land that waited just over the mountains facing the camp, carried her into what remained of the night. She would smile and even mumble at the familiar faces flashing before her slumbering eyes. And muffled voices would echo. Faces and voices of her friends, her entire family, many of her beloved neighbors - all were enjoying a sweet afternoon in the Nibenay Basin, the glinting waters nearby catching the sunlight. Tea, wine, and honey bread shared and enjoyed to the sound of soft winds and reminiscence. All was as it should have been. All was as she had remembered it.

But not long into her dream the Cyrodilic sky would darken and crack, speared by massive, twitching shadow. The White-Gold Tower stood as an unwitting perch for the scaly beast, and she stared in horror as it rained down brilliant flames of orange, red and white. The ground underneath all of their now unsure feet shook and that blood-stilling shriek resounded from above. Upon hearing a distant scream and dread gasps among all of those with her, her legs thrust into motion. She sprinted toward the Imperial City, the cries of those within the city walls becoming louder and more shrill. After running to the point that her lungs might give out, she stopped to catch her breath. The smoke rose and clotted the heavens, and the winds hastened and snapped the Imperial banners. One such banner had found the strong breeze after being freed from somewhere inside the capital. The black cloth was partially burned and splattered with fresh blood. And when it landed beside her, the most wretched trepidation shook her very bones and froze her spirit in place. There were no words, none able to breach her lips. For her breath was stifled in her chest. And her mind was aghast. Many ghosts she felt were attached to the fallen pennant, and it seemed cursed luck to even simply look upon it. Though entranced, her eyes left the portentous flag when she heard new screams from within, screams both terrified and mournful - screams begging for the Divines to protect the Emperor.

Penelope ran into the chaos, the once charming and orderly capital now ravaged and weeping. She kept the Tower in her sights, ignoring debris and choking clouds of black smoke. She averted her eyes from the dead sprawled and crumpled along the path, eking out whispered prayers as she went. A great wave of frightened people scrambled past her and she almost was pushed to the ground. Over stone and through the alleys and thoroughfares her swift feet took her, the chilling screams growing still louder. Choking on the smoke, she raised a hand to her mouth. Only affording herself a second or two to pause, she pushed onward. Until at last, at long and miserable last, the base of the White-Gold Tower greeted her struggling and teary eyes. Crowds of trembling and fearful residents continued to fly past her seeking safety. But one small group amassed near the base of the Tower, a few of them kneeling. She urged the onlookers to seek shelter, to flee the city. And after the group was mostly convinced away, though reluctantly, their object of dire concern and sorrow became immediately evident. Upon the scorched ground slippery with gore lay the Emperor himself. The wizened Titus Mede II lay dying, barely able to gasp his final breaths. His sword remained clutched in one hand with the very last of his fading strength. Penelope quickly knelt down to apply a healing spell but he suddenly grasped her wrist, holding it back.

The Emperor said nothing. He instead smiled very meekly. And as the tears poured down the Breton woman's cheeks, the aged ruler took his blade and placed it into the same hand with which she had just attempted to close his wounds. Her hand shook as it closed around the steel and silver, and she stared at it in disbelief. Chaos raged above and around them, fiery debris falling but feet away from them. Another resounding roar of the dragon perched atop the Tower shook Penelope loose from her captivation. And with new resolve, she gripped the blade proudly. Mede nodded once and slowly shut those war-weary eyes. Hand that just delivered his blade fell beside him, coming to rest in a pool of his own blood. Penelope wanted desperately to move him, to pick him up and carry him away from the growing inferno. She cried out as loud as she could through tears for someone to help her carry him, for someone to help her save their Emperor. But as she looked around frantically for a sign of any able soul, she was met with none alive. The ones who could yet move had fled, many of whom had been sent away by her. And naught but ghosts surrounded her now.

She looked down at the old man on the ground, his regal clothes stained and torn, his body so frail. At least his smile, so calm and peaceful, had not slackened even in death. And he looked as if he was merely sleeping. That at least came as a comfort to her now, as small of a comfort as it was. She wanted to collapse on the ground and mourn her Emperor. And despite holding the Imperial blade just bestowed upon her, she would have done so. That is, if a strong pair of hands had not reached out and pulled her back from behind. As she spun around to see who had grabbed her so sharply, she caught sight of a long black robe. Her eyes sought the face of the man, sought what would be a strikingly familiar face - one she never thought she would see again. It was the same pale countenance of the strange man from the Talos shrine. Those same yellow eyes and amber locks framing them. The same facepaint, swirls not unknown to her by sight but indeed unknown in origin. A savior once more, her savior. But this time her savior spoke, though his lips never seemed to move. Rather, his hypnotic voice echoed in her ears.

"The Emperor has fallen trying to protect his people. There is nothing more to be done for him, but everything more to be done for those he has tried to save. Do not waver. Do not linger!"

A stunned Penelope nodded and after stumbling over a nearby corpse and fallen stone, she ran with the robed man in escape. Several times she looked over her shoulder, glancing through her tears at the ruler until distance finally prevented it. They barely made it beyond the city walls and across the great bridge before a large portion of the battlements groaned and crashed, their collapse sending even more dust and smoke to the sky. The sight of it compelled Penelope to stop and very bitterly call out to the heavens, and curse the dragon that poured forth one more shower of flame from its perch. Through clenched teeth she hissed and gave a deep cry, a cry that sent forth blue waves of energy and a rush of wind. And it seemed enough to draw the dragon from its happy vantage point.

The massive creature met her glare with its own and held it while it rapidly descended. The ground shook again as it landed and kicked up swirls of dirt. Penelope's hair finally broke loose from its simple tie and the long black locks whipped in the wind. Unfazed, she clutched fast to the blade, the Emperor's blade, and planted her feet. The beast lunged at her, and she was ready. The metal sliced into the scaly flesh as it passed by, spraying drops of blood onto the grass and rocks and her skin. Although it felt like a great blow to the diminutive Breton, it was all in all but a scratch to the dragon. And after it shook off the strike, Penelope thought she saw it crack an odd grin. Rows of gleaming teeth and glowing eyes alike shone and flashed. And then, a voice. A tone not unfamiliar to her ears but equally as terrible as the first time she had ever heard such a sound. In a tongue incomprehensible to her, it chuckled and mocked. And then, looked past her. Over her bruised and bloody shoulder. Beyond the young woman and across the field toward her hometown. Toward Cheydinhal. The place where she knew her dearest ones had reconvened and awaited her.

Claws released, wings flapped like sails and the shadow was in motion anew. Gliding over her, it turned to give her a final smirk and soared to her beloved city on the horizon. She started running, not even realizing that the man who had saved her from certain death inside the now ruined capital city had disappeared. Across the green expanse now dotted with charred bits of bodies and structures she ran alone. Her angry tears sprang freshly from her eyes. No matter how fast she ran, pushing her lungs once more to near-collapse, there was no way she would catch up with the beast before it besieged the town. And she cried out at it to no avail, brandishing the Imperial blade helplessly.

“No! Leave them alone! Fight me!” She chanted as she fumbled onward, losing breath. “Fight me, you damned coward!”

But just as the daylight of her dream gave way to utter darkness and fire, she was ultimately caught and stopped by a concerned Carius. The officer grasped her shoulders, steadying her in the threshold of the tent.

“Nells! Wake up, it’s a dream! You’re dreaming!”

“Wha...huh?!” Her heart thundered in her chest and her gasps barely seemed capable of slowing. Momentary dizziness caused her to totter and lean into her friend's supportive embrace.

“Where did you think you were going?” He cautiously took her blade from her quaking grip and placed it beside her bedroll. He grinned, however, as he looked down at her feet. "And with mismatched, backwards boots as well?"

"Wha? I..." The Breton looked down at leather boots which sure enough were awkwardly attached to the opposite feet. Not to mention, they were indeed each from a different pair. She surmised that while one was her own, she had sleepily grabbed another that lay nearby. The owner of the latter was unknown.

“I...there was...it was...in the city...and then it..."

Immediate flashbacks of Helgen and all of its carnage bombarded her mind now as well: the corpses, bent, bloody and some even in pieces, scattered and caught under the smoking wreckage. The sickening stench of blood and burning flesh was enough to cause her to gag slightly now as it had then. The haunting calls to battle, strained voices of Tullius and others flooded back into her ears. Carius could tell by the distance in her wide eyes that her dream had been a rare kind of nightmare - the kind that drew from existing horrors. Tragedies witnessed. He held her closer, looking more determinedly into her face.

"What was in the city? What city? Are you alright, Nells?"

"No...nothing. Was nothing." She shook her head sadly and sighed, backing out of Carius' hold. "I'll be fine...I'll be fine. ...I hope I didn't wake anyone up..."

She threw a cloak around her shoulders and walked slowly toward the edge of camp, looking up at the black night sky as she went. Carius watched her, wondering to himself if he should go after her or simply let her be. The words of both the messenger and Tullius in his urgent note compelled him to follow her after making sure all else seemed well about the camp.

He would find her a short distance from the boundaries, looking toward Ivarstead and captivated by its flickering lanterns and their glows dancing on the waters of Lake Geir. She leaned against a rotting wooden fence, her eyes aglow with the reflections of the same lights - but at the same time dulled by sadness and contemplation. Carius joined her at the fence, looking first at the water and then at his dear friend.

"You...you just have the look of someone who has seen the rawest kind of hell. I've seen the look on more than one of my men." Her eyes closed, taking her back - revisiting events not so long since passed.

"I haven't talked about it much, since I've been here in Skyrim. No one really knows what I saw that day in Helgen, except for those few others who were there and actually got out alive. A precious few." Her voice trailed off into a whisper, cracking with sorrow.

"That's what I've heard. I can't even imagine it. Can't imagine what you must see even still." The Breton's eyes reopened, but glistening. Misted. And distant.

"Gods know I've seen my fair share of death. I've had it on my clothes, have had to wash it out more than once. But it's hard for me to believe, even now, that that was once a thriving town full of hopeful, earnest people. All of it gone, in but an instant. I...I think to myself what I would feel if something like that had happened back home, in Cheydinhal. I don't know how I could have borne that kind of horror. The destruction... All of this is something the likes of which I've never seen before. The kind of thing they say no one's seen. Not in centuries."

"Nells...we..." He stopped, the emotion pausing his words. After another deep sigh, he continued. "Our parents...our parents saw it happen."

It was the Imperial's turn to shut his hazel eyes in somber reflection. Penelope turned to her friend, still leaning on the fence.

"What?"

"Dominion forces. They rampaged all over, destroying and slaughtering all in their path. Bodies everywhere, in horrific stacks along the hills and lying in trenches... It was hell. And it wasn't even that many years ago. Some of the fields still won't bear crops."

"Carius, I know what's happened, I know our history-"

She hoped the weariness in her voice did not emerge as dismissal. For she knew that the Great War was considerably more than a rough spot in history for Carius. He had lost an uncle to the fighting, one he scarcely knew due to his very young age at the time of the man's death. But all of his father's stories about him from their childhood, as well as tales of his bravery before and during the war left Carius with an indelible mark. Hence the Imperial always spoke of the conflict with an especially acute pain that many knew - but even Penelope could for so long not realize. That is, until her own father fell in the fighting in Skyrim. It was a new and terrible bond. And she never wanted to seem to trivialize the topic whenever it arose. But she was just so tired. So very tired.

Before she could offer a more equivocating response, in hopes of preemptive mitigation, her friend shot back. His words were not angry, nor were they calm.

"Sometimes I think you forget it. Gods only know how you can. I sure can't."

"I've never heard of an historian who could." She smiled playfully, but the Imperial only offered a sad half-frown in response.

The young Breton woman then nodded in grim acknowledgement. He was right. But how could he be? It was as if her heart plotted with her mind to keep her spirit in the dark, to fulfill some uncanny destiny of unchecked optimism. But to what end?

"It...it is true what you say. It was...unfathomable. I don't know how our parents endured it. They just seemed to keep it all to themselves though all of these years, you know? I know I heard the stories of violence, of riots after the war. The onslaught of the corsairs and criminals' civil wars...the lot of it. But...there are so many things that I seem to have forgotten or never known in the first place. Things I never was told. If I think about it long enough, it scares me a bit. I know terrible things have happened and so many have sacrificed for us all of these years, but...it's like there was some sort of invisible wall between us and all that happened. You and I, and Heron...we never saw any of it. And yet, even the people here in Skyrim...some of them seem to know far more about what my father was doing here than they're willing to let on."

