The Neveragaine Strikes Back, Revenge of the Killer Ada Options

[Helena]

Since I'm apparantly allowed more than one fanfic at once here, I decided to take advantage of it and start posting my latest fic, 'The Neveragaine Strikes Back'. Bear in mind that this is the sequel to 'The Neveragaine' (covering the events of Tribunal), so it's best to read the original story in full before starting on this one. Updates will also be a lot slower on this fic, as I've only just started writing it.

So, onto the prologue:

Prologue: Trouble In Paradise

As a fighter, I was always taught that you should never let your guard down. If things seem unusually quiet, it’s often a sign that the enemy’s just getting prepared and all hell is about to break loose. If I’d only remembered that, perhaps none of this would ever have happened.

After more than six months of living as the Nerevarine, I was still struggling to get used to being Vvardenfell’s hot new celebrity. For the first few weeks it was fantastic: everywhere I went there’d be people bowing and scraping, saying things like “Almsivi bless you, Nerevarine,” and “how may I serve you, Incarnate?” and “please may I lick your boots clean for you, Nerevar-Born-Again?” But after a month had gone by, and people were still collapsing into stammering incoherence whenever I so much as spoke to them, the excitement was starting to wear off pretty quickly. I even considered visiting Telvanni areas just for the novelty of being treated with polite indifference (or even not-so-polite indifference).

Things just got crazier as time went on. Before long there were people turning up at Bal Isra for pilgrimages – yes, honest-to-goodness pilgrimages. Some of them even seemed to believe I had mystical healing powers of some sort, and could heal their sick friends and relatives just by touching them. I had enormous trouble convincing them that I was just an ordinary mortal rather than some sort of divine being.

“No, seriously,” I would plead. “I’d love to help you, I really would, but I’m useless at magic. You need to go and see a healer.”

I felt so guilty about disappointing them that I usually paid for a healer’s fee, and of course, word quickly got around. Eventually I caved in and learned a couple of spells to cure diseases and suchlike. I managed to persuade the Temple to install a healing shrine so that I wouldn’t have to cure everyone personally, which was not how I planned to spend the rest of my (potentially eternal) life.

Indarys Manor itself was doing quite well. I’d made quite a nice little pile by selling off the Sixth House artifacts I’d collected at Red Mountain (and hadn’t blown all of it on expensive gowns imported from Cyrodiil), so there was plenty of money for improvements. The population had grown to around twenty (plus guards), and we even had our own silt strider port going to Maar Gan and Ald’ruhn.

Things in House Redoran had also improved quite a bit since the fall of Dagoth Ur. The Blight was gone, and ashstorms were a lot less frequent now, making the Ashlands a much nicer place to live in. Arethan Mandas – the ‘Mad Lord of Milk’ – was back in Ald’ruhn under his daughter’s care, and as for Hlaren Ramoran, his relationship with his bodyguard Nalvyna seemed to be progressing nicely. When things got particularly boring in Council meetings, we’d sometimes catch him staring dreamily off into the distance, humming a little tune to himself.

If only the Council business had been going half as well. When I was first appointed Archmaster, I’d dreamed of creating a new House: a House with the honour of Redoran, the enterprise of Hlaalu, and … well, I’m sure there must be something good about the Telvanni. Top of my list of ‘improvements’ was abolishing the ridiculous system of ‘advancement by honourable duel’. If someone thought they would make a better leader than me, they could damn well explain why they thought it instead of dragging me out to the Arena.

But I’d reckoned without the Redoran council – the stickiest stick-in-the-muds ever to gum up the workings of government. I’d propose some trivial change – at least, one that seemed trivial to me – and they’d look at me as if I’d suggested holding a revolution and overthrowing the Tribunal. “But we’ve always done it this way,” were the words I’d come to dread.

I soon sussed out who I could count on to support or oppose me. Athyn Sarethi was generally (though not always) on my side, and together with Brara Morvayn, we formed what I’d come to think of as the ‘liberal wing’ of the Council. Lined up against us were Hlaren Ramoran, Miner Arobar and Garisa Llethri – making a nicely-balanced three on each side, which didn’t exactly help with decision-making. As Archmaster I technically had the casting vote, but I didn’t want over-use it and turn the others against me.

It didn’t help that the other Councillors were still struggling with the idea of a human Archmaster. I wouldn’t have minded so much, except that they seemed to deal with it by treating me as a sort of honorary Dunmer. As a result I had to sit through meeting after meeting, grinding my teeth, while the others whinged endlessly about Imperials and the Empire and what a bunch of greedy honourless bastards we all were. (Not in those exact words, obviously, but that was the gist of it.)

Athyn could usually be counted on to smooth things over when they got too heated. But relations between me and Athyn were slightly strained at the moment, mainly because of Varvur.

Ah, yes. Me and Varvur Sarethi.

******

We spent as much time as we could together after Red Mountain, which wasn’t easy. I was the Redoran Archmaster, living in Bal Isra, while Varvur was training to be a Buoyant Armiger and spent most of his time in Vivec (the city, not… oh, never mind).

Even when we did manage to get together, we still had to find places where we could talk (and other things) in secret. Not to mention getting hold of sterility potions, without tipping off the whole of Vvardenfell that the Nerevarine had a lover. I eventually managed to get some from Sharn gra-Muzgob, after swearing her to secrecy on pain of having her necromantic activities reported to the Temple.

In order to see as much of me as possible on his visits to Ald’ruhn, Varvur came up with the idea of teaching me Dunmeris. After six months in Morrowind I could already understand it reasonably well, but speaking it was another matter. I’d never been much good at languages, but luckily Varvur had lots of patience.

“Conjugate the verb ‘to love’,” he said to me one day.

“I already know that one.” It was one of the first I’d learned.

“Never mind, let’s do it again.” He began to recite the verb forms in Tamrielic, and I repeated them back to him in Dunmeris. “He loves you. She loves you. They love you. We love you.” He slid his hand under the table and gently closed his fingers around mine. “I love you.”

My heart was starting to race, but I grasped his hand tightly and repeated the words in Dunmeris. “I love you.”

From then on, we were as close to engaged as we’d ever be without announcing it officially. The only problem was that Varvur’s parents still didn’t know about it. When we’d first started seeing each other, we’d held off telling them because we weren’t sure it would last – but now, in hindsight, that was starting to look like a bad idea. How would they react when they found out we’d been shagging each other in secret for months on end?

