Chapter 2: Nazeem and the Justiciar
Ilmion looked out over the desperate faces of the prisoners stepping off of the carriages in front of him. He took in the sorrow of their expressions, and a cruel smile wrinkled the corners of his thin mouth. This was the reason he had become a Justiciar after all: to crush the lesser races of Tamriel beneath his feet. He fixed the lines of his robes nervously and addressed the Imperial captain beside him, “A fine day for an execution isn’t it, Captain Paleius?”
“Indeed,” the young captain scowled and almost spat at his feet, but restrained the urge, “indeed it is Ilmion.”
The High-Elf scanned the captives now as they walked toward the wooden platform of death that he stood upon. First were the Khajiit traders, arrested for skooma trafficking. Next in line was a tall, muscular Nord man; the sole survivor from an ambushed Stormcloak camp near Falkreath. And then there was a prisoner that Ilmion had not expected to see.
Trailing closely behind the Nord was a Redguard, his shoulders low in defeat and his eyes glued to his feet as if he would forget how to move them properly if he were to avert his stare for a moment. Ilmion savored in this unexpected victim for an instant, and then the wicked smile that was stretching his cracked lips grew wider. He knew this Redguard. He knew this man!
His heart nearly leaped out of his rib-cage. Ilmion could recognize the man very well. His dark skin and his brown eyes, the scar from a blade that ran down his right cheek and his short, rough beard; all of it was so very familiar. This was the very man that he wanted to see killed most in all of Nirn, and he was here; in the palm of his clammy hand!
A shriek of a laugh echoed through the stone streets of Solitude. Ilmion’s hysterical laughter made the Redguard who was now walking up the steps of the platform look up from the ground. The two men made eye contact for a second and Ilmion’s pulse elevated nearly to its breaking point.
Bitter memories pounded his thoughts and his pointed ears began to ring. He buckled beneath the weight of it all and dropped to his knees as the Khajiit prisoners were dragging their feet in front of him. Nearly retching, he clutched his stomach with one hand and reached up for assistance back to a standing position with the other. He was swiftly pulled to his feet by the captain beside him and she growled something about making himself look like a fool. But he couldn’t hear her now. He wasn’t in Solitude anymore. He was reliving the night he had met this dark skinned demon, and all Ilmion could see or hear was this man passing in front of him now.
“Do you remember me Redguard?” He spat. “DO YOU REMEMBER ME? HAHA! DAMMIT YOU BASTARD, DO YOU REMEMBER ME?!”
****
Clusan walked through the doorway of Jerall View Inn and walked straight for the bar. He had to drink tonight. His arrival in Bruma that night marked the end of a long journey, and the beginning of another. He was nearly in Skyrim now, and he wanted to drink to the occasion. Ordering a few bottles of wine, Clusan dropped himself on the nearest stool he could find and let it take the weight of his tired features for him.
Paying no mind to the man at the bar next to him who was snoring in a drunken stupor, Clusan uncorked his first bottle and gulped it down faster than even he had expected to. The liquid warmed his body as it ran its course down to his stomach. This is exactly what he needed. Tonight, he would forget his troubles and allow himself the drunken happiness that was bound to overtake him.
It wasn’t long before Clusan had stacked up a considerable tab at the bar. Empty bottles of mead and wine lay at his feet. He would have counted them, but they wouldn’t stop moving. So, clapping his weathered hands together in accomplishment and joy, he told the man at the bar that he would like to rent a room for the night.
He slammed the gold for the room and his alcohol on the counter then hiccupped, “G’night friend.” The bartender nodded at him, and the sleeping man who had been tipping perilously on his stool finally crashed to the ground and shouted something about the “Lusty Argonian Maid.” Clusan chuckled and started to make his way to the stairs that would lead to a warm bed.
Walking was harder than he thought it would be. The room was spinning and different colors were dancing in front of his eyes. When was the last time he had actually had a drink anyway? He couldn’t remember, and the thought left him in a flash when he heard two men arguing by the fire.