She bit her lip and shivered. It was a strange realization to admit to. And she wondered how much she simply did not know about the picturesque life she had treasured for so long. What more did she not know about herself?

Carius shook his head, his eyes following a distant firefly hovering above the water. It was strange for him as well, to recall it all and now. In this place where he and so many others from home were sent. The strangeness of it caught the pair of them truly off-guard. It humbled them both.

"Nowhere in Cyrodiil has yet gone untouched by some sort of evil. Not even Cheydinhal. Not back then, not even in relatively recent years. We only didn't see it then because...well, because we weren't allowed to. I guess that much makes sense."

Penelope narrowed her eyes at the statement. "What do you mean, 'weren't allowed to'?"

"Well, for one thing, we were taken out of Cheydinhal during the war, out of Cyrodiil altogether. I don't remember too much of it myself being so young then, but my parents have told me about it. Granted, they never wanted to linger on the details."

With this, Penelope pulled back from the fence to face her companion. Why is it that everyone else knows so much about me, about our past, while I've gone on knowing so little?

"Wait, what?!"

"You...you've never been told this story?"

"Not a word."

Carius gave a stunned chuckle. "You'll never believe this, I didn't myself. But...they tell me we were guests in Morrowind for some time. It was somewhere into the third year of it. Cities had been falling to them all over the country and by the time Aldmeri warships starting making their way up the Niben, our parents had taken all of us over the border. You were just barely born. I believe we left the next day or so. Your mother was adamant that you be born in Cyrodiil, even if you couldn't return to it for months or years, until the fighting stopped."

"Hm, sounds like my mother alright, stubborn as always. " She mused with a small grin.

"How are your mother and sisters, by the way? You haven't spoken of them yet. How are they holding up?"

"Oh...well, as good as anyone given the circumstances, I'd say. It's been hard on them. It's been hard on all of us. But, Mother has always been sturdy and determined. She's alright, and her potion-making business makes her happy. Keeps her mind off of things. Korinna and Photina...erm, they've been trying to keep themselves busy with the farm. Before I left, Korinna was briefly thinking about taking up an apothecary apprenticeship in Anvil. Mother wasn't terribly pleased, arguing that Korinna could just as well stay in Cheydinhal and work at her shop. But I think Korinna has wanted to leave home for some time. I think she sort of wants to run away from the reminders of everything, you know? But in the end, she decided she'd stay back. She never was one to go against our parents' wishes in any form. Can't say that's something I could be charged with." She smirked.

"They didn't want you to come here, did they?"

"Not really, no. Mother was worried. But as soon as she saw me with father's blade at my side and all packed and ready to go, I think she admitted to herself that what I was doing had to be done. My sisters were...well, let's just say they feel like I've run away from my responsibilities back home. Deep down, they know that what happened with our father isn't at all right and that we've shamefully been lead to believe half-truths. But...I don't know. I actually think they've always felt I was too much of an adventurer and a trouble-maker."

It was now Carius' turn to reply with a smirk of his own. "I could most certainly see how one could arrive at such a conclusion."

"Hmpf, thanks, Carius. I suspected as much from you!" Laughing dark eyes flashed with wonder once more, her focus returning to the latest revelations. "...But, Morrowind?! By the Divines! That's...that's remarkable!"

Her imagination sought to illuminate possible memories, though it was fruitless. She had never been to Morrowind - at least, not at an age at which she could recall. But all of the books she had read and all of the personal stories told by some Dunmer neighbors in Cheydinhal came rushing back to her mind. It was an extraordinary land that she had long fancied visiting one day. Even with its ruin and bleakness, the marvelous tales originating from the province had always fascinated her. Mysterious and wild, it lay just beyond the mountains and trees to the east. And it apparently had been part of her life. Little shivers of contented amazement beset her as the revelation captivated her mind.

"Soon as we were as secure as we could all hope to be, our fathers returned to Cyrodiil to resume the fight. I have no idea how or why the Legion allowed them to break away and accompany us there for even those few days. But then, it seems like we've always been very, very lucky. Very fortunate where others haven't been."

"It's true...we've always been so...insulated. Protected. I guess that's the best word I have for it." Her mind flitted back to the memory of her father's empty-casket funeral, in which she was sincerely and lovingly embraced by the Emperor himself. A man who genuinely seemed to share their pain. She still found it deeply moving.

"I imagine they caught some flak for it as well. My father alluded to as much. But, protecting his family was most important. Always has been."

Like that of Carius, Penelope's voice softened considerably with the depth of reflection. And there was a vague stinging in her eyes which she did her best to ignore as she spoke.

"People will do many things on behalf of those they love. Sometimes it seems there's just about nothing we won't do for those we hold most dear. Even acts of sheer desperation to that end can be forgiven because there is intrinsic honor in the motivation, right? I have to hope so."

"You know, I'd imagine that Ulfric himself might have uttered something similar in defense of his war." The Imperial spoke through an impish side-glance, knowing precisely what the reaction from the young Breton would be. He was not at all disappointed by what followed.

"Now, hey, don't you go comparing me to that one! That's not even a funny joke-"

"Ah, but where do we draw the line, Nells? It's a terribly slippery slope if I ever saw one."

"I don't know." She sighed and gave Carius a friendly jab to the chest. "I don't know and to be honest...I don't have the stomach for a philosophical debate with you right now. You know you'll win, you always do. That's why I gave it up long ago, just like card games with my brother."

"You know," He again chuckled softly amid fresh recollections, "they also told me you were quite frightened by the Silt Striders and Netches there in Morrowind. As soon as you were old enough to notice them, of course. You cried out whenever one was nearby."

"Huh? Silt Striders and Netches?" Penelope looked to the side, searching for any sort of reference in her mind. It would come back to her swiftly enough, her lips twisting with disgust. "Wait, are those the...hulking bug-looking things that make very strange and unsettling noises? And sort of just...hover there eerily?"

"Haha, yes, those are the ones! I can see by your face that the fear hasn't diminished in all these years."

She crossed her arms. "Hmpf. Yes, well, in my defense, they're a pretty terrifying sight for a small child!"

"I wasn't afraid of them."

"Pfft, of course you weren't. You were too busy studying them!"

"Ha! It is...something of a haunted land though. Like I said, I don't recall much. But, what I do remember makes me sure of that. It's seen quite a lot of death and turmoil. Not unlike our homeland."

"Where we taken in Morrowind though, Carius? I mean, did we just all run across the border and hope for the best? Or was there some sort of arrangement? And if so, how? With whom?"

"So many questions! Well, it was essentially right across the border. Maybe a bit further than that. As it turns out, your father had a lot of friends throughout the Empire. He did well to build bridges and take great care to never let them catch fire."

"And that sounds just like my father. You know, I think if anyone truly embodied in every conceivable way the spirit of the Empire he so loved, it was him."

"I can't argue with that..."

"And that's why, for the life of me, Carius, I cannot understand any of this madness right now. Why we're being made to chase ghosts, listen for whispers of rumors of conjectures..."

"Some things...just don't make sense, Nells. Some things aren't meant to be understood. But I know, Divines-willing, we'll see it through. And I will do all that I can to help. You know Adrianus was like a godfather to me." He placed warm hands on her shoulders, reassuring her. "No matter what happens, always know that you don't mourn alone."

Penelope looked up at her friend with glistening eyes and a tired smile. And then embraced him. The hum of lingering fireflies and babbling waters were the only sounds on the breeze. The sun had begun to creep up along the horizon, and the sky was flecked with early morning hues of pink and blue. All of it was beautiful, comforting. And neither of them would have left their embrace for hours, just to take it all in. But eventually they pulled back, still smiling.

"Thank gods for you, Carius. Thank the gods..."

She lingered there, looking happily into his face. Searching it. Admiring it. The enterprising thought even crossed her mind to lean in and bestow his cheek with a small kiss. As much as she wanted to resist the urge, impulse got the better of her as it sometimes did. And she quickly, shyly, delivered a peck on his bristly cheek. Both of them quietly laughed in spite of themselves and as she felt herself blushing, the Breton decided to make her exit.

"Right! Well...can you believe it? It's already the next day! I guess we ought to be getting back now, eh? I've...detained the Praefect for far too long already."

"Ha, well, it's true, we ought to get going." Carius turned to head back to the camp, but stopped to shoot the Breton another smile - and a wink. "I can't think of a single better way to have spent the end of the night though."

And with that, the officer walked back up the short ridge and toward the camp, calling out to a few of his men who were just waking up and looking for hot food and drink. She watched him for a few seconds before following, grinning to herself with a heart and soul genuinely warmed. He had always been there for her, as well as the rest of her family. And she silently prayed to all Divines that would listen for him to ever remain so. As the young Breton's fondest deity, Lady Kynareth would be presented with her prayers most earnestly. Sweet winds and a decorated sky above assured her that the goddess had heard her whispered words. And with her eyes darting excitedly about the heavens, Penelope walked on back to the waking camp.

…….​

Peculiar, it was, how much the Nord felt like a stranger in his own homeland. Ever since leaving Riften, he felt like a hapless wanderer – striving for information about someone who also had begun to become more and more unfamiliar as the days carried on. At each turn, if he had not been outright denied any leads, then he was treated to odd commentary that may as well have been a language of the ancient Dwemer. For it sounded much the same to his ears. Everyone was speaking in code when it came to Penelope and the circumstances that bore her to Skyrim. He was considered a clever man by most who knew him. And he had a talent for deciphering people, the harrowed, guarded characters who crossed his path in the dreary eastern city. But the young woman had proven herself the truest of enigmas and no matter how long he ruminated over all that he had been told and how much he gleaned thus far, it all made little real sense. He even had fleeting fancies of entreating Maven for some insight, given her impressive network reaching all the way back to the Imperial City itself. But he quickly thought better of it, hearing in his ear the bitter hiss and bark of a woman who simply had no time for or interest in any sort of altruism.

The friendly Imperial innkeeper Corpulus was willing enough to tell the Nord where to find the Legion representatives in the capital and after a small meal, he began to make his wary way to Castle Dour. There was still a haze in the sky, remnants of storms and relentless rain. The ground was drying now, but the air was still chilled by miniscule droplets. Passing by the market, he could not ignore the alluring aroma of freshly baked bread for sale and made a short detour to purchase a few loaves. The thief took a bite and smiled. Why is it that the bread in Riften never comes close to tasting as good as this?

And he walked on.

But he very soon was delayed again, when he happened to catch a glimpse of a certain shifty Argonian meandering near the marketplace. As soon as the former in turn noticed the Nord, he tried to hasten his steps away and back toward the docks. But the thief quickened his own pace and had no trouble catching up with the reptilian man. Knowing how stubborn the redhead always had been and no doubt would be now, the Argonian silently acquiesced and ducked into an alley. Brynjolf followed and crossed his arms just as the other heaved a deep and unhappy sigh.

“Well, if it isn’t Gulum-Ei! Our old friend. Except, from what Mercer tells us, that’s no longer the case, eh?”

The Argonian informant recoiled, already irritated. “Don’t bother hassling me, Brynjolf, nothing you say can change my mind. As a fellow businessman, you should be understanding of the occasional need for...severance."

But the Nord thief maintained his trademark evenness, smiling in an effort to charm and calm. “Don’t worry, I’m not at all here to bother with you, that’s Mercer’s fun. No, as fate would have it, I’m here on…other business.”

“Other business, huh?”

“Indeed. Do I detect the slightest trace of curiosity in your voice?” The thief cracked a sly grin. The Argonian in turn vainly tried to mask his interest with a dismissive huff.

“One is foolish if he’s not curious about the plots of another. That said, if you’re waiting for me to beg for details, you’ll be sorely disappointed.”

“Well, now, I’d never have pegged you as one for begging, but all the same…maybe you can help me in my little venture. There’s coin in it, of course. But only if what you offer me is solid enough. I don’t want to entertain any vagaries or wild speculation. I haven’t time for that.”

“Ha, when have I ever dabbled in such things?” Gulum-Ei offered a mischievous grin of his own, to which Brynjolf raised a cynical brow.

“In any event, I need to know if you’ve heard anything…strange…about Cyrodiil as of late.”

“Anything ‘strange’? About Cyrodiil? What kind of a question is that!?”