In my more optimistic moments, I told myself that it would be okay. After all, it wasn’t like I was a penniless nobody any more – I was the Redoran Archmaster and a high-ranking Imperial knight, not to mention a famous hero. I’d have been a pretty good match for Varvur if it weren’t for my low birth and – of course – the fact that I wasn’t a Dunmer. But surely that wouldn’t matter so much to people as kind and tolerant as the Sarethis?

“We’re going to have to tell them some day,” I said to Varvur, as we lay in each other’s arms somewhere in the Grazelands.

“I know,” he said, sighing. “I wish now that we had told them at the start. It would have been more honourable, certainly. But it’s too late now.”

I nuzzled up against him. “Do you think they have someone else in mind for you, perhaps? Some Redoran noblewoman?”

“I doubt it. If they had, they would at least have introduced me to her by now. I think they believe I’m too young to marry.” He paused. “Besides, you are a Redoran noblewoman.”

“Well… technically.” I knew I wasn’t kidding anyone with that one.

“And the Nerevarine besides,” he went on. “If Nerevar reborn is not good enough for them, who would be?”

I didn’t answer for a second or two. Varvur’s words had brought to mind something that had been niggling at me for quite some time.

“Varvur… doesn’t it ever bother you?” I said at last. “That I’m the Nerevarine?”

“No,” he said, looking surprised. “At least, not any more.” He gave me a searching look. “And you? Does it bother you?”

“I… well, it’s just…” I was struggling to find words to express what I felt. “Ever since Red Mountain, it’s like everyone has gone completely insane. People are treating me like I really am Saint Nerevar. And…”

“Yes?”

I took a deep breath. “I just have this horrible feeling that someday, they’re all going to wake up and realise I’m not nearly as great as they thought I was. Even you.”

“No,” he said instantly. He wrapped his arms around me and held me close, kissing me almost fiercely. “No. I love Ada, not the Nerevarine.”

I felt tears prick my eyes. Neither of us said anything else, but we tacitly agreed to put off telling The Folks a little while longer. And of course, eventually the inevitable happened and Athyn found out.

I’d gone to Varvur’s room for ‘comfort’ during one of my occasional bouts of painful homesickness, and Athyn walked in on us. He didn’t actually catch us in bed together, thank Dibella – that would just have been too much of a cliché – but he did find me sitting half-naked in Varvur’s lap, with his arms around me. He didn’t say anything, just stared at us for a moment and then closed the door again, but I think he realised we hadn’t been practising verb inflections this time.

I slid off Varvur’s lap, grabbing at my robe, and made for the door – but he caught my arm before I could get any further. “No, Ada, you go back to Bal Isra. I will talk to him.”

“It’s my job,” I said flatly, but he shook his head.

“No, let me. He’s my father, and it is my dishonour for keeping this from him. I should have told him earlier.”

Before I could protest he was hurrying off after his father, leaving me torn between following him or chickening out and heading off home. I hesitated for a few moments, then poked my head out of the door just in time to see them both disappear into Athyn’s study.

There wasn’t much to do except teleport back to Bal Isra. I felt guilty about leaving Varvur to face the music alone, but at the same time I couldn’t help feeling slightly relieved that the truth was out. Okay, so this was a slightly awkward way for it to happen, but surely a man as fair and reasonable as Athyn would come round eventually?

But my hopes were dashed when Varvur showed up at Indarys Manor the next morning. From the grim expression on his face, I guessed his father hadn’t reacted by breaking out the shein and discussing wedding presents.

“What happened?” I asked, dreading the answer.

“You know my father. He doesn’t get angry, he just…” Varvur broke off, sighing heavily. “He asked if the two of us were sleeping together.”

“And what did you say?”

“I told him that we were, of course. And then he asked why I hadn’t told him earlier, so I tried to explain – but I could see he was not happy about it.”

“What happened then?”

Varvur’s fists clenched. “He started… lecturing me. As if I were a child still. Telling me that I should be beyond the age of ‘infatuations’ with human women. That I should have more respect for you, and not make promises I couldn’t… keep.”

My jaw dropped. “Could you have believed it? I am not fourteen years old any longer! So… well, I am afraid I lost my temper a little.” He heaved another gusty sigh. “I told him that this was not an ‘infatuation’ and we were in love. And that I had made no promises to you, but that if I had, I certainly would not break them.”

“Well… that doesn’t sound so bad,” I said. “Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding. If we can persuade him that we’re really in love with each other – ”

Varvur was shaking his head. “There’s more. He started repeating lies he had heard about you – malicious gossip and slander. I would never have believed it of my father.”

“Lies?” That didn’t sound at all like Athyn. “What sort of lies?”

He waved a hand angrily. “They are not worth repeating! And so I said to him. I told him I wouldn’t listen to any more of it, and then I left.”

There was a long silence. I was beginning to see just how badly wrong I’d been when I blithely assumed Athyn would give us his blessing.

“What about your mother?” I asked. “Do you think she’ll be on our side?”

He shook his head again. “I doubt it. I don’t like to speak ill of my mother, but… she is prejudiced against humans. She likes you because you helped our family, but if my father doesn’t want me to marry an Imperial, she certainly would not.”

“So what do we do?” I said at last. “Varvur… I really wouldn’t want to get married without your parents’ approval. Especially your father’s. After the way he’s treated me, and everything he’s done for me… I just couldn’t.”

He nodded. “No, I don’t wish to either. I could never do that to my parents. I suppose we will just have to wait, and hope that they change their minds.”

So we did, and a bloody uncomfortable wait it was. We still had to meet in secret to avoid any publicity, but now we had to do it in the full knowledge that Varvur’s parents knew, and disapproved. In a way it was harder for me than for Varvur – not that he didn’t love his father, but to me Athyn was a friend and mentor, the man who’d made me everything I was today. I knew I’d disappointed him, and I felt terrible about it.

To make things worse, Athyn and I had to see each other practically every day to discuss business. He never actually said anything to me about Varvur, but I could sense the tension between us whenever we met – and to be honest, I couldn’t entirely blame him. I knew I couldn’t exactly be the daughter-in-law he’d always dreamed of.

Sometimes I found myself wondering if it was even worth it. There were so many practical problems in the way of my relationship with Varvur, and not just because of race and background. We came from totally different cultures, worshipped different gods... and then, of course, there was the issue of children. For some reason, the children of mixed-race marriages always take on the mother’s race – so any kids I had with Varvur would be Imperials, not Dunmer. They would grow old and die long before their grandparents, let alone their parents.