“You lying Thalmor son of a bitch! You cheated me!” Shouted the first. Clusan could see that the man was standing and pointing a rude hand gesture at a golden skinned, elegantly robed elf in a chair opposite him.
“I assure you sir; I only ever play cards with the utmost integrity. You don’t become an official in the Aldmeri Dominion using tricks and lies you see,” the High-Elf responded curtly. He was brushing his front as if just being in the company of a man was making his pristine robes dusty. “Now, if you would please hand over the agreed upon amount, I will be on my way.” He smirked and held out his slimy hand expectantly.
Before Clusan knew what he was doing, he was already standing over the two men, his hands clenched into angry fists. “Ey, yellow prick, you better not *hick* be lying to this guy.” Clusan had to hold the table beneath him to keep from twirling as he looked the Thalmor in his face. His features were ugly.
He flared his nostrils as he replied to Clusan, “And what if I am, Redguard? I will have you know that I am a Thalmor Justiciar. And you, sir, are interfering in official Thalmor business.” He stood up and looked down at Clusan who was nearly a head shorter than the lanky elf. “I’m ah… trying to discern whether or not this man is a Talos worshipper. Now, I must ask you to please be on your way before I am forced to arrest you.”
Clusan’s face was beginning to feel hot. He couldn’t stand the Thalmor, much less could he stand being mocked by one of these scum. Normally, Clusan would do anything in his power to avoid a fight, but his drunkenness was quickly turning to a blind rage, transforming him into a person that he wasn’t. His fist flew uncontrollably toward the elf’s body, and as his first blow made contact with flesh, Clusan roared. Nothing mattered to Clusan right now except making this high and mighty fool submit to his power.
The High-Elf squealed as bare knuckles pounded every inch of his body. He tried to release a flame spell from his hand but it flickered and died. He was cowering in fear, “Please.. just… no!” Clusan couldn’t hear it, and even if he could, he would never stop. Each blow gave Clusan more strength and each grunt of pain from his victim filled his heart with more vigor.
Noticing that the elf had stopped yelping, Clusan paused and looked down at his hands. They were covered in this elf’s “superior” blood. The thrill of pounding someone to mush had sobered Clusan up a bit, and he could hear scuffling and shouting up-stairs. “What’s going on down there?! Where’s Ilmion?”
These must be more Thalmor soldiers. Clusan didn’t think, he ran. He was out the door and into the city. He knew he couldn’t fight a trained Thalmor soldier in his condition, let alone more than one. He stumbled through the streets as fast as his legs could take him, lights from windows flashing past him. He nearly knocked over a guard as fear and confusion shot through his mind. Clusan was just beginning to realize what he had just done.
It wasn’t until he was out past the limits of Bruma that he allowed himself to look back. No one was following him. He sighed, regretting the memories that were now flooding his mind. “That was senseless Clusan. This is why my wife told me not to drink. ‘A man is not a man if he loses control over himself.’ How right you were, my love.”
He sat on the cold ground, propping himself against a rock. Tomorrow, he would make his way to Skyrim. Tomorrow, he would leave all this behind. He allowed the breeze to sing him to sleep now. And what a sweet melody it was.
****
Clusan did know this elf, but he hadn’t realized until just now. His shrieking sounded very similar to the fearful squeals that he had released that night in Bruma. Clusan looked away, not wanting to give the elf the satisfaction of seeing the fear in his eyes. But he was afraid. Not for himself. For his family; his wife and daughters would be swept up by this cruel world without him. He longed for a glimmer of hope, some ray of light that would save him from his fate. But there was none.
He couldn’t help but wonder why the penalty for assaulting this golden gremlin should be death. Was he that important in his position? It mattered not; the headsman’s axe was smirking cruelly at him now. There was no escape. “Hey Feldir,” the words escaped Clusan’s mouth though he barely had the breath to speak them, “thank you. Thank you for your companionship.”