“A serious one! Look, I’ll put it to you simply: a friend of mine, a Guild associate, is under threat from characters as yet unknown from Cyrodiil – at least, I gather as much. Has there been any chatter, anything unusual about the Empire or the Legion that’s found your ears?”

Another dismissive huff from the Argonian, his voice laced with loathing. “Pffft, Imperials…you’re best off asking Maven about this. And even Mercer, for that matter. He's got some interesting 'connections' of his own that reach pretty far across Cyrodiil. Have you tried them yet?”

“No and to be frank, I don’t like wasting time. Which is what that would be, you and I both know that.” Aside from Mercer's consistently wretched temper which likely would have refused the Nord's inquiry regardless, there was also the obvious issue of the Breton Guild Master's absence. Brynjolf however thought better of mentioning such a thing at present.

“Meh…” Gulum-Ei shrugged and looked to the side. The Nord eagerly continued, scanning the other's face for hints of secret knowledge. He knew that the Argonian had heard things, spending as much time in Solitude as he always did - among the East Empire Company, no less. Whether or not he would yield up such observations and clues was an entirely different matter. And acknowledging the newly strained non-relationship he bore with the Guild, it would have to be a delicate process of extraction.

“So…anything come to mind? Anything at all? Even strange folk you’ve noticed around here?”

“Well, that depends. I may have heard this and that." A sudden flash of teeth in a broad smirk told the thief what to expect next. "I think the jingle-jangle of septims might clarify some things in my mind.”

With this, Brynjolf tightened his grasp on the small bag of coins he held and drew it back slightly. “You won’t hear anything of the sort until I know what I’m paying for.”

Gulum-Ei merely offered a bitter laugh as the Nord's expression tensed into a frown. “Bah, you drive a hard bargain, Brynjolf. Always have. Always will-“

“Well, have you got anything to offer or not? If not, I’ll take my business elsewhere. There are plenty others in and around Solitude who yet honor their ties to the Guild.”

“Fine, fine! I can tell you…that there’s been some talk about…ghosts.” The Argonian barked out the last word with obvious reluctance, as if knowing that Brynjolf's characteristic skepticism would cause him to dismiss his testimony altogether. He did not want to lose a chance for some extra monetary supplementation, but he also knew that what he had heard truly had made little real sense. And he wondered just how fast the Riften thief would march on his way. To his sincere surprise and greed-fueled amusement, the Nord took the bait - albeit questioningly.

“Ghosts? What sort of ghosts?”

“...I don’t really know.”

“What was the context?”

“...Can’t really say.”

“Argh, we’re done here-“ Even before Brynjolf threw up his hands and started to re-pocket the coins, the Argonian could sense that the opportunity was slipping away. He had pushed his luck.

“Alright, alright, it had to do with ‘ghosts’ from Cyrodiil. 'Bloody ghosts'. But, I didn’t get the impression that they were literal ghosts. More like, things that have come back to haunt people now. Or something. I don’t know, it’s Cyrodiil we’re talking about – they’re fond of convoluted gibberish like this.”

Green eyes narrowed. “Who was talking about it?”

“Come on now, Bryn, you know I would never reveal my sources. Let’s just say I’ve heard many things while strolling along the docks and sipping good drinks at the Winking Skeever.”

“Alright, fine. But what about you yourself? Have you seen anything?”

“Mm, I might have noticed some odd looking ones I’ve never seen before. But…my memory is presently unclear.”

Brynjolf sighed and reached in the bag to produce some coins for the Argonian man, who eagerly pocketed the gold.

“Hmm, it’s amazing how much clearer my mind just became!” Brynjolf offered a muffled “Hmpf” just as the other continued. “Well, I’ve noticed a few Imperial-looking types in town recently. All were dressed in dark clothing, all looked somewhat…well, harried, for lack of a better description.”

"Indeed? And you said they're not at all familiar to you?"

"No. Not at all. They just appeared in town within the past several days. I've seen them in and around the inn, as well as heading in the direction of the lighthouse. Who knows, maybe they've got something to do with that Jaree-Ra character. Wouldn't surprise me."

"I'll...keep that in mind." Brynjolf was somewhat taken aback by Gulum-Ei's abrupt leaning in and hushing of his already rough voice.

"I will say this...when all of this was being mentioned, it seems there is reason to believe that whoever this is is definitely dangerous. Not to be trifled with. Swaggering sailors from Cyrodiil were shuddering as they talked about it. Whatever this is, it seems like it's big. Not big enough yet that you'll get much information about it from non-Imperials, especially in Skyrim. But it's big."

"Any idea who exactly these persons might be? Is it war-related? Is it political? I know the Emperor is rumored to be visiting Skyrim. The timing would seem more than right for some sort of assassination attempt."

"That I can't say. Because I honestly don't know. All I know is what I heard and what I can surmise by reading very grim Imperial faces. If they've anything to do with your 'associate', I'd be pretty nervous on their account."

"Well, I believe you've earned this." The Nord handed over the small leather pouch. It had been a somewhat productive exchange, though Brynjolf himself was left all the more intrigued and worried.

"Pleasure doing business as usual."

"Oh, and for a few more..." To the Argonian's renewed astonishment, the thief offered a few more septims. "I trust that you'll keep those eyes and ears open and most keen on my behalf..."

"Understood! And most certainly!" The reptilian man hungrily snatched away the few extra coins and pocketed them with another leering grin. With a quick nod, the Nord turned to take his leave - and further contemplate all that he just been told. It would no doubt be a painful process, trying to make sense of the whimsical. But just as he turned to exit the alleyway, the Argonian stopped the thief with a cursory tap on the shoulder.

"Oh, and I have one more thing. A name that I heard. An Imperial. Might be one of the ones you're looking for. Though of course I can't be certain."

"Really?"

"Yes..." The Argonian retrieved a torn piece of parchment from his pocket and some charcoal. Leaning the paper against the wall, he quickly and messily scratched out the name. Afterward, he blew away the loose particles and then handed Brynjolf the note. "Take this, with my thanks..."

"Thanks? For what?"

"For not hassling me." Gulum-Ei grinned and hurried off into the town, the bag of coins clinking and jingling as he went.

Brynjolf looked down at the parchment, eying the name that he strongly suspected was misspelled:

"ROSKEEUS AVEENUS"

He then folded up the paper and placed it in his pocket. "Definitely Imperial, that is. Roscius and 'bloody ghosts', eh? By the Eight, what is going on? What is all of this? And what does it have to do with Nell?"

Solitude seemed to have grown quite a bit larger as he slowly made his way back to the inn. Faces of those he passed seemed all too knowing in their reticence, in their grins and frowns. Not even the sun, newly emboldened by dissipated storm clouds, could shine enough light on such riddles.

…….​

"Rather appropriate, isn't it, that we meet here now? Beside the Sea of Ghosts?" Two full tankards clinked together in a toast.

The black and silver haired, gray-eyed man sat at a lonely table with one other Imperial. The Winking Skeever was a touch bright for their tastes, but it fulfilled its present purposes. They were in from the chill of the coast, though the lighthouse was a preferred place for meeting. The waters made wine-dark by the recurring storms pleased him to observe. And even the reflections therein that simultaneously saddened and enraged him were a sort of comfort to his soul. Since arriving upon his trek from Falkreath, he had often found himself walking down to the rocky edge of the land, where the ground met the lapping waves. He would stare at the murmuring sea for hours at a time, lost in the many faces looking back - including his own - and rifling through memories both pleasant and horrifying.

But when he had had his fill of unwelcome reminders of all sorts, he would retire to the only inn in Solitude. He was not much pleased with the innkeeper's incessant attempts to be kindly and engage him in conversation. But he could endure it as long as it took to convince the man that others in the establishment were far warmer and far more interesting to speak with than him. And friendly Corpulus would engage others among the clientele. One thing he hated most was the Vinius family's interest in discussing Cyrodiil. The very mention of the name of the land forced a grimace and sneer from the bitter ghost-eyed man. But his obvious dismay only rendered the Vinius men more curious. No matter what they tried, they could get little from him. But that did not stop their attempts. It was a tiresome circular exercise. And it was another reason why he was pleased to now have a companion in the city, whom he could use as a wall - a barrier to forcible affability.

The two men at the table in a corner of the room, as far removed from others as possible, exchanged grins not necessarily warm but most certainly knowing. Grins that bespoke a mutual understanding, a shared awareness and commonness of purpose. Their familiarity would have been apparent even before the brown-haired man chuckled and responded.

"Most appropriate, as a matter of fact. Though I must say, don't you find it a bit risky to be meeting here of all places? Surely a shabby backwater like Morthal would have been less...conspicuous."

"Oh, Clodius, faint-hearted to the last, eh?" The first man took a swig from his vessel. "Don't tell me that you're having second thoughts now. The hour is much too late for that."

"Not second thoughts...just simple concerns. We both know Dragon Bridge is but a short ride from here. And if I know Maro, he's pouring every last bit of energy he has into blanketing the countryside with eyes and ears."

"Hmpf, Maro...the man's thoroughly incompetent. Every bit as much so today as he ever was. If that son of his miraculously has any wits about him, he found them on the road somewhere. None were inherited."

"All the same...can't be too careful. I've been told that some in the Legion have already started whispering."

"Really? Now that I find compelling. After all of these years, there are still some who remember, eh? That's good to know. Not that it'll save any of them in the end, but it is reassuring." The gray-eyed man took a longer draw from the tall mug, savoring both the taste and the satisfaction of such knowledge.

"So you're really not troubled at all by anything thus far? What about the Brotherhood-" Even before the last syllable left his lips, Clodius was jolted by the sudden thunderous pound of the other's fist upon on the table. The strike shook both tankards, causing the drinks within to only just barely remain contained.

"I knew you were going to bring that up! Couldn't resist, could you?!"

"Well...I..." Sheepishness caught the brown-haired man like a wave, while fresh irritation permeated the other's words.

"No, of course that was a vexing development. But by gods, man, if they couldn't even protect themselves against the Oculatus, the wretches deserved what they got. They'd have been no use to me. And that's a fact." Brows knitted and furrowed even more deeply with creeping anger. "Argh, enough with this triviality, it bores me."

Clodius absently ran a ringed hand through his hair, his brown eyes lowering to the table top. "Alright, well, I've got some interesting news. Various and sundry bits of it."

The other man's mood appeared salvageable at least, as he cracked a small though sarcastic smile.

"Oh? Do tell. I hope it's all good."

"For starters, Tyrus will be here within the next day or so. Last I heard, he was in Riften for a bit...just fresh in from Morrowind."

"Riften, eh? There for the fishing, no doubt?" He laughed spitefully as Clodius merely smirked.

"I wouldn't know..."

The gray-eyed man leaned back in his chair, which creaked in protest. "Yes, well, I know Riften and I know him. And it's everything to do with lazing about getting himself oversaturated with wine, merriment, and the many 'charms' of local women."

"Ah, he wants to get his playtime in before the real work begins?"

"Precisely. I've no illusions to the contrary when it comes to that pompous little sot."

"Well, perhaps all the better then. He'll be 'well rested' for the efforts."

"Hmpf, you certainly have an overabundance of faith, my friend."

Clodius laughed, his thin cackles echoing about the inn's walls. "Ah, but you perhaps have too little!"

"Hmpf, I doubt it. What else have you heard as of late?"

The slightly younger Imperial reached into his coat pocket, producing a small, folded note. Wrinkled and faded by weather, the writing was not completely legible.

"I received this from a trusted courier very early this morning. It would seem that our exuberant representative from Bravil has been running a tad...late."

"Late?" The gray-eyed Imperial leaned forward again in his chair, which once more creaked in grievance.

"Unfortunately, yes."

"But he's on his way at this hour, I should hope?"

"As far as I can tell from this very short, very strange note...yes. He promises to be here as soon as possible, but he's had some business to see to near Ivarstead."

"Business near Ivarstead, eh?" After impatiently gesturing for his companion to hand it over, the gray-eyed man grasped the small note. Brows raised as he read it. "So, our little Chimera has found someone who greatly interests him there."

Clodius' recurring smirk lapsed into a quizzical glance, and he craned his neck to attempt to read across the table - and upside-down besides. "But...? How can you tell all of that from-?"