In the end, it might have been easier for both of us if we’d just given up and gone our separate ways. The only problem was that I loved him.

Things couldn’t go on like this, of course. Something had to give. But when the crisis came, it happened in a way I most definitely would not have expected.

[treydog]

Why is it no surprise that Ada’s road to love is rocky? Well- because we are talking about Ada.

I’d made quite a nice little pile by selling off the Sixth House artifacts I’d collected at Red Mountain (and hadn’t blown all of it on expensive gowns imported from Cyrodiil),

There speaks the Ada we all know and love.

But I’d reckoned without the Redoran council – the stickiest stick-in-the-muds ever to gum up the workings of government. I’d propose some trivial change – at least, one that seemed trivial to me – and they’d look at me as if I’d suggested holding a revolution and overthrowing the Tribunal. “But we’ve always done it this way,” were the words I’d come to dread.

I have a feeling Ada’s creator has been the victim of more than a few meetings…

“I just have this horrible feeling that someday, they’re all going to wake up and realise I’m not nearly as great as they thought I was. Even you.”

“No,” he said instantly. He wrapped his arms around me and held me close, kissing me almost fiercely. “No. I love Ada, not the Nerevarine.”

Nothing more to say to that...

This new Ada adventure starts wonderfully- with foreshadowing of even worse troubles than reluctant reactionary Redoran rebrobates in the offing. Thank you, Helena, for sharing your brilliant writing and endearing character.

[mALX]

And thank you for bringing it here! I've been reading it over at the BGSF - still have to go there for new Edward fixes, lol.

[D.Foxy]

What can I say except:

I Love all things Helena (no innuendoes this time, honest!) and this also fits in that category!!!

[Remko]

Yay Ada and Varvur are a couple.
I'm sure Athyn will come around.

[Helena]

Chapter 1: A Rude Awakening

It was a hot, dry evening in early Mid Year, and we’d just finished yet another fruitless Council meeting. The Ashlanders had long since accepted that I wasn’t going to be quite the saviour they’d hoped for, but I still felt I ought to do something to help them – and so I’d finally screwed up the courage to bring it up with the Council. Kind souls that they were, they all agreed that something should be done – but their ideas of ‘help’ were along the lines of ‘build schools and temples and bring them all into the fold of Blessed Almsivi’. I had real trouble making them understand that this wasn’t what the Ashlanders themselves would want.

Now the meeting was over, and we were supposed to be enjoying a quiet drink. But then someone brought up the subject of Imperial taxes, and soon the others were back in their default mode of ‘let’s all bash the Empire’. It seemed to be the only thing they could ever agree on.

The worst of it was that they actually had a point. A lot of the trade rules imposed on Morrowind were blatantly unfair – but hearing the Redorans lay into the Empire just made me want to defend my people. And after several months of seething in silence, my patience was at breaking point.

Garisa Llethri was blathering on about favourable tariffs on Cyrodiilic brandy. “But you still drink it, I notice,” I snapped, looking pointedly at the half-full glass in his hand.

Llethri quickly laid down the glass, his cheeks reddening slightly. “That has nothing to do with it!”

“Of course it does!” I hissed back at him. “You guys all buy it up by the crateload because it’s better than the local stuff!” (This was unquestionably true.) “It already costs 100 drakes a bottle; do you want it to be even more expensive?”

“Of course not! We simply wish for equal treatment, that is all. Why should our exports be more heavily taxed than Imperial imports?”

I didn’t really have an answer for that, of course, but I was too angry to back down. “Well, nice to see you taking such a principled stand on the issue, Garisa!”

Garisa raised his eyes skyward. “Once,” he said loudly to no one in particular, “we had an Archmaster who would stand up for our rights in such matters. No longer, it seems.”

This – from Garisa Llethri, of all people – was just too much. I slammed down my own glass, and stood up.

“Ah yes, Bolvyn Venim. I’ll try and be a bit more like him, shall I?” I glared round the table. “Let’s see: I’ll surround myself with handsome young men. I’ll sleep with other people’s husbands and kidnap their children. I’ll challenge people to ‘honourable’ duels at the drop of a hat so that I can murder them without getting punished for it. I’ll bully and browbeat everyone into doing what I want, and every time one of you pisses me off, I’ll send the Morag Tong after you. Sound like fun?”

No one answered. Garisa looked stricken, and I realised I’d hit very close to home with the ‘other people’s husbands’ comment. But at that moment I was too angry to care.

“I’m going home to bed,” I said curtly, flinging my cloak around me. “Goodnight all. Have fun ranting pointlessly about the Empire while guzzling down Imperial brandy.”

With that I Recalled to my room in Indarys Manor, and instantly set about pouring myself some flin. I didn’t usually drink to drown my frustrations with the Council – otherwise I’d never stop – but in this case, it seemed entirely appropriate to soothe my nerves with a glass or two. Or three. Or four.

I barely even remember getting undressed and stumbling into bed. Usually I’d sleep like a log after drinking like that, so I have no idea what it was that caused me to wake up – a sudden noise, perhaps. But without knowing exactly why, I could instantly sense that something was wrong.

I could hear soft footsteps outside the door, as if someone was creeping around just outside. Carefully, trying not to make any noise, I rolled over to the side of the bed and reached for my sword. My hand had just closed around the hilt when the door creaked open and a head, masked in a face-concealing black helmet, peeked round it.

I leapt off the bed just as the black-clad figure flung the door wide open. His arm flew back and a dart of some kind whistled past my ear, so close that I could actually feel the rush of air against my skin.

Instinct took over and I leapt at him, forgetting that I wasn’t wearing anything but a nightdress. He lashed out frantically with a dagger, and I felt the sting of poison as the edge of the blade nicked my arm. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I grabbed his wrist with my left hand while driving the blade of my trusty glass frostsword into his gut. A choking sound escaped him, and blood began to dribble from his mouth.

Within seconds, the house was in uproar as servants and retainers came running to my aid. My steward, Galvene Othrobar, was the first to arrive. “Sera Ventura!” she gasped, staring at the would-be assassin’s corpse in bewilderment. “What has happened?”

Shock and pain made me lose my temper. “What happened?” I snarled. “That guy tried to kill me, that’s what happened!” I whirled round to face Treram Milar, my guard captain. “How did he get past the guards? What the hell do I pay you people for anyway?”

“I am so sorry, muthsera! I - I cannot imagine how this could have happened.” His voice shook. “I have failed you, and I take full responsibility.” To my horror, I realised there were tears in his eyes.