Feldir looked over his shoulder at Clusan, his blue eyes now blood-shot and his face pale, “Don’t get soft on me now Redguard. Be strong up until that axe hits your neck.” He nodded then turned his head back toward the scene in front of them. The Imperials were already forcing the second Khajiit onto the block. Clusan looked at the floor beneath him. The sight of the headless Khajiit traders would be too much for him now. The thwack of an axe on wood sounded out and the people of Solitude cheered. This day, criminals were being put to death and to shame, and it gave them a sick sort of gratification.
Two more drops were heard, and two more furry bodies were pushed aside, and then Ilmion made his way to the block. “I would like to handle this from here please, Captain. This man is being punished in part for Talos worship after all,” he sneered as he stood at attention next to the captain and unrolled a scroll. Clusan got the feeling that the elf was really looking for the satisfaction of reading his name off that list.
“Ahem, Feldir Honor-Born, you are found guilty of treason against the Empire and for Talos worship,” the High-Elf’s voice rang through the square and the crowd grew silent. No more delight was seen on their faces. No doubt many of them still worshiped Talos in secret. It could very well be any one of them under the axe next. “Have you anything to say in your defense?”
Feldir looked up at the elf with pride in his posture, “The only thing I feel the need to defend is this land and her people from scum like you,” and with that he spat on Ilmion’s shoes and was silent.
“Then the punishment is death!” He gestured to the Imperial soldiers and they dragged Feldir toward his fate, resting his neck on the small wooden platform. Clusan could feel his heart beat in his throat. He tried to make eye contact with Feldir, but his face was turned away from him. This couldn’t be the end. Clusan had just met this man, and he wanted to learn much more about him.
Time moved slowly. Everyone in Solitude seemed to take a deep, collective breath and a cloud blocked out the bright sun for that moment. It was unreal. Clusan looked from the headsman to Ilmion and back to Feldir, waiting for one of them to put an end to this as if it were some kind of cruel joke. But no one did.
Then the axe fell, and with it, Feldir’s head. Clusan’s insides turned and his head pounded. He was gasping for air and trying to flush the images out of his head. The only man that Clusan could call a friend in this world was now just a head in a basket separated from its body that was now being tossed into the pile with the Khajiits’. This must just be a hellish nightmare, Clusan told himself. One of Feldir’s golden strands of hair floated past Clusan’s eyes on the breeze, and he readied himself. He was next.
Ilmion was looking down his long nose at the empty shell that Clusan had become. Broken, beaten, and bleeding, he kneeled there awaiting his fate. The elf cleared his throat, “Clusan Sorink, you are found guilty of espionage against the Empire and assaulting a Thalmor officer.” The last few words rolled off his tongue with the hiss of a serpent. “Have you anything to say in your defense?”
Clusan squinted up at his aggressor, confused, “I’m sorry, but… espionage? I -”
“Yes you blubbering idiot, it means spying! You were found spying on an Imperial camp just south of Falkreath the night you were arrested, were you not? This is punishable by death.”
Clusan couldn’t speak. He sat with his mouth open, and his eyes fixed on the air in front of his face. If he hadn’t already lost all hope by now, the last traces were leaving him at this moment. Spying? They thought he was a spy for the Stormcloaks? What a fine mess this was. And of course they wouldn’t believe his defense.
“That’s it then,” Ilmion was giggling now, “put him to death.” Clusan was dragged to the block. He felt small. He felt dead. He almost welcomed the blade of the axe now.
“I’m sorry Elone. I’m sorry Julian. I’m sorry Suleen. I’m so sorry my loves.” Clusan hoped that the wind would carry this whispered message to his family. This was the end. But then something cut through the silence.
“Wait! Wait, Ilmion, you cannot kill this man!” The voice was familiar to Clusan, but what was he doing in Solitude?
Ilmion was furious. “What do you MEAN I can’t kill this man, Nazeem?” He bellowed, and Clusan would have thought that he was one of the fabled Skyrim dragons from the sounds he was making.
“Simple,” Nazeem replied, pushing his way through the crowd and smiling widely at Clusan, “He isn’t a spy, and I can prove it.”