"It's not difficult to see. Look at the energy with which he's written this note. His script, while not especially praiseworthy as it is, is not usually this careless and frivolous in its form. And look at the content. He sounds all too happy to be so held up. It's not conciliatory or apologetic. Not in the least. I'd say it's almost lovesick in its tone. Dalliances detain him, not difficulties."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"This is why you were named lead tactician all those years ago." Clodius chuckled heartily. "This right here! Haven't lost your knack for minutia, not at all!"

"Honestly, I can almost hear that chirpy voice of his as I read it and I can tell you I've heard it before. He's looking to enjoy himself out there. Reminds me of the other one frolicking in Riften."

"Well, I suppose it's something we should have expected from the very youngest among us. The flippancy of youth..."

"Bah, he's not even young enough to claim that anymore... Well, as long as he gets here no later than Tyrus. I rather resent all of this waiting. Being made to wait...twenty-six years of it! It's enough to drive a man mad."

"Too late for that though, eh?" Clodius raised his tankard for another summary toast, and his drinking partner obliged.

"Mm, I'll drink to that. To our madness. Our collective ruinous madness. When it's all you have for over two decades, it becomes more of a comfort than a bane." His already dour expression darkened even more after swallowing a swig of ale. "And all the while, that damned old man sits up there in his damned White-Gold Tower. Traitor's Tower, is more like it. Weeping not a single tear, bearing not a single warm thought, not one solemn shred of reverence. He'll let the rest of the world burn and the ashes be carried away on the north wind before the end-"

Clodius, clearly perturbed by the latest direction of the conversation - namely the livid invocation of the Emperor - and perhaps more so by the rising volume of it, took his turn to strike the table excitedly and refocus the other's attention.

"One more thing, actually! There's also been some rumors that not so long ago, Aquila was here. In Skyrim."

"Wha...Aquila?! Our Aquila?!" Those ghost eyes flashed and glowed with intrigue, a sight that delivered sincere shivers down the other man's back.

"Y-Yes... I haven't heard much more than that...except that he apparently may now be dead."

"Dead? Surely not."

Clodius shook his head and snickered. "Can't be sure, but it seems as if it's actually true this time."

"Well, I'll believe it when I see it. Or when I have considerably more to go on than mere rumor." He stopped mid-thought as a very familiar face flashed in his mind, and a matching voice echoed with warm laughter in his ears. Indeed he had to admit to himself that it caught him off-guard. An unexpected twinge of sorrow supplanted his bitter anger, at least momentarily. Even Clodius could detect the briefly changed mood as the other man continued. "But...how did it allegedly happen anyway? From this idiotic faux-conflict? Even I'd have pity for the poor fool if he's laying in some icy Nordic trench somewhere in this hinterland."

"No one seems to know details...that, or they're just not saying."

The older of the two Imperials nodded slowly, bearing a wide and very cynical grin as sorrow inevitably yielded to the usual angry gloom.

"Oh, you and I both know it's the latter. And I'm not the least bit surprised by all of the hushed lips. Makes them all feel that much more superior. Maro, Tullius, the lot of them. As if wielding secrets makes one significant. You and I, all of us...we've got secrets of our own. But most importantly, we've got truth. And self-respect! All the rest isn't worth a bloody damn."

"True enough. It is...something to bear in mind though. Whatever brought him down is still afoot out here. Maybe the Thalmor are finally getting around to finishing what they started all of those years ago, eh?"

"Meh, that's giving them way too much credit. They're too busy with their pretend-crusade here. And they've got everyone in this damned place - Legion and Stormcloak alike - right where they want them. Which is to say, over a barrel. I hardly think we are of any consequence. Why wait twenty-six years to finish it, huh?"

"But maybe they mean it not to make sense, maybe they mean for us to dismiss it."

"Hogwash."

"I'm not at all saying I fear them, I'm only saying that may be what's happening here. It would be troublesome to have to deal with them with our left hand and Mede's troops with our right."

"Yes, well, that would be troublesome. Thankfully we are not doing the 'dealing'. Merely commanding the field. There are enough furious ex-Legion men in these parts and pouring in from around the Empire that we've not as of yet needed to enter contract with any mercenaries for ground troops. It's astounding. And rather promising."

"Speaking of ex-Legion, what about Ulfric? And his men?"

The very name seemed enough to offend the other Imperial, who took a quick drink before inquiring testily. "What about him?"

"Well, has there been any contact with him? Any fruitful overtures?"

Clodius had always been very thorough. And while it had served them well during the war and on other occasions, his persistence for details was beginning to irritate his current companion.

"No. Nor do I think we should waste our time with even the notion of it."

"Why not though? He wants to see Mede's men down and out here as much as we do. Let's take advantage of that zeal. Why not send an emissary-"

The gray-eyed man shot back, not even blinking as he gritted in one long unbroken breath.

"Because Ulfric doesn't give a swamp troll's dung heap about what we want. Ulfric cares entirely about Ulfric. Always has, always will. There are some things that time just will never change-"

"You don't even think he'd share information? Swap mutually beneficial intelligence?"

"Not unless something great and momentous was promised to him. He's strictly tit-for-tat and honestly, I haven't the interest in playing games with that man. He's far too proud, too self-interested, and too spirited for me to want to deal with him at all, let alone think of useful bargaining chips. Let him have his war. And let us take advantage of the atmosphere."

"Understood. Though, what if we are approached by one of his agents? The word on the street is that he's willing to accept any sort of 'help' he can get these days. Things are balancing on a razor's edge for him right now and he won't want to leave any potential resource unsolici-"

"I don't believe I can be any clearer than this: if any one of his men or peripheral agents approaches anyone in our affiliation for any reason whatsoever, I am to be notified as soon as possible and nothing is to be done and no one is to be engaged further until I have had the chance to respond. Make certain that this is known and stated policy among our ranks. I don't want anything going off the track because of foolish ignorance. For all we know, Ulfric's old puppet masters are tugging on his strings again. I put nothing past any of them."

"Could be..." Clodius nodded. But the other man was not yet done; anger and the potency of drink compelled his voice to grow louder with every sentence.

"Maybe one can't say much for us. But we can hold our heads high for at least never allowing ourselves to serve those bastards. We never yielded. We never screamed for mercy while betraying the country in the same painful breath. We are what we are because we didn't give in. Divines hear my words, and Daedra mark them!"

"I'll drink to that!"

"And what have we got to show for it? False charges. A profound abomination they called a trial. Then exile. Wretchedness. And the funny thing is...look where they all are now. The fools...their punishment is just. Finally the gods and demons remembered us."

He could have kept on his rant, and by all accounts would have - that is, had it not been for a tall auburn-haired man that caught his attention as he entered the inn. Gray eyes narrowed nearly to slits as he watched the broad-shouldered Nord approach the counter and strike up a conversation with the gregarious innkeeper. The Imperial watched and struggled to listen discreetly to the discussion across the room. Fortunately for him the rich voices echoed and he was able to discern most of it. And it seemed like the sort of small talk that had driven him to distraction so often in the same establishment. And once the ravenously suspicious part of him had been satisfied, he shifted back to his drink and his own concerns.

But the relief would be most fleeting as the line of conversation took a new turn. One that found the Nord handing over a crumpled piece of parchment to the innkeeper to read.

"Is that...wait, does that say, 'Roscius...Aveenus'? Huh, it's...familiar. But I can't say I know why. Or who, for that matter. Strange!"

Corpulus' resounding voice skipped about the inn. Most customers simply ignored the words, all too engaged in their own personal discussions or lost in their own thoughts. But two men half-choked on their drinks with the utterance of the name. The two Imperials, who sat far removed from most everyone else in the building, stared at one another in wide-eyed, gape-mouthed surprise. One of the pair twisted around to glare over at the innkeeper and the unfamiliar but all too inquisitive Nord.

The elder Vinius repeated the name for clarity, which sounded like a Hagraven's nails scraping down a board to the ears of the ghost-eyed man.

"It's Avienus, you idiots...Ah-vee-en-us!"

He did not even realize how loudly he had growled then until he noticed a few tavern-goers and both the Nord and Winking Skeever's owner treating him to puzzled glances. The Imperial chuckled nervously in spite of himself, and attempted to counter any fresh misgivings.

"Just...humbly offering a gentle correction. That's all. If you're looking for information, it would help to have the pronunciation of the name right. Will help, I'd imagine."

His inherent charms did not fail him. Not even now. It took everything to suppress the smirk threatening to spread across his face. The red-headed Nord, unsure, only nodded meekly. And Corpulus stood by as the former proceeded to question the man.

"Oh...of course. So, how do you know of it? You've clearly heard of this man. Do you know anything much about him?"

It was the last thing the wily Imperial wanted at this moment, to be pursued, showered with questions on such things. It was enough that his name was being whispered and written outside of Legion ranks. But it now had apparently found its way even among miscellaneous Nords, people with presumably little to no intricate and privileged knowledge of Cyrodilic politics or wartime history. It reminded him of the infernal dog outside of Falkreath and the unseen speaker of his name then as well. It was troubling. Problematic. And it set his ever-turning mind into a rapid current. What did it all mean? He had to find out. And so decided to rise from his seat and join the Nord at the counter.

"Actually, my dear sir," He sighed, "you would be unfortunately incorrect in that assumption. I have heard the name, yes, but I sadly do not know anything useful about him in the same way that I'm sure you've heard of famous royals but know next to nothing about their personal lives and history."

Not entirely convinced, the Nord nevertheless shrugged in agreement. "Fair enough, I suppose. In that case, do you know where I might go for such information on this man? It's important. Very important."

"I..." The Imperial suddenly shifted his glance to Clodius back at their table, and flashed him a very fast and wicked grin hidden from the others by distance and angle. He soon turned back to face the unassuming Nord. "I myself would start with folks like...oh, I don't know, that General Tullius character. Or perhaps better yet, that Maro man. In Dragon Bridge. They always know far more than they let on, about everyone."

"I've actually already seen Maro. He wasn't too helpful...though I didn't ask him about this man..."

The red-headed Nord's voice trailed off with the realization that he may well have spoken too much in unknown company. But it was much too much to hope for that the Imperial would give up the chase. Instead it stoked his curiosity further, inciting him to pry all the more.

"Really? What were you seeking Maro for, if you don't mind my asking?"

Those striking eyes seemed again to glow, doing well to unsettle the usually stalwart Nord and even cause him to slip over his words.

"I...I had questions about...the war effort. He then redirected me...to Tullius. Was an honest mistake."

"Ah, my good man, there are no mistakes in life. Only lessons to be learned through suffering and misfortune." He closed his statement with the most diabolical of grins. And he appreciated the redhead's obvious discomfort as a result.

"That's certainly...optimistic. Well, thank you for your suggestions. I think I'll be off then."

The Imperial offered a half nod in acknowledgment and watched the auburn-haired man exit the inn with a hurried step. His dark smile only faded after the Nord had completely disappeared and Corpulus returned to his upkeep, not yet daring to inflict conversation upon them anew. Of course it was only a matter of time in that case.

But at present, the man with the striking ghost eyes, the man named Roscius, left the front counter and the two Imperials sat speechless at their table. They each took draughts from their now mostly empty tankards. The remaining ale had warmed and while they still could force it down for the sake of getting their septims' worth, it reminded them of an all too apparent truth: things had been changing every moment they had been in Skyrim. Things they had taken for granted, things they had hardly noticed. In the time it took for their ale to lose its pleasing chill, a host of new realizations had manifested as reality. The ground was ever shifting underneath their once poised and planted feet. And as they exchanged silent glances marked with grimness and perhaps even vague alarm, conventional wisdom began to bear new significance. Nothing was ever merely what it seemed.

 

[DrunkenMage]

Yay more chapter, I got my Christmas present after all

 

[bulbaquil]

Ahhhh, Gulum-Ei, the winking skeever of the Winking Skeever.

My Sjadbek: " 'Near Ivarstead'? Hmm... what do I know of that's near Ivarstead? Shroud Hearth Barrow... High Hrothgar, but that's definitely not it... ah, the Rift Imperial Camp. Which happens to be where Pen currently is. And Mercer, though I'd recommend he be transported to a more secure location, like... eh, Cidhna Mine. Or the Imperial Bastion, or really even the Windhelm jail. Galmar, I think, has been rather keen on reopening the old Pit."

 

[Dovakiin98]

Ahhhh, Gulum-Ei, the winking skeever of the Winking Skeever.