“Look, it’s OK,” I muttered, suddenly feeling guilty for yelling at him. “Sorry for losing my temper like that, Treram. I should save that for whoever hired this guy to kill me.”

“But who would do this?” Galvene asked helplessly. “Who would try to kill the Nerevarine?”

There was a brief, uncomfortable silence as I realised that I had absolutely no idea. I couldn’t think of anyone specific with a grudge against me, but that just meant it could be almost anyone – the Camonna Tong, a Hlaalu or Telvanni, some random lunatic. It wasn’t a pleasant thought.

“Could be anyone at all, couldn’t it?” I said shortly. “Hang on a moment.”

I marched over to the bed, where the assassin’s dart had lodged itself in the headboard, and wrenched it out. It was made of ebony, finely carved and razor-sharp. “Morag Tong,” I muttered. “Who else?”

“I cannot find a writ, sera.” Treram was crouched over the body. “It would a grave crime to make an attempt on your life without one.”

“He probably just forgot.” I glanced down at the dart in my hand. “This is exactly their style. It doesn’t count as murder if you use an ebony dart and howl three times at the moon first, or something. Well, I guess it’s time to pay our friendly local contract killers a visit.”

Galvene looked horrified. “But sera! Have you considered? If they have a writ for your assassination, then – ”

“Then I might be forced to wipe out the whole lot of them? Oh dear!” I flung my dressing gown around my shoulders, then pulled on my boots and grabbed a handful of enchanted jewellery. “Dump the guy in the cellar and get this mess cleaned up. I don’t want any blood left on my floor by the time I get back, understand?”

“But – ”

The protesting voices died away as the sound of my Almsivi Intervention spell filled my ears. The moment my feet hit the Temple courtyard, I strode out through the gateway and up towards the Skar building.

There weren’t many people around at that time of night, but I got some pretty strange looks from the guards as I hurried through the streets. A couple of shady-looking types eyed me from the shadows, but drew back hastily when they saw the glass longsword hanging from my belt. When I finally reached Skar, I had to pause for a minute or so to catch my breath. I took the opportunity to run a comb through my hair – it wouldn’t do to be messy, even if I was about to storm the Morag Tong sanctuary in my nightclothes.

I’d never been inside the Tong guildhall before – in fact, I’d made a point of not going there. I loathed them, ancient Dunmer tradition or not, and I enjoyed pissing off the other Councillors by referring to them as the ‘Murderers’ Guild’ and the ‘Hitmen’s Social Club’. It didn’t surprise me at all to find the place dark, smoky and bathed in eerie red light, as if they were actively trying to live up to the stereotype. If I hadn’t been so angry, I’d have found it hilarious.

The only person visible was Goren Andarys, the local Guildmaster – an ugly-looking customer if I ever saw one. He looked surprised to see me, but not disconcerted.

“Archmaster Ventura, “he said smoothly. “A pleasure. I hadn’t expected to see you here, especially at this… unusual hour. Are you in need of our services, perhaps?”

I couldn’t believe the guy had the gall to speak to me like that. “Oh, cut the crap, Andarys,” I snarled, flinging the ebony dart down on the table. “You know damn well why I’m here. This look familiar to you?”

Andarys picked up the dart and examined it carefully – or pretended to. “I’m afraid you have the advantage of me, sera,” he said at last. “I have no idea what this is, nor have I ever seen anything like it.”

“Oh, give me a break!” I snatched the dart back from him. “One of your assassins just tried to kill me with that thing – as you’re perfectly well aware. I want to know who hired him, and why.”

“A Morag Tong agent?” His brow creased into a frown. “Then he had a writ? Do you have it with you?”

“No, he didn’t.”

Andarys shook his head. “Then I very much doubt that he was Morag Tong. I handle all writs for the Ashlands area, and I would certainly know if any had been taken out against you. And besides,” he added, “you are the Redoran Archmaster and the Nerevarine. The cost would be… prohibitive.”

“I don’t believe you,” I said flatly. “How many other assassins’ guilds are there round here? If you didn’t send the guy, who did?”

Andarys’ face had gone rigid, and I could tell he was struggling to keep his cool. “I have no idea. If I may say so, Archmaster, someone in your position is bound to make enemies. I suggest you talk to a guard.”

“You’re lying,” I said. “I’ve heard all about your ‘grey writs’. I know a professional assassin when I see one. The guy was Tong.”

His lips tightened. “I tell you, Nerevarine, there is no writ on you. Yet,” he added pointedly. “If there were, what would stop me from summoning my thralls to attack you here and now?”

“One of your stupid rules of ‘honour’, perhaps? The ones that don’t actually stop you killing people, but do set down a load of arcane rules about exactly when and how you can do it?” His expression didn’t change. “Fine, go ahead. Deny it. But I’m telling you this: if you send another of your thugs after me, I’m going to come down here with Clan Redoran and slaughter the whole bloody lot of you. Do you understand?”

“I shall look forward to it,” he said coldly. “Now I would appreciate it if you would leave my guildhall… and please, Archmaster, try to drink a little less before you pay us another visit? Thank you.”

I could honestly have murdered the guy at that moment. (Ironic, I know.) In the end I just turned and stalked off without saying another word.

Unsurprisingly, I didn’t get much more sleep that night. Two guards were stationed right outside my door, but even so, every little noise had me waking in a cold sweat. It was almost a relief when morning came and I could hurry over to Sarethi Manor to pour out my woes.

The Sarethis were horrified to hear about the murder attempt – so much that the tensions between us seemed briefly forgotten. “But who would want to kill you?” Domesea asked in disbelief, echoing Galvene Othrobar. “You are the Nerevarine.”

“I don’t know,” I said with a sigh. “It could be almost anyone, couldn’t it? Anyone with enough money to pay for a writ, in any case.”

Athyn frowned. “Are you sure it was the Morag Tong?”

“Well, yes,” I said in astonishment. “Who else could it be?”

He shook his head. “I am not sure, but I think you should wait before jumping to conclusions. In the meantime we must increase your guard, of course.”

“We won’t let them harm you.” Varvur slid his arms around me. “She must stay here tonight,” he added, with a defiant glance at his parents.

Domesea narrowed her eyes, but Athyn simply nodded. “Yes, indeed she must. Though I hardly think the assassins would dare to attack twice on successive nights.”

I spent the rest of the day at Bal Isra, trying my best to forget about the attack, but I was constantly on edge. Every time I heard an unexpected sound or saw a movement out of the corner of my eye, I thought it was another assassin. By the time I got back to Sarethi Manor with my night gear, I was completely exhausted.

Athyn had prepared a room for me, and I joined the family for dinner, though I couldn’t eat very much. Once the meal was over I went straight to bed, keeping my sword close to hand. I had thought I’d have trouble sleeping, but in the event I was so tired that I dropped off almost immediately.

I was awakened by a sudden loud yell. Grabbing my sword, I leapt out of bed and flung open the door to the hallway. The sight that greeted me made my heart stop. Varvur was standing there, half-naked and carrying a sword that was dripping with blood. Beside him on the floor lay the body of another masked, black-clad assassin.

“I thought they might make another attempt.” He was breathing heavily. “So I settled down to wait instead of going to sleep. When I heard a noise outside in the corridor, I went to see what it was and found him standing by your door.”

A chill ran through me. If Varvur hadn’t been so cautious, I’d probably be dead by now. “How did he get in?” I asked helplessly. “Why didn’t the guards spot him?”

“I’m not sure. A Chameleon spell perhaps?” By now the entire household was gathering in the corridor. Athyn’s face was drawn, and I saw Domesea turn pale and grasp his arm tightly. Of course, I realised, they both had all too much experience with the Morag Tong – oh gods, the Morag Tong!

“Oh, those guar-molesting – ” I slammed my sword back into its scabbard. “Right. That’s it. I’m not just going to kill them all, I’m going to douse their precious guildhall in scuttle oil and set it alight.”

“One moment.” One of the guards had knelt down by the dead assassin and was searching the pockets of his leather armour. “There is no writ.”

“Doesn’t surprise me. The last guy didn’t have one either.” I made for the door, but Athyn caught at my arm.

“Ada, I do not think these people are Morag Tong,” he said softly. “I know you find it hard to believe, but they do follow a code of honour, and it would be most unusual for them to act without a writ. Besides, this is not their traditional dress.”

I clapped a hand to my forehead. “Oh, of course! He can’t possibly be Morag Tong, he’s not wearing a Morag Tong uniform. How stupid of me to think that an assassin might possibly choose to dress as a slightly different kind of assassin.”

“Ada, calm yourself.” Varvur laid a hand on my shoulder. “At least wait until morning before you decide what to do. I will stay with you tonight, and guard you against any other attacks.”

He had a point, I had to admit. I was tired. And maybe four a.m. wasn’t the best time to plot revenge against a bunch of professional assassins.

“Okay,” I said wearily, and turned to his father. “Sorry for having a go at you, Athyn. I’m a bit… on edge right now.”

“No matter,” he answered mechanically. As the guards began to drag away the body, he slipped an arm around his wife and led her back towards their room. I returned to my own room with Varvur, who carefully wiped his sword clean and settled into a chair facing the door.

“Sleep,” he said, in answer to my questioning look. “I’ll be here.”

He was still there when I woke up the next morning, sitting upright in his chair, looking tired but still alert. I reached out to touch his bare arm, and he turned sleepy red eyes towards me and smiled. At that moment I knew for certain that there was no way I could ever give up on him – on us. However long it took, we had to find a way through this.

“What will you do now?” he asked, as I began to dress. “About the assassin?”

I hesitated. Somehow, in the cold light of day, I didn’t feel quite as certain about the Morag Tong’s involvement as I had before. Last night I’d been too tired and angry to think clearly – but now, when I thought back on my conversation with Goren Andarys, I realised he hadn’t come across as if he was lying. I guess he could just have been a very good actor, but…

“I think I’ll go and talk to the Legion people over at the fort,” I said at last. “Might as well take advantage of being the Imperial Dragon, after all. If they don’t have any ideas… well, I’ll worry about that later.”

Varvur hauled himself to his feet. “Would you like me to go with you?”

“No, sweetheart, you go to bed. I’ll be fine.” He looked doubtful. “Really. I killed a god, remember?”

He couldn’t hide a smile. “All right. I’ll see you later.”

A short while later I was pouring out the whole story to Imsin the Dreamer, the local Legion commander, in her office at Fort Buckmoth. When I showed her the ebony darts I’d taken from the assassins, a rather grim expression crossed her face.

“Yes, I think I’ve heard of these,” she said, nodding slowly. “It’s not good, ma’am. This looks like the work of the Dark Brotherhood.

I blinked. “The Dark Brotherhood?”

“Yes. Er… haven’t you heard of them, ma’am? I thought you came from Cyrodiil?”

“Yes, of course, but…” Why the hell would the Dark Brotherhood be trying to kill me? I hadn’t even realised that they existed here in Morrowind.

Imsin cleared her throat. “Could I make a suggestion, ma’am? Apelles Matius might be able to help. He’s recently arrived from Cyrodiil, after all.”

“Good thinking.” Apelles Matius was my deputy, brought in to handle the day-to-day business of the Legion. I’d only met him a couple of times, quite briefly, but he’d seemed like he knew what he was doing. If anyone could help me with my little assassination problem, he was a good bet.

I travelled to Ebonheart with a combination of Guild Guide and Divine Intervention spells. It didn’t take me long to find Apelles, who was inspecting the battlements. He wore a shiny suit of armour made of adamantium – a silvery-grey metal which was apparently only found in parts of mainland Morrowind. I always felt a bit envious of him when I saw it.

“What’s this about the Dark Brotherhood?” he asked, when I gave him a quick run-down of the situation. “You say you’ve been attacked by them? The fact that you’re standing here seems to suggest otherwise.”

“I’m not in the mood for jokes,” I said sharply. “Have you heard anything about Dark Brotherhood activity in Vvardenfell?”

He shook his head. “Almost unheard of… but I do know they have a large contingent back on the mainland – in Mournhold itself, actually. If you’re feeling particularly suicidal, I guess you can check it out for yourself...”

My heart sank. Mournhold was Morrowind’s capital city, deep in House Indoril territory – it would take at least a week to travel there, not to mention all the time spent preparing for the journey. “I don’t suppose you know any way to get there quickly?” I asked, without much hope.

“Well…” He scratched his nose. “You could talk to Asciene Rane in the Council chambers. She’s a mage who arrived here the same time I did, special appointment to Duke Dren. Nice woman. She might be able to help you out.”

I thanked him and went to speak to Asciene Rane, a friendly middle-aged Breton. When I told her I wanted to be transported to Mournhold, she looked doubtful. “That’s highly irregular,” she said, pursing her lips. “Even now that the Blight is gone from Vvardenfell, they’re still worried about possible contamination. What’s your reason for wanting to go to the city?”