My Sjadbek: " 'Near Ivarstead'? Hmm... what do I know of that's near Ivarstead? Shroud Hearth Barrow... High Hrothgar, but that's definitely not it... ah, the Rift Imperial Camp. Which happens to be where Pen currently is. And Mercer, though I'd recommend he be transported to a more secure location, like... eh, Cidhna Mine. Or the Imperial Bastion, or really even the Windhelm jail. Galmar, I think, has been rather keen on reopening the old Pit."

A more secure location for Mercer would be tied to a boulder and thrown in the Sea of Ghosts. P.S.Great chapter Docta!

 

[AS88]

I've read all of this in the last two days, and have two points for you:

1. Thanks for ruining my assignment that I'm now two days behind on.
2. Thanks for writing such a captivating, rich, absorbing, complex, exciting, involving, hopeful, sinister, bright, dark, fun, cold-hearted and just brilliant story so far.

I can't wait to read more!

 

[Docta Corvina]

I've read all of this in the last two days, and have two points for you:

1. Thanks for ruining my assignment that I'm now two days behind on.
2. Thanks for writing such a captivating, rich, absorbing, complex, exciting, involving, hopeful, sinister, bright, dark, fun, cold-hearted and just brilliant story so far.

I can't wait to read more!

This is one of the most awesome comments I've ever gotten on this story! The fact that it managed to keep you reading all of it in two days - that's some kind of new record, gotta be! (Though I am sorry about the distraction! ) As a writer, that is simply awesome to me and so relieving to hear. It means I've so far done my job.

Thank you so very much for your support and very kind words, and I too am excited to keep going. As I've said to others, it's a project that will go on longer than perhaps many of this kind. I've got a tale here that's got a ways to go yet. So many twists and turns in store.

 

[The Phoenician]

Another outstanding chapter.

 

[Docta Corvina]

Another outstanding chapter.

Thank you so much, Phoenix! It's really awesome to have such faithful readers - really encouraging to say the least.

As an aside, I'm really giving thought to writing a prequel once the main story and its epilogue are completed. I know, putting the cart before the horse and all that. But I've been getting authorial visions more and more lately. I think it's gonna happen.

 

[Cosmic Storm]

So how do you expect me to try to compare to this, hm? Really? You're just going to compose an epic story in which each and every epic chapter is of epic proportions? Is it like that, Docta? Do you hate me? After all this time? After all I've done for you?

All jokes aside, I'm mad about this story... Spectacular. I'm awestruck. I wish I had read it earlier, but now that I've caught up, I'm definitely going to follow this with the fervor of a psychotic fanboy. Thank you so very much for writing this.

 

[Docta Corvina]

So how do you expect me to try to compare to this, hm? Really? You're just going to compose an epic story in which each and every epic chapter is of epic proportions? Is it like that, Docta? Do you hate me? After all this time? After all I've done for you?

All jokes aside, I'm mad about this story... Spectacular. I'm awestruck. I wish I had read it earlier, but now that I've caught up, I'm definitely going to follow this with the fervor of a psychotic fanboy. Thank you so very much for writing this.

Aww man, Cosmic! You know I appreciate everything you've done for me, you know that! D:

Haha, I am really pleased you're enjoying it so much! It's my pride and joy, labor of love. It's been a while since I've been so moved to write a story of such length and I'm pretty much in love with the experience of it. I've already started the next chapter, and I'm already excited for it!

Thanks again for your kind words, they are greatly appreciated! And I hope you continue to enjoy it!

Btw, looking forward to your work as well!

 

[Docta Corvina]

A more secure location for Mercer would be tied to a boulder and thrown in the Sea of Ghosts. P.S.Great chapter Docta!

...I forgot to mention that you inspired me with this. Just came 'round to the relevant part of my chapter under construction and I had to laugh.

 

[Dovakiin98]

...I forgot to mention that you inspired me with this. Just came 'round to the relevant part of my chapter under construction and I had to laugh.

I`m always happy to help make Mercer suffer.

 

[Dradin]

I just read your story and The Bear of Skyrim this week and you have inspired me to write my own fan fiction. Thank you!

 

[The Phoenician]

Thank you so much, Phoenix! It's really awesome to have such faithful readers - really encouraging to say the least.

As an aside, I'm really giving thought to writing a prequel once the main story and its epilogue are completed. I know, putting the cart before the horse and all that. But I've been getting authorial visions more and more lately. I think it's gonna happen.

I am an avid reader mostly sci-fi/fantasy books. And to be honest I find most fan fiction to be unreadable best. This story how ever is as well written an engaging as many of the ink on paper books I have enjoyed.

I have thoroughly enjoyed reading this story and appreciate all of the work you have put in to it.

 

[wolfgang jack]

So I've finally finished the story so far and, however slowly I read it, I really enjoyed it. Be honest with me, you're Charlotte Brontë incarnate, right? A sort of writer's Nerevarine?

Anything I write will undoubtedly com[pale]parison.

Keep up the fantastic work!

 

[Docta Corvina]

As always everyone, thank you so much for the fantastically kind comments! I treasure them all, and your readership helps keep me going.

The next chapter is in the wrap-up stages, and will be posted this weekend come hell or high water. Work is again to blame for the lag in postings, but I will make up for it. I noticed that at the end of April it will be the one year anniversary of the story's beginning. I'm thinking of goodies with which to celebrate. I'll have to do something special in any case!

 

[Deadpool.]

you should write a book. i would love to read more of your stories.

 

[Docta Corvina]

Chapter 18

The winds had shifted in Markarth, blowing chilly from the north. And an Altmer man shivered. He stood at the top of the steps leading to Understone Keep, his arms crossed and his dark yellow eyes narrowed. The metal fastenings of his coat caught the sunlight, twisting and twinkling as he shifted his weight. His gaze was distantly fixed on something invisible, on thoughts and concerns all too vivid before his sight. Questions, suppositions, vague hopes – all were swirling about his mind. The forge smoke drifted upward and twisted its wispy tendrils around his body with a slight lurch of the breeze. It was a favorite scent.

Several papers awaited him back inside the Keep, parchment lying in neat heaps upon one corner of the war room table. They were missives which only contributed to the gnawing concern. And as he thought about what those notes contained, he could only sigh. And shook his head.

The Thalmor couriers had not been especially frequent lately. And it was not altogether unexpected. For the war in Skyrim had seemed a bloody stalemate for some time now, the respective forces of Tullius and Ulfric clashing in skirmishes and doing little to trade yielded ground. They were bleeding each other dry, slowly. A war of attrition - the gift that could only keep on giving. The moment that the tides decisively turned - particularly in favor of the Empire - would demand action. And he was not entirely desirous of such mutable positions and uncomfortable uncertainty.

But the shifting winds nevertheless had carried with them an evolving reality. Shrill bells and chimes distantly jingled and clanged as he painstakingly unfolded one of the sealed notes. The courier did not even stand by to await a message for return. Rather he had offered a brisk salute and solemnly headed back out of the city. The words on the page that the lone Altmer still grasped were a much-loathed start of the day. For the much-rumored news about the Dark Brotherhood's demise had finally reached the ears of the Aldmeri Dominion's representatives in Skyrim. And here it was, officially penned on Thalmor stationary. While some dismissed it as a trifling detail, of no real concern to their desired status quo, it was a striking development to this agent. The assassins' organization was just as susceptible to ups and downs as any other. Certainly their destruction in times chaotic as they currently were made ready sense - but who could have done it? Was it some sort of a fatal fluke? Or to the contrary, had it been a carefully executed plan by a vengeful kinsman of a target? Whoever it was had wielded a blade well enough to dispatch an entire contingent of talented fighters. Though the latter stalked the darkness, they lacked not ability to fight in the light.

No, it was a considerable development, and it seemed all the more significant when he recalled the news of the Justiciars' recent slayings. Though he himself had no window as yet on additional classified knowledge on the incident, he knew very well that the investigation was in full force. Even the most well-guarded secrets did not go unknown by the Thalmor indefinitely. There was little doubt that justice would be exacted as soon as was deemed possible. And he genuinely shuddered to think about the hulking old fort far to the north. Whoever was responsible for the murders would be begging for death before the dawn of their second day in the prison. Recklessness, pride, gross disrespect for Thalmor authority - it all had a steep price. At the same time, he wondered if the two incidents, the Brotherhood's ruination and Justiciars' killings, were in some way linked. It was an intriguing possibility. But what would it mean?

"Lord Ondolemar..." An all too familiar thin voice from behind him broke his line of thought. So much for solitude. Is it really too much to ask for?

Though he would never admit it openly, the droning monotony of his post had long since begun to wear on his nerves. The other two agents who seemed just short of chained to his side and shadowed his nearly every step would repeat the same dry threats and declarations daily. Every day with their lists, lists containing the unfortunate names of accused and suspected Talos worshippers - violators of the White-Gold Concordat and surefire enemies of their ideals. He had been tasked with overseeing the rooting out of such persons in Markarth. And while he had grown into his job and carried on as expected, even he could not deny the vague twinge of distaste whenever another list was thrust into his gloved hands. If anything, he suffered from homesickness, boredom, and the resulting irritability. His temper could be short, his natural arrogance primed. But even in spite of all of that, there were some in the ancient city who yet dared to look to him with hopeful, pleading eyes. Nothing frustrated him more.

“Lord Ondolemar…?” The voice repeated.

“Yes, yes, what is it?!” While he did not mean to let his response burst forth with such bitterness, he hardly now cared that it had. All morning he had sought time to step away and simply think. Reflect in silence. The proddings and half-timid throat clearings of those around him had since become more than enough. Perhaps he simply had been in Markarth too long. Or, perhaps, he merely loathed bothersome people much more than he had previously realized. It was most likely, he mused, some variation of both. His teeth clenched as he turned around.

“We have just added another name to the latest list. I can’t believe we never noticed until recently, but, better late than never, no?”

“I suppose…” Ondolemar sighed especially loudly. Even leaving the stony confines of the Keep and seeking out fresh morning air could not alleviate the festering frustration. There were things, new things, which seemed so much more significant – with all of the other concerns on his mind, foolish and hapless Nords currently seemed all the more trivial.

“The bard, in the Silver-Blood Inn. Insolent old man that he is...thought that business was well-hidden. Not well enough, clearly!"

"So there's another name for the list." Ondolemar nodded slowly and cynically before shooting the other Altmer a stinging glance. "And this was worthy of disturbing me for what reason precisely?"

"Well, it...he...this one..." The agent mumbled as he fumbled over his words, clearly unsettled by his superior's irritation. "We lack naught but the evidence before we can formally finish processing the entire list."

"You yet lack proof, eh?" Lists, lists...always and everywhere, damned lists!

"...Yes."

"Why was he placed on the list without ready evidence? Why waste the time with it?"

"Well, this particular one was for, erm, suspected violators, rather than confirmed ones. We're quite convinced of his guilt, as indicated by others who know him." The agent held the parchment out as Ondolemar leaned over to glance at it. "As you'll notice, my Lord, all of the other names on the list have been validated and confirmed. This...Ogmund...he is the last."

"Ogmund...Ogmund, indeed..." Ondolemar further narrowed those golden eyes, first at the paper as he scanned it, and then in the direction of the Silver-Blood Inn. There were all sorts of possibilities that availed themselves in this line of inquisition. It was always far more than just punishment for trespass - those brought under the Thalmor's watchful eyes could be rendered most useful given the correct conditions. Ulfric Stormcloak himself had been definitive proof of that. The skill necessary to this particular end was in identifying such utility and gauging its seizure. He would need to much more closely scrutinize the names on the latest lists, searching them for any such possible benefit. And he would negotiate it. But that would come later in the day. Perhaps even tomorrow. For his headache had only since sharpened and his temper only worsened. The other agent noticed his growing grimace.

"My Lord, are you alright? Can I do anything?"

"What you can do is leave me in peace. You have your tasks, now see to them!"

"As you wish, my Lord."

As the other agent quickly nodded and hastened back into the Keep, Ondolemar sighed once more. The scent of the forge fires caught his nose anew, and he inhaled deeply. It had a unique calming effect on the Altmer man, who exhaled with a loosening frown. Something compelled him, however, to reach back into his long robe's pocket and retrieve the same note he had lingered on earlier. The paper crinkled as he unfolded it again and began to re-read the script. What were the hidden riddles of the Brotherhood's demise? The facts were stubbornly vague things. And as much as he desired to cast the note aside and relax in a noiseless room awash with the aroma of burning herbs, he chose to concentrate his renewed attention on the note's closing lines. How he had missed these before, he was not entirely sure. But now that he saw them plainly inked upon the parchment, the pain in his head and souring of his temper gave way to intrigue:


"Be advised as well that the temple bells are chiming. Your continued vigilance is required. However, as per the First Emissary, we are not to interfere but rather to observe until further indication is given. Let the mad dogs destroy what they will. If and when they stalk too close to our pens, they shall be put down."


"The temple bells are chiming..." He repeated the line aloud several times under his breath. An uncharacteristic chill shot down his back, the coincidental twinkling of chimes newly rising on the wind.

The pieces on the great chess board were always moving, guided and pushed by a multitude of hands. He was not arrogant enough to believe that nothing passed beyond their collective sight. But he was stubborn enough to believe that such oversights could always be rectified and managed. For the winds had shifted in Markarth, and he refused to be caught without shelter should the rain begin to pour and the lightning begin to strike.

…….​

Mid-morning found the Rift Camp quiet, though lively with whispers and muffled discussion about various happenings. Chiefly, the appearance of the Praefect's newest charge: the young Breton woman, the Auxiliary. Everywhere she went it seemed as though the commanding officer had at least one eye on her, making certain that no harm befell her - even amid her short trips to and from the lake to fetch water or to the woods to fetch firewood. She took her newfound position in stride. She possessed no expectations of exemptions from the basic duties and did her best to do it all with a hopeful spirit - wearied though her soul and body were.

It seemed that a few soldiers took the cues from their Praefect and took care to make sure that she lacked nothing, offering to carry her gathered materials back to the camp. When met with a baffled glance and a tired expression of thanks-but-no-thanks in return, they would look for other such opportunities. Stubborn as ever, she would kindly refuse them each and every time. Naturally it was some of the younger recruits who were so eager to assist, while the older ones merely sat back and snickered to themselves at the spectacle.

Before too long, a familiar curious Nord would approach her with the broadest of smiles. Tagging alongside her as she headed back to the center of the camp, the ever lively Liulfr gestured to the wood she bore.

"My lady, may I please assist you with that?"

"Oh, this? Aww, you're much too kind to ask, but I've got it." Her arms shook a bit from weariness and exertion, something she tried her best to hide in order to spare herself the very sort of attention she was getting now. Always stubborn, too stubborn to heed even her body’s call for tempering. But the young Nord, noticing her trembling, was similarly insistent.

"It'd be my pleasure to help, really! I know you've had a long journey here and, well, it's the least I can do! You're a special guest after all!"

She hurriedly deposited the wood on the growing pile and brushed her hands together to remove dirt. She shook her head through an incredulous grin. "Erm, I've got to stop you there, my friend. I'm not at all a 'guest'. I'm a soldier, same rank as you and most everyone else here. There's nothing special about me and I really don't wish to be treated as such."

The Nord was unfazed, still smiling broadly. "But...that's not what..."

"'Not what' what?" Penelope tilted her head slightly in question. Yet again, those around me know more than what I've been told. Why? How?

"It's...bah, nevermind. All that matters is that I'm going to do everything I can to help while you're here."

"You're very sweet, but you've got plenty of other things to worry about already, like your own hide. I don't want you or anyone else worrying about me, especially in times like these." With that, she smiled and turned to retrieve some more wood for kindling, walking slowly but deliberately to the camp’s woody edges. Liulfr was not dissuaded and followed after her, still content to carry on their conversation.

"Mm, I’m afraid it’s much too late for that, my lady."

"But..."

"I know you say you're just another soldier, another Legionnaire. But by the Nine, that'll never be all of it. I don't know if you realize how much Praefect Serenus has been worrying about you, but I can tell you're on his mind a lot. And I can't blame him. No, I'd be remiss if I didn't do all in my power to help him in that way, by helping you, my lady."

Penelope was pleasantly taken aback by the Nord's words and his gentleness. Young, naive, and unfailingly optimistic, he was the very sort of fast friend she hoped to make in such an unfamiliar land and under such bleak circumstances. There was a profound sadness which yet touched even the normally cheerful Carius that seemed ever distant from this man. She had no doubt that Liulfr himself bore varied sorrows. But he was quite talented at keeping such troubles well veiled. She readily appreciated the warmth and eager friendship. She could certainly fight well alongside this man.

"You..." Grinning, she turned to face him where she stopped at the forest's edge, leaving the wood to wait a bit longer for its gathering. "...You are a true gentleman. They don't make too many of them quite like you anymore, you know. Nords certainly have a thing or two to teach many of us about honor."

"Working hard, doing right by those we hold dearest, as well as by our homeland...it's all a part of it. And as long as I yet draw breath, I will see to it that I do my best to act on it. We can lose anything and everything else in but a moment...but if we've lived our lives with honor, not even death can take that from us."

Her eyes glistened as he spoke. For they had in fact recalled to mind words spoken by her father on several occasions. Proud and determined, Adrianus had lived a stalwart soldier's life. And he never let his children forget what they should always bear in their hearts and minds - even in peace time. A precious few things were assured to us all, he would say, but there were always some steadfast truths. Honesty, fairness, and justice for all were more than worth dying for. And not a one of his children would forget that - though they would all find themselves on varying paths.

"You speak with such a noble wisdom. It's...it's quite humbling actually. Your words, they remind me of someone… By the way, I don't believe we ever formally met. My name's Penelope."

"Liulfr, my lady." After the two shook hands and exchanged grins, the young Breton nodded thoughtfully.

“Well met. Whereabouts are you from in Skyrim?"

"Rorikstead, a sleepy little settlement far to the west. My family has a farm just outside of it. Been there for as long as I can remember. It's me, my mother, father, and little sister. We're not royalty, but we do well enough for ourselves there. It's been a quiet life. Until now, of course. What about yourself?"

"Oh, me? Cheydinhal." She had been so used to people knowing where her hometown was or at least having heard the name before that she was genuinely surprised by the young Nord's puzzled look.

"Chey...din...hal?" He repeated the name slowly, quite unsurely.

She grinned reassuringly. "Oh, yes, that's in Cyrodiil."

"Ah, I should have guessed from your accent. It's not really like any I'd heard before...well, before all of this started anyway. What's it like there? I've never been to Cyrodiil myself. I've scarcely been away from home, really. It's...sort of all I've ever known."

The woman's eyes flashed with the Nord's inquiry, ever pleased as she was to relate details of a home she loved so dearly. She had found that sharing descriptions and stories of the land sometimes helped keep homesickness at bay. She had been convincing herself that it was never too far away now. That soon she would be able to fulfill her most sacred quest in the snowy province, her spirit satisfied. They were reminders of all that she had to look forward to upon her return. Such things always summoned smiles.

"Cheydinhal...well, it's a beautiful and very old city. It's very close to the border of Morrowind, so we have many Dunmer neighbors. All of whom are very kind. They've told me so many amazing stories about their homeland. One day, I swear I'll go there, when this is all over. Cyrodiil though, it's a gorgeous land, truly. Green, rolling hills...rocky cliffs...mountains...gleaming statues of Divines and mortal heroes alike dotting the countryside...it's no wonder I've dreamt of it so often since leaving home."

Liulfr scratched his bristly chin. "You know...that doesn't sound too much different from Skyrim. You'll find all of the same things here. With a lot more snow, of course. But the chill has a pleasant bite, does it not?"

"Mm, true enough. I suppose in many ways, Cyrodiil and Skyrim aren't so different after all. Neither are you and I, even. My family has a farm as well, outside of Cheydinhal."

"Really? In Cyrodiil?"

"Sure enough! Though you look surprised by that."

"No, it's no offense meant at all. I just have always had these images in my head of a land of bustling cities with barely an inch of ground un-trodden by busy feet. A land of merchants and unending architecture. There's room and land enough for farms there, huh?"

"There certainly is. Cyrodiil isn't merely loud and densely packed cities. It's river valleys and mountains and low-lying plains and cliffs and shoreline - and farms. She's a land of many faces, in more ways than one."

"Well, I do hope I can get the chance to visit one day. I think I'd like it very much. And the tales I'd have to tell everyone back home!"

"Indeed! In fact, I'd like to formally invite you to join us back home, when this is all done. Come for dinner and dessert, marvelous stories and merriment, and the warmest hospitality."

"I would like that. Of course, I will only accept the invitation if you agree to enjoy the same at my family's home. You and Praefect Serenus."

"Absolutely. I would be honored. As soon as all of this is over..."

The Breton looked over at the Nord, whose own dark eyes now shone with the wavering glint of creeping tears. Tears that burned as they threatened to break forth. Penelope turned to look ahead, past the camp. The sorrow was never far in her own mind either. She knew the same silent yet bitter weeping. And could readily hear it in the young man's voice now.

"Whenever all of this does finally end, it won't be soon enough for me. I...I've seen more than one friend of mine take up arms for Ulfric. Saw them march off from Rorikstead with their blades and their gear. They couldn't convince me that what that man was doing was right. He...he killed our High King. Some say it was fair, others say it was murder. And you know, I don't know enough about Imperial law and all that to be able to say one way or the other for sure. I wasn't there. But I do know this: ever since he and his men started waving his banners and chanting his name, things have never been the same. It's like the Thalmor weren't even paying attention until...until..."

Penelope could well see the Nord's brown eyes sparkle yet more as his voice cracked. And she was compelled to grasp his hand, as a sign of friendly strength. He turned to face her as she softly spoke.

"So many things have changed, for all of us. The best we can do is march on, carrying the warmth of memory. Hope, for a new day. For a chance to pick up where we left off. We have to believe that we fight now so that we can have that chance. To rebuild."

Liulfr gave a small smile. It was one that though a bit sad, nonetheless reflected determination.

"I'm a Nord. Skyrim born and raised. My father fought in the Legion until he injured his leg and could no longer serve. So I took his place."

"You're a soldier's child too?"

"That I am. And I love Talos. We all do, my whole family. And we would never turn our backs on him." He paused and reached very cautiously under his shirt to show the Breton an amulet of his patron deity that hung inconspicuously upon his chest. He smiled very shyly and as Penelope nodded respectfully and also smiled, he returned it to its place underneath his tunic. "But, we also can't turn our back on our homeland, on the land Talos so loves. It’s hard sometimes, when I really think about it. None of this makes good sense to me, all of this killing. But, I guess the only way to stop it is to fight on – until it’s over.”

With those last three words, he lowered his gaze to the ground.

Penelope softly shook her head and sighed. “That’s the great trap and tragedy of it…always has been. We fight because we're supposed to. We fight because we see no other way. We fight because we're afraid of what will happen if we don't. So many ‘reasons’ to go to war and though we do it in the hopes of making things right, we just can't get away from the horror. It destroys so much, so much more than we could ever imagine. It's hard to believe sometimes that there will be an end to it. For me, sometimes I more fear what the end might be."

"Me too, my lady. Me too."

She parted her lips to reply, though she knew not what she would say in response. There really was little that could be said to any effect. Both of them quietly acknowledged that even one life lost in this conflict was one too many, and now with all of these bloody weeks gone by, there could be no truly happy ending. Such was the way of war, terrible and absolute.

But she was soon enough saved from too much of such contemplation, for a great and familiar screech rang out above. She had dreaded hearing the heart-stopping sound again. Something told her that the beast she and Mercer had fought out in the wilderness and hidden from until it sealed them in the cave was just vindictive enough to still be seeking them. That it would not give up its chase until it tasted their blood once more and finished the deed. Most certainly something in its deep voice otherwise incomprehensible told her so.

Penelope jolted at the noise and scanned the sky. But she was even more taken aback by the lack of concern in the Nord beside her. Liulfr simply looked at the Breton with confusion, lightly touching her arm as he sought what frightened her.

"My lady, what's wrong? Are you alright? What is it?"

"You...it's a...did you hear that!?"

"Hear what? I...I didn't hear anything really. Just the wind in the trees. What did it sound like?"

"It...I swear it..." She paused, not entirely sure if telling the young Legionnaire what she thought she heard would be altogether prudent. The last thing the soldiers, Carius' soldiers, needed was a panic about a possible dragon - one which, since she spotted no shadows in the heavens, could well have been one restricted to the overly tired confines of her mind. She thus decided to keep silent on the matter. Though she was visibly shaken, she turned to offer the Nord as confident of a smile as she could muster.