I didn’t want to tell anyone else about the Dark Brotherhood attacks just yet. “It’s… private.”

“Well, I certainly didn’t mean to pry,” she said apologetically. “I simply can’t send you there without good reason… even if you are the Knight of the Imperial Dragon. I’m sorry.”

I decided to think it over and come back later. It wasn’t like I could head straight off to Mournhold in any case; I needed to go back and explain everything to the Sarethis and the other Redoran councillors.

The whole thing just felt so surreal, I thought, as I walked back from the Council chambers. I’d never in a million years have imagined that the Dark Brotherhood would come after me. In fact I’d always considered them a bit of a joke, with their cloak-and-dagger image and their Night Mother rituals. It didn’t seem quite so funny now that I might be a target.

The worst of it was that I’d already accused Goren Andarys of trying to kill me – and accused him of lying when he denied it. I’d insulted his honour, I realised, and now I was going to have to make a grovelling apology. To the Morag Tong. There just weren’t enough swear words for this situation.

Well, I differed from Bolvyn Venim in one important way: I was willing to admit when I was wrong. And there was no point putting it off; might as well get it over with straight away. I returned to Ald’ruhn, where I entered the Morag Tong guildhall under Skar for the second and hopefully last time.

There were quite a few Tong members around at this time of day, and none of them looked pleased to see me. From the way they casually laid their hands on their weapons as I approached, I guessed that Andarys had warned them about my threats. Gritting my teeth, I paused at a safe distance and gave them a formal, apologetic bow (traditionalist Dunmer are very big on bowing). I straightened up to find them looking at me in blank astonishment.

“Muthsera,” I said to Andarys. “I’ve come here to apologise for what I said to you the other night. It seems it wasn’t the Morag Tong trying to kill me after all. I shouldn’t have accused you without proof.”

“I accept your apology, Archmaster” he said stiffly. “If you will excuse me, I am very busy – ”

“No, really,” I said. “I’m extremely sorry. It turns out the assassins were sent by the Dark Brotherhood.”

His head jerked up. “The Dark Brotherhood? Here in Vvardenfell?”

“Apparently.” He and the other Tong agents were exchanging worried glances. “Is that so unusual?”

Andarys was shaking his head. “I should have known,” he murmured, almost to himself, and then looked up at me. “The Dark Brotherhood are our sworn enemies. They are a depraved perversion of the ancient law-abiding order of the Morag Tong.”

I nearly choked. What the hell did you have to do for an assassins’ guild to consider you ‘a depraved perversion’? Carry out all your hits dressed in a leather corset and stiletto heels?

“Well, no argument there,” I said, forcing myself to stay polite. “Anyway, I’m going to Mournhold to track down the person who hired them. I don’t suppose you’d know who might be, um, depraved enough to do that?”

“I fear not, sera. Still, I wish you luck.” His anger seemed to have died away, which was certainly a relief. Even so, I was glad he didn’t offer to shake hands with me; I’m not sure I could have brought myself to do it.

When I emerged into Under-Skar I ran straight into Varvur, who was crossing one of the rope bridges in the other direction. “Ah, there you are, Ada! I went to the fort to look for you, but they said you had left for Ebonheart.” He lowered his voice. “Did you find out who is trying to kill you?”

I nodded grimly. “Dark Brotherhood.”

“The Western assassins’ guild?” I nodded again. “But… why? Who would send them after you?”

“No idea,” I said with a sigh. “I’m thinking of travelling to the mainland to try and find out. But I want to talk to your father first and ask his advice.” That was the thing about Athyn: no matter how bad things got between us, I knew I could always trust him to help me. Nothing could change that.

There didn’t seem to be anyone around when Varvur and I entered Sarethi Manor. I headed for Athyn’s study, assuming he was working there – but as we neared the door, I could hear several voices behind it speaking in Dunmeris. It was Athyn and some of the other Councillors, and they sounded like they were having a pretty heated discussion.

I froze. My Dunmeris was good enough by now to follow most conversations, and even if it weren’t, the words ‘Varvur’ and ‘Ada’ would have tipped me off as to what they were discussing. Varvur took a step forward, but I caught his arm and held him back, pressing my finger to my lips.

“…seems I have no choice,” Athyn was saying. “I admit that it isn’t what I would have wished, but…”

“But Athyn, have you considered?” That was Domesea’s voice. “Their children will be human!”

“Of course I have, Domesea.” Athyn’s voice sounded tired and strained. “But what can I do? Both are of age. What reason could I give for refusing my consent?”

This prompted a long, voluble rant from Garisa Llethri. He was speaking too quickly for me to understand, but Varvur’s face had turned pale with fury. “What’s he saying?” I whispered.

Varvur ground his teeth. “He said that he can think of a dozen reasons. And now he is listing them.”

A woman’s voice – probably Brara Morvayn – said something I didn’t quite catch. “Politically it would be an excellent match, of course.” I’d never heard Athyn sound so unhappy.

“But Athyn,” Miner Arobar wailed, “she has no courtesy!”

I couldn’t speak. I could hardly even breathe. How dare they? Who the hell did they think they were to talk about me like that? Bloody Dark Elves, saying I had no courtesy!

I grasped the handle of the door and yanked it open. A circle of shocked, slightly guilty faces stared back at me. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came: my mind had gone completely blank. But it didn’t matter in any case, because Varvur got there before me.

“How DARE you?” I’d never seen him this angry before; he was practically shaking with fury. “How dare you speak of Ada like that? You insult and abuse her when she isn’t here to defend herself, and then you accuse her of discourtesy?”

Athyn took a step forward. “Varvur – ”

“And you, Father! You are the worst of all of them!” He turned blazing eyes on his father. “You tried to turn me against Ada. You preach about how we shouldn’t spread rumours and gossip, and yet you believe these – these wicked lies about her being an Imperial spy! You are a hypocrite!”

Oh, sweet Akatosh. “Uh, Varvur?” I said with a embarrassed cough. “I’m afraid your father’s actually right on that one. I am an Imperial spy.”

“What? No, you are joking!”

“I’m serious.” I lowered my voice, trying to speak calmly. “I was recruited into the Blades as soon as I arrived in Morrowind. That was how I found out about the Nerevarine prophecies. Apparently the Emperor somehow got wind of them and decided I was the one to fulfil them – or at least, someone who could fulfil them. That was why he had me shipped to Morrowind in the first place.”

Varvur’s mouth was hanging open. “Then you knew all along that you were the Nerevarine? You told me that – ”

“No, I didn’t know it! All I knew was that I was having weird dreams and getting attacked in the streets by wild-eyed lunatics. By the time I found out what was going on, it was too late to back out – and even then I didn’t really believe it until I found the Moon-and-Star.” So much for staying calm; my heart was pounding so hard that I could feel the rush of blood in my ears.

Varvur squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, pressing his fingers against his temples. He was clearly finding this hard to take in. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”

“Because your father told me not to!” I hissed, turning back towards Athyn. “Care to explain why you suddenly changed your mind on that one, Athyn?”

The look on Athyn’s face made me stop short. In all the time I’d known him, I’d never seen him so close to losing his temper.

“Why I changed my mind?” The forced calmness in his voice was almost worse than anger. “Because my son had fallen in love with you, that is why. Tell me, Ada: have you ever considered what you would do if the Blades were to force you back into service? If they ordered you to return to Cyrodiil?”

I looked at him in disbelief. “I’d tell them to get stuffed, of course!”

“Would you, indeed? I wish it were so easy.”

Okay, this was getting ridiculous. “None of this seemed to bother you when you asked me to become Archmaster!”

“No,” he said quietly, “but an Archmaster can always be replaced. With my son’s wife, the case is a little different. Wouldn’t you agree?”

I was about to reply, but then I saw Varvur’s expression and the words died on my lips. The others looked stunned by what they’d just heard, but he looked devastated. The dream had shattered, just as I’d predicted, and I couldn’t bear it. I had to get out of here.

I took a deep breath. “I’m going to Mournhold,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “To find out who’s been sending Dark Brotherhood assassins to kill me. I don’t know how long I’ll be away, or when I’ll be back. Athyn, since you seem to think you can do so well without me, I’m leaving you in charge.”

No one replied. “Goodbye,” I said shortly. “If I don’t see you again… Almsivi bless you all.” The last thing I heard as I Recalled back to Indarys Manor was Varvur beginning to yell at his father.

My first instinct was to fling myself down on the bed and sob, but I fought it back; right now, what I needed most was to stay calm and collected. Even so, I couldn’t help being furious with myself. Why hadn’t it occurred to me that that might be Athyn’s reason for objecting to me and Varvur? Why hadn’t I thought to tell Varvur, the man I was thinking of marrying, that I was a Blade?

The answer in both cases was simple: I hadn’t even thought about the Blades since I’d had that discussion with Athyn. But Varvur wouldn’t see it like that, I realised, with a sinking heart. As far as he was concerned, it was yet another secret I’d kept hidden from him when we were supposed to trust each other. “I forgot” wasn’t going to cut it.

Oh, Nine help me. I’d really screwed up this time, hadn’t I?

[treydog]

...it wouldn’t do to be messy, even if I was about to storm the Morag Tong sanctuary in my nightclothes.

Quite right. Some things are Simply Not Done.

“Sleep,” he said, in answer to my questioning look. “I’ll be here.”

This is even more poignant seeing what comes afterwards.

“No, sweetheart, you go to bed. I’ll be fine.” He looked doubtful. “Really. I killed a god, remember?”

You expertly describe the problems of being simultaneously the nominal hero of the Dunmer and an agent of the Empire. With, in Ada's case, the additional "minor" complication of her relationship with Varvur.

Ada's reasonable belief that the Morag Tong is the agency behind the attack is a masterful bit of plot-weaving.

And I always want to kick Apelles Matius off the walls of Ebonheart for his singularly unhelpful attitude. "Dark Brotherhood? Nah, if they wanted to kill you, you'd be dead. Oh well, if you insist, why don't you go take care of it for yourself? The Legion is busy doing- important Legion stuff- yes, that's the ticket- Legion stuff. Have fun storming the DB stronghold."

[Helena]

And I always want to kick Apelles Matius off the walls of Ebonheart for his singularly unhelpful attitude. "Dark Brotherhood? Nah, if they wanted to kill you, you'd be dead. Oh well, if you insist, why don't you go take care of it for yourself? The Legion is busy doing- important Legion stuff- yes, that's the ticket- Legion stuff. Have fun storming the DB stronghold."

It makes even less sense when you're Knight of the Imperial Dragon. The only way I could rationalise it was to make Apelles essentially the same rank as Ada.

By the way, I found a face that's closer to my original conception of Ada. I'm trying to decide whether or not to keep it and use it in screenshots from now on. Thoughts?

[D.Foxy]

Use the face that is closest to the Goddess Helena, is MY thought!!!

[treydog]

The only thing I see to quibble with is the new version looks a bit "wide-eyed" compared to your avatar. Something with the arch of the eyebrows, I believe.

But- your character should look like your concept of your character. (Or, as Foxy says- like you.)

[Helena]

Neither of them looks much like me, to be honest. (She does, however, have a similar hair colour. Yes, it's natural.)

Anyway, I think I'll stick with the old one. It's a bit late to be giving Ada radical plastic surgery.

[Cardboard Box]

I'd have to agree the old face is the best. Her expression matches the sense of "Oh gods, how much longer do I have to put up with this crap!?" I get from Ada's writings.

[D.Foxy]

May I add that you look absolutely charming in the flesh, Helena?

[mALX]

And I always want to kick Apelles Matius off the walls of Ebonheart for his singularly unhelpful attitude. "Dark Brotherhood? Nah, if they wanted to kill you, you'd be dead. Oh well, if you insist, why don't you go take care of it for yourself? The Legion is busy doing- important Legion stuff- yes, that's the ticket- Legion stuff. Have fun storming the DB stronghold."

It makes even less sense when you're Knight of the Imperial Dragon. The only way I could rationalise it was to make Apelles essentially the same rank as Ada.

By the way, I found a face that's closer to my original conception of Ada. I'm trying to decide whether or not to keep it and use it in screenshots from now on. Thoughts?

My fave is your avatar face. Having been through the original Neveragaine with that face, It'd be hard to get used to a new one !!!! ARGH !!!

[Helena]

Chapter 2: Performance Anxiety

I did my best to concentrate on the task ahead as I packed for the journey to Mournhold. I knew how important it was to ‘block out’ other distractions during a mission; you couldn’t afford to get sidetracked by personal problems when people were trying to kill you. In a way it was almost a relief to be getting away for a while; it meant I had time to sort my head out before going back to my job and my boyfriend. If I even had either of those things by the time I got back.