"Nevermind, I think lack of sleep is fooling my ears. All of my senses, really. How about we grab some more wood here and head on back?"

"Alright, my lady." Liulfr calmly nodded. He was very curious as to what the Breton woman heard, or thought she heard but a moment earlier. Despite doing her best to appear no longer fazed, he could see the worry work to render her face rigid. It reminded him of the same kind of unspoken apprehension on the part of his Praefect only days ago. The young Nord wondered why these two could see and hear and know such fearful things and barely anyone else around have any measure of knowledge of what vexed them. So inquisitive he was, and so eager to assist if possible. The best he could do now was simply keep his keen eyes watchful. No one truly could know what waited ahead. And these thoughts would fill his mind as the two Legionnaires gathered a bit more wood for kindling and made their way back to the center of the camp.

Upon returning, Penelope could see a busy Praefect making the rounds, stopping to speak to his men as he encountered them as well as the ornery physician and the Quartermaster. He looked tired, but well enough to smile for every conversation. The Breton watched for a few moments after depositing the wood for the pile. Carius lingered with the Quartermaster for some minutes until the latter handed him a fresh, folded light uniform. The Imperial thanked the other man and proceeded to make his way to a tent just past that of the field doctor. Like the others, it was modest in size and from all appearances, currently unassigned. For after placing the armor inside the tent, he fetched a bedroll to place in with it. Penelope half-wondered if the space was to be hers, if she was to move out from the medical tent to make room for patients when new fighting erupted. Would only make sense, she mused.

While Carius continued to gather materials here and there to place in the tent, the Breton found herself meandering near the officer's quarters. She was drawn by the glint of metal upon the long map table. She drew closer to admire the blades sitting idly upon it, the hilts wrapped with scarlet tassel. Her eyes drifted over the map, noting the little flags of blue and red spanning the province. But her sometimes damning curiosity got the better of her when she noticed a folded note upon the nightstand by the cot. She likely would never have seen it had her gaze not been strangely drawn to the corner of the tent. There was nothing particularly unusual about it, but it nevertheless compelled her attention. And she made her way over to examine it, after a couple of cautious looks outside of the tent. The small note almost seemed to unfold itself as she picked it up, the inked script beginning to appear. As she quickly read the short message, she had to muffle an amused gasp. She could not help but chuckle at the little smiling face at the end of the note. And proceeded to contemplate who "Qui" - which she recognized as an abbreviated form of Quintus sometimes used in Cyrodiil - could be. Carius had always been one to make friends rather easily. But she wondered when he had become acquainted with this "Quintus" and where. After all, Carius had been in Skyrim for months now, same as her brother. If he had not been a soldier, this man, who was he? Penelope had to admit that the language of the note, phrases that echoed with riddle-like mystery, intrigued her. Skyrim had proven a land full of enigmatic characters - a fact which secretly pleased her.

The crunch of dewy grass announced the Praefect's return, and Penelope turned to face him as he entered the tent. Still clutching the note she held it to the side, only half-attempting to hide it. Carius seemed too preoccupied and too weary to notice right away, and the Breton seized upon the opportunity.

"Ah, Nells..." He greeted her through a yawn. "I've prepared a tent for you. I also got you a light uniform, you'll likely be needing it soon."

"Let's hope not too soon, eh? Though I agree, I ought to start doing my best to blend in around here, huh?"

"Probably."

"Mm. So when do I meet my bunkmate?"

"Huh?"

"Surely I'm sharing a tent with someone. All the rest of the men are. Certainly I'm not going to be marginalized with luxury?" She well knew what the answer to this proposition would be and certainly understood why it would be so. But she nonetheless was entertained by the conversation and her friend's obvious discomfort with it.

"I'm not putting you in a tent with any of the men, that's for sure." The Imperial crossed his arms, the beginnings of a frown further betraying his weariness. "Not that I don't trust them, but it just wouldn't be...proper."

"Proper? Carius, you know I can handle myself well enough. And besides, I'm a soldier here, no better than any of them, here to do the same job. You know how it'll look with such special treatment-"

"You're right, you are a soldier here and as such, the same rules apply to you as to the others. Which includes obeying my instructions. And as your Praefect, I say you will be sleeping in a tent of your own."

"Hm, I suppose you got me there..."

"Let's be honest, do you really want to share sleeping space with battle-weary recruits who probably haven't seen their wives or sweethearts for weeks if not months?"

The Breton looked out at the men sitting by the firepit. One of them burped especially loudly as he scratched himself, while another caught her glance and returned it with a leering grin and a wink. Penelope offered an embarrassed smile before looking back toward Carius. "Erm, well, when you put it that way..."

"I didn't think so."

"Hmpf..." The young woman snickered as the note she had stolen crinkled in her hand. “Well, in other interesting developments, you did tell me that you didn’t have any love notes from women hanging about your nightstand…”

The officer, who had just started sorting through parchment and placing them in new piles along the map table, spun around to face a smirking Penelope. “Huh? What?”

“Oh, I don't know, I'm a bit jealous that you’ve got lovesick little scribbles and I have none to speak of." She brought the paper much closer to her face to pretend to read it once more, having already seen its contents. As predicted, her friend lunged to snatch the note away from her. It would have surely been torn in the process if she had not let it slip out of her grasp. It all had been meant to tease anyway.

“Nells! Give me that!” With the note safely returned to his custody, Carius took a quick glance at it and refolded it. He then placed it in his pocket, for the safest of keeping. The Breton woman was not the least bit concerned and simply crossed her arms as she chuckled and grinned all the more.

“I’m sorry, it was just sitting there, for all the world to see. You know how curious I am and always have been.”

“I should tell you the same thing I had to tell Liulfr: that I could have you brought up on charges of espionage for that. For being curious.”

“Oh, Carius, be serious.”

“I’m deadly serious.”

Hands went to her hips. “Mmhm, so is that why you’re blushing a little?”

“I…what?! I’m not even!” Lightly tanned cheeks awash with new ruddiness boldly contradicted such words. The Breton could not have enjoyed it more.

“You are, but it’s just fine. It looks...cute on you.”

Carius shook his head, trying his best not to appear too flustered at the teasing. “You're mad. And besides, this isn’t a love note. It isn't even remotely like that.”

“Well, what on Nirn kind of note is it then? It’s quite a strange little set of scrawls there. Adorable, even. I especially love the little smiling face at the end!"

"It's...you know what, I don't even really know myself. I'm almost afraid to speculate."

"What? Well, to start, who is 'Quintus'? Surely you have some idea. I refuse to believe it just blew into your tent, so let's hear it."

"He…” Carius hesitated and only very reluctantly continued as the Breton tilted her head in prompting. “He's someone I encountered recently. A strange fellow. To be honest, I rather hope I don't cross paths with him again."

"Aww, but why? He sounds awfully friendly. Seems to find you very interesting. Not that I could blame him for that. You are quite the charmer."

“Don’t even say that-"

“Why not? This intrigues me to no end!”

"Argh, Nells, you don't understand. He was...there was something sinister about him. It wasn't right." Carius leaned against the table, his palms upon the edges of the great map. The Breton found the man's lowered voice disconcerting.

"Erm, I feel like I'm missing a decent chunk of the story here. When did you encounter him? What were the circumstances?"

"I'd...rather not go into it. Suffices to say that there's been some violence nearby and he appeared shortly after it. He's like a bad omen to me, everything about him. I can still hear his voice, see those eyes..." The Imperial stared off into the distance, his own eyes bright with vivid recollections. Whatever they were, they clearly haunted him. Noticing this, his friend decided to inject some levity.

"That voice and 'those eyes', eh? He sounds like a bewitching one." She winked.

"That's one way to describe him, I suppose."

"Well..." Penelope crossed her arms. "...Should he show up again, you will introduce me!"

"Ha! I certainly wouldn't bet on that if I were you."

"Why ever not? I'm eager to meet this Quintus! He sounds like fun, and we could all use some fun around here."

"Not his kind of fun."

"And what kind of ‘fun’ would that be exactly?" The young woman raised a sly brow, which embarrassed the Imperial even further.

"I...I think I'm done with this conversation."

"Oh, Carius...you know it's just fun to get you riled. Now I know what my brother loved all of these years, he's the king of it!"

"Yeah, yeah...and speaking of your brother...you said you've seen him since coming to Skyrim, correct?"

"Yes, yes I have. I'd planned to come back to him with news from Solitude, but wound up getting...sidetracked." She looked over at Mercer, who was still asleep on his bedroll and still surrounded by several well-armed guards. She had been meaning to ask what would be done with the ill-tempered thief and when, but held off. "Why?"

"Well, I've been wondering... how much does he know about all that's going with you at this point? Because he's mentioned nothing in any of his letters about your mission. Only that you were here."

Penelope sadly lowered her head in reflection. That nagging burn in her eyes was returning, but she would do everything to suppress it. "He...he didn't know anything until I told him myself when I bumped into him in Hjaalmarch. He had no idea. By the gods, Carius, he didn't even know our father had been killed until I told him. No one saw fit to tell him anything. It's...become a frighteningly common theme here."

"That it is...I don't like it. It's...none of it feels right. I can only hope this rebellion winds down sooner rather than later. I don't think we can hope to deal with what's ahead with that still going as well."

"What do you mean? 'What's ahead', what...?"

"Nothing." He sighed. "I...I worry. That's all. I just worry."

"Well, you always have been good at that!"

"Hmpf. Well, can't afford not to worry these days. Being careless gets you and everyone else into far too much trouble."

"Any word on what your Legate has been up to, by the way? Seems like so many people have been coming and going from Solitude lately, with scarcely a word." Penelope dug her heel into the dirt as she spoke and listlessly dragged it back and forth.

Carius in the meantime had taken to absently twisting the little flags between his fingers. He barely looked up as he answered.

"Unfortunately nothing at all about that. You'd think that someone would have told us something by now. But all I and my lieutenant, Curtius, have had to go on are sparsely sent, frustratingly brief notes to 'stay alert' and that notification of engagements will find us as soon as possible. I don't like waiting anymore than the next person, but I especially don't like it when I have lives on the line. Argh, if I think about it, it gives me the worst headache and stomachache."

"Then don't think about it. Simple as that."

The Imperial suddenly looked up from the flags and the map, hazel eyes shining in the light of a still-young day. "How can I not?"

The Breton placed a hand on her friend's armored shoulder. "I'm not saying that you be purposely oblivious. But on the other hand, being consumed by fear of the unknown won't help either. I've come to realize that more and more ever since leaving for Skyrim. There's a lot to be feared here, no doubt. And sometimes I'm genuinely surprised I made it this far and this long. But...we've gotta take it one day at a time. No more, no less."

"I've tried telling myself that, Nells. So many times. It just never seems to stick-"

"Praefect Serenus?"

The soft-spoken voice was headed by a clearing throat. The hesitance to interrupt was clear, as was the nature of Curtius. Both Carius and Penelope turned to face the man.

"Ah, yes, good morning, Lieutenant." Carius saluted the other officer, who returned the gesture while still looking somewhat unsure.

"Good morning, sir. A courier came by a few minutes ago, said to bring this straight to you. I...I do hope it's not bad news."

"Don't even say that, I'm not sure how much more bad news I can take in such a short time."

He warily unfolded the parchment and took a deep breath. He wasn't sure what words would greet him on the page. But as his eyes glided over the text, they widened and his lips parted. The color drained from his face.

"Carius, what is it? You're...you're turning pale."

"It's...it's nothing. Really."

"Nothing?" Penelope and Curtius asked in unison. Carius just shook his head.

"Nothing."

"Carius, please, what is it?"

"Legionnaire, it's official business. I'll need to discuss it with my Lieutenant."

A moment of awkward silence passed between all three of them, the two Imperials and the Breton. Penelope had not expected different treatment as far as camp duties were concerned, but for some reason thought that she might be privy to the more notable developments. Whatever gave her that idea was clearly deceptive. As she looked back and forth between the two men, who spoke not a word, the realization rapidly set in.

"But.." She objected meekly. Carius was decidedly unmoved.

"Legionnaire, please look to your new quarters, and finish transferring your equipment. Once done, please change into your uniform, to make sure it fits or see what alterations may be needed otherwise."