At least they couldn’t just kick me out for being an Imperial spy, I thought. For once, House Redoran’s idiotic rules would work in my favour; the only way to get rid of an Archmaster was by defeating them in honourable combat. Varvur… now that was a different matter.

I was fully aware that I’d left Athyn to deal with the fallout from my ‘revelation’, but then it was entirely his fault. Well, mostly his fault. Even if he did have a point about the Blades, I was still pissed off with him for telling Varvur when he’d promised not to. If he thought it was so important, why couldn’t he have got both of us together and let me explain everything? (I ignored the little voice in my head telling me that he might have done, if only I’d told him the truth about me and Varvur in the first place.)

It was only when I’d finished packing that I realised I hadn’t eaten all day. I’d never felt less hungry, but I forced myself to swallow some food, hoping it hadn’t been poisoned. How long before the assassins thought to try that, I wondered?

Before setting off for Ebonheart, I spoke to Viras Guls – the hetman of my stronghold – to explain where I was going and what I was doing there. I also left a package for Varvur, containing my old journal (it had filled up so quickly that I’d had to buy another one) and all the letters and documents Caius Cosades had left regarding my service in the Blades. In the past I’d thought about burning them to make sure they didn’t fall into the wrong hands, but now I was glad I hadn’t. If Varvur could just read those, I thought, maybe he’d understand.

Asciene Rane was still waiting in the Grand Council chambers when I arrived in Ebonheart. “Ah, Sera Ventura! You’re back,” she said cheerfully. “Have you changed your mind about travelling to Mournhold?”

“Yes, I have. Can I trust you not to say a word to anyone about this?” She nodded, and I lowered my voice to just above a whisper. “I need to go there because someone’s been sending Dark Brotherhood assassins to attack me. I want to find out who’s responsible.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, my! I can see why you’d want to get that cleared up. That’s dangerous business, though. I can’t say I’d be happy to send you off on that sort of fool’s errand.”

I had to fight back a smile; she reminded me a little of my Aunt Sybilla. “Danger isn’t a problem, believe me. I’ve handled worse things than the Dark Brotherhood since I arrived in Morrowind.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” she said doubtfully. “I suppose I can oblige you. If you need to return to Vvardenfell, speak with Effe-Tei in the Royal Palace. But take care, friend –those people are not to be taken lightly.”

She cast the spell as she finished speaking, and moments later I found myself standing in a room I’d never seen before. It was some kind of reception or waiting area, carved out of rich green marble and sumptuously decorated. A lone guard in crimson armour stood in one corner, holding an adamantium claymore. His helmet covered his entire face, yet somehow he still managed to look menacing.

The mage standing next to me, a well-dressed Argonian, smiled at the bewildered expression on my face. “Welcome to Mournhold, sera. Have you just arrived from Vvardenfell?”

“I have, yes,” I said, pulling myself together. “Would you mind telling me what part of Mournhold this is?”

He smiled again. “This is the reception room of the Royal Palace. Your first visit?” I nodded, realising this must be the ‘Effe-Tei’ whom Asciene had mentioned. “Would you like me to help you get your bearings?”

“Yes, thank you,” I said gratefully.

“Well, the doors just here will take you out to the courtyard,” he said, pointing. “South is Plaza Brindisi Dorom; north is Almalexia’s Temple; and to the west and east you have Godsreach – the residential district – and the Great Bazaar. Here in the palace you’ve got the Legion barracks and an Imperial Cult shrine… and the Royal chambers, of course. Queen Barenziah holds court here, if you have any reason to see her.”

My mouth dropped open. “Hold on… did you say Barenziah? The Barenziah? Here in Mournhold?”

Effe-Tei nodded. “The old king, Athyn Llethan, is dead. Long live King Hlaalu Helseth. He and his mother have lived here in Mournhold since she abdicated her throne in Wayrest. Now that her son has become king, you might expect him to respect her counsel and experience.” He paused. “Or not. I pay no attention to my mother.”

“Same here,” I admitted. “So… the new king is a Hlaalu?” I vaguely remembered hearing about King Llethan’s death, but I hadn’t paid much attention at the time. Everyone knew the King of Morrowind was really just an Imperial puppet.

“Yes, technically. But he has plenty of enemies even in his own House.” Effe-Tei sighed. “He wants to transform the role of King into a powerful head of state along Western lines, and a lot of the Dunmer traditionalists aren’t happy about that. They prefer the old system of council rule. And there’s always been hostility between the Temple and the Imperial administration, but since Helseth’s accession, the tension between Imperial-leaning Dunmer and Almalexia’s supporters is much worse.”

I nodded politely, but I wasn’t really interested – I had enough of politics back home. Far more interesting to me was the fact that Barenziah, one of my childhood heroines, was here in Mournhold. Like most other kids my age, I’d spent a good part of my teenage years trying to track down an uncensored copy of The Real Barenziah. I’d never imagined I might actually get to meet her in the flesh.

Get a grip, Ada, I thought, giving myself a mental shake. You’re here to track down a bunch of deadly assassins, not to fawn over the Queen Mother. “Well, thanks for your help,” I said to Effe-Tei. “I don’t suppose you could recommend a place to stay?”

“The Winged Guar in Godsreach,” he said, so quickly that I wondered if someone was paying him to advertise the place. Well, it was all the same to me.

I headed out into the courtyard, where I paused for a minute to take stock. Since I’d only just arrived here, nobody knew who I was, which meant I probably had at least a day or two before I had to worry about assassins again. I decided to head for the ‘Great Bazaar’ Effe-Tei had mentioned to buy some provisions before going to Godsreach.

I left the courtyard through the southern gate – smiling at the elderly, well-dressed Imperial who nodded to me as I passed – and found myself in a vast plaza surrounded by thirty-foot-high walls, all made of the same green-and-white marble as the palace. In the centre was a large fountain with a statue of two figures doing battle. There were a few more of those crimson-suited guards wandering about, as well as some others who looked a lot like the Ordinators from Vivec. They wore the same creepy mask-like helmets, but their armour was even more ornate, and each of them carried a vicious-looking ebony scimitar.

I wandered towards the fountain to have a closer look at the statue. The figure with four arms was presumably Mehrunes Dagon, Prince of Destruction, but I wasn’t sure about the other. Whatever myth or historical event this was supposed to depict, I wasn’t familiar with it.

“Mournhold!” a voice growled behind me. “City of Light! City of Magic!” I turned sharply round and found myself staring at one of the Ordinator-alikes. I swear they do that just to scare people.

“Excuse me,” I said coolly, trying