"I...” She searched her friend’s now stern face for any hope of divulged facts. But plainly observing that it was in vain, she sighed and nodded. “Yes, sir."

Penelope backed out of the tent, feeling a tad dejected. Part of her was intensely frustrated with the Imperial’s response. It irked her how he could be aglow with warmth and good-humor one moment, and then summarily rendered cold and businesslike in another. He had been accused of a kind of moodiness throughout his life and while she joked about it, it nonetheless was a trait that aroused genuine annoyance in her from time to time.

After quietly exiting, she started to head toward the physician's tent to retrieve her remaining gear for transfer. However, she rather determined to put her Guild-nourished sneaking abilities to use and ever so casually doubled back and waited at the edge of the officers' tent while the backs of the Praefect and Lieutenant were turned. Their voices were slightly muffled by the intermittent breeze, but enough of their discussion managed to find her eager ears.

Carius' now very solemn voice spoke first. “Well, it…it looks like it’s happened again.”

“Again? By the gods, you don’t mean…?”

“I’m afraid I do. Nine dead. The same banners were found at the scene. The note says it was near what they call ‘Eldergleam Sanctuary’.”

“What? That area is crawling with Spriggans. How did anyone do anything of the sort with those creatures about?”

“My guess is that whoever is responsible was able to contend with them or somehow simply got lucky. Neither way sits well with me, all things considered."

“Agreed. Are we not the closest contingent to that scene? Are we being ordered to go investigate?”

“The note said nothing to indicate as much. It’s merely informing us of the incident. However, I am curious. I’d like to ride out there and have a look around.”

At the mention of such an excursion, Penelope could not hold back a harsh gasp. She had hoped that the rustle of bushes and tree branches would mask it. But the Praefect’s ears were sharper than most. And he suddenly paused amid his speech.

“Wait…”

As soon as she heard his feet crunching on the grass, her breath hitched in mild panic. Eyes grew wide and she spun around to dive behind the tent, hoping desperately to escape the Imperial’s no doubt reproachful glance. Carius strode out of the tent, fully expecting to catch the overly inquisitive Breton as he did so. But her feet proved just swift enough to bring her out of his line of sight. But he was not convinced. And proceeded to walk around the side of the tent, to Penelope's horror. The Breton fumbled to move around further, edging her way to the other side. Carius, all the while, was himself edging after her, following the footsteps he was certain he heard. The young woman bit her lip as her eyes darted back and forth in panic, wondering what she would say when met with those eyes of his newly harsh with disappointment.

Just as she hurriedly edged a bit further, hoping to win the hapless dance, she caught sight of the one who would be her latest savior. Liulfr had chanced to walk by on his way to the Quartermaster when he noticed a somewhat troubled Penelope sneaking strangely around the officer’s tent. Having met his glance, which had shifted quickly from perplexity to amusement, she gestured with her eyes toward Carius who was still advancing. The Nord wasted no time in calling out to the Praefect and initiating a conversation with him. Though Carius was a bit frustrated as he well knew who he would likely find skulking about and shamelessly eavesdropping, he was no match for Liulfr’s energetic conversational abilities. And sure enough the former was drawn away from the Breton woman as she made her hasty escape. As she scrambled away, and in between breathlessly thanking Liulfr for his perfectly timed intervention, she told herself that she would forever have to make sure she carried invisibility potions with her at all times.

Resisting the urge to look back and possibly draw more attention, she made her way to the physician's tent as instructed to retrieve her remaining items, including her sword and her satchel. She gathered the objects in her arms and made her way to her new shelter, carefully placing the satchel on the ground and her blade upon her bedroll. Her new set of Legion armor waited as well. And as she did not desire to draw any additional ire from Carius, she decided there was no better time than the present to put it on. She pulled the flaps of the tent across, giving her somewhat flimsy privacy. But she endeavored to change quickly - as quickly as possible. The leather and cloth tunic seemed comparatively thin but certainly thick enough to guard against some damage. Surely, or else they'd not issue this to us, right?

Once outfitted she looked to the pair of matching boots, which she also hastily placed on her bruised and aching feet. They were a little over-snug, and she had to wonder who could possibly have been looking for boots meant for feet smaller than hers. She was a somewhat diminutive Breton, after all.

"Certainly the Legion isn't admitting children now?" She snickered aloud.

She decided to skip putting on the bracers, which she always found to be a slightly awkward and uncomfortable piece of equipment. At least for now, she would do without. That is, unless the Praefect insisted.

She at last drew back the flap and emerged from her tent newly clad, flattening out the wrinkles in the soft leather and smacking loose stray dust and dirt. As she did so, she caught a skittering form out of the corner of her eye. It darted along the brush-line out ahead of the camp. She thought she had seen a flash of reddish-gold fur - and she was instantly intrigued. She secured her sword in the corner of her tent and after looking to see Carius back to busily discussing apparently classified news with his officer, she set about to investigate what she had seen. And soon enough she had ventured beyond the borders of the camp and into the soft wilds.

The winds took a playful turn as she went along, causing pleasant shivers in the Breton. The sun was bright in the sky, fierce against the striking blue backdrop. The faintest traces of sweet incense rode the breeze and readily found her nose. She breathed it in deeply and exhaled with a satisfied sigh. A sudden grin overtook her face - though she knew not why. Perhaps the cheerfulness of the day, one finally without the overcast gloom of the many rainy ones thus far, uplifted her spirit. In any case she happily walked along, entranced by the shared optimism of the environment and the weather. There was a haze lingering about as well, one that softened the rich colors of the Rift’s foliage normally brown and striking green - but she paid it no mind. Indeed, she hardly noticed it. All the land seemed also to bear a slight glow, one that she found enchanting.

Leaves and branches scraped and broke under her boots as she went, her mischievous eyes keen to watch and follow the fox along the path. The animal dodged and ducked in and out of bushes and behind trees. But it slowed its trek, to the point that the Breton seemed quite able to scoop it up into her arms with a well-timed lunge. And she tried as much, but missed the mark. For the creature leapt away in time with the sound of a flute’s call. It was airy and cheery on the breeze, and quite close. As she rounded a small bend, still following the fox, the source of the music became clear. Along a low partial stone wall sat a man with a flute in his hands and appearing content with his song-making. Ever curious, she was compelled to approach and steal closer for a better look. The flute player, clad in a long dark blue hooded coat and black boots, sat lazily upon the stone. A pair of gloves sat beside him. Though his hood was drawn up and obscured most of his face, she could make out what looked like a shadowed grin as he played the instrument.

Penelope noticed that the fox she had been chasing had stopped at his feet. It stared at the man intently, seemingly pleased with the tune. It yipped and barked and hopped, appearing grateful for the music. Penelope was incredulous, but quite charmed herself and she edged a bit closer. As the man finally turned ever so slightly to acknowledge her, strands of his auburn hair caught the wind and blew into his face. But he did not let it interfere. Though he paused momentarily, it was only to use a hand to gesture for the Breton to draw nearer. Without a second thought, she did so and was then able to appreciate his pleasing features. Imperial?, she asked herself. Could be. Her gaze was drawn to the red-haired man’s eyes, eyes that in the shade seemed the same color as his coat. Eyes that twinkled nonetheless in the slightly dimmer light, eyes that beckoned. Eyes that beguiled. She found herself moving closer, following invisible invitations. It was as if her body was drifting of its own accord as she took a seat next to the frolicking fox on the ground.

The man looked down at both the young woman and the animal at her side, and smiled all the more. The tune from the flute grew louder and bolder as it twirled and before long, the woods and brush came alive again. The foliage rustled as beasts of varying sorts emerged, also plainly bewitched by the sound. More foxes, as well as rabbits, elk, and even wolves stepped forward to enjoy the music. As soon as she noticed the wolves, Penelope momentarily snapped from her entrancement and jerked to the side. But her fear melted away with a gentle shushing. The musician had temporarily halted his playing and with their eyes locked, he had extended a hand in an effort to ease away her reaction and softly hushed the girl. Instantly reassured and back under the spell, she turned back around to face the man as he played, her dark eyes still wide with wonder. The entire audience, Breton and animals, sat swaying to the melody. Penelope found herself taking in the tune as it sent her back into memories. Fond recollections mixed with the haunting reverie of the present, and she quite nearly became completely lost in it.

And she quite likely would have, if the musician had not eventually ceased his flute playing with an especially shrill note, one which jolted all listening. He chuckled to himself at the sight of it. Though the animals remained quietly in their places, the young woman uttered a stunned “Huh?” before being silenced once more. For the red-haired man shifted on the stone and after holding the flute in the air next to him, he gestured to it with his other hand. Penelope, puzzled, looked at the flute with knitted brows. But a quizzical glance quickly became one of wonder and amusement: winking, the man waved his gesturing hand over the wooden instrument and sure enough, the flute disappeared in a small concentration of haze and smoke. And when the obscurity dissipated, a lute had replaced the flute in the man's hand. The Breton stared at the feat, gape-mouthed. And happily intrigued. She felt much like a young child mesmerized by the traveling magicians who frequented cities in Cyrodiil. She herself had seen such entertainers and been captivated by their craft. She could not suppress a delighted giggle at the wily one in front of her now.

The man proceeded to play the lute, and did so rather skillfully. The dulcet tones and soothing melodies were again appreciated by all listening. Penelope found the song itself somewhat familiar, though she could not be certain of a name. But hearing it took her back to the Imperial City and lovely Anvil, in which gilded musicians would often share their artistry at the auditory pleasure of all. Many a spring and summer night was spent listening to such performances while sipping sweet wine outdoors and allowing the music to melt away the day's ills. It was especially true now, with the winds very gently rushing, rustling her hair and yielding more refreshing chills. She had closed her eyes to take in the atmosphere and the comforting sound and had drifted in that reverie for a few moments. But now, the lute-playing suddenly stopped. Upon reopening her eyes, she found herself faced with the musician's striking smile, those dark blue eyes of his alight with silent mischief and his lips drawn in an impish grin. The Breton shivered, scared yet not scared, wanting to flee but not wanting to flee. She could not recall a stranger sensation in those moments. So she sat on the ground, barely noticing that the animals previously surrounding her had soundlessly vanished back into the hazy woods. It was now but her and the lone man sitting upon the low stone wall.

Compelled up from the ground, she slowly rose to her feet - her gaze never dared leave that of the taciturn musician. Without breaking his glance, the man placed the lute on the wall beside him and picked up his gloves. Before she could utter a single word in question or comment, Penelope heard a clear voice resound in her ears. The voice - that of a man bearing a slight southern Cyrodilic lilt - bore a cheerful, almost youthful yet hypnotic resonance. The man sitting on the wall, facing her still with the same broad smirk, never parted his lips to speak. Yet, she was certain it was his voice that she heard now:

"Please do a humble wanderer a kind service, my dear, and deliver a message for me. You know who it's for."

She trembled a bit at the words. But as quickly as they were spoken, the man himself disappeared with a great gust of wind that forced the young woman to temporarily shut her eyes. Only swirling leaves and his lute were left behind when she reopened them. She turned around to look behind her and up and down the woody path. But she saw nothing.

"I...I must be tired...surely he...he couldn't have-"

Her attempt to make sense of the sublimely whimsical was cut short one more time when a strong breeze swept past her. Her long black hair whipped about her face and to her surprise, she felt what seemed every bit like a quick kiss on her cheek - yet there was no one visible who could have given it. As her hand flew to her cheek in response two more words echoed in her ears, this time as a warm whisper:

"Thank you."

She spun around to face the stone wall, which now stood bare of even the lute. It all had vanished: the musician, his instrument, the animals. Even the odd yet lovely glow and haze that enveloped the area had faded into the usual starkness of day. The breeze still blew gently, but the Breton finally felt alone in the woods. She did not even know how much time had passed since she first started following the fox. But before she could take a step toward the camp, she was met with the very same fox which bounded out of the nearby brush, barking and jumping. Instead of evading her, it now charged right up to her - a very curious change.

But what was even more curious was the paper it held in its mouth. Penelope knelt down on the ground, both to pet the animal and to take the parchment from its little jaws. She stood up again as she carefully unfolded it. Once opened, the small note yielded from her a muted gasp. And she stood there on the verdant path, holding the note and looking back toward the Legion's post with dark eyes wide as an owl's.

That is, until she heard the faint echo of an unseen flute - at which point she sprinted back to the camp, clutching the note and daring neither to look back nor to the side until she got there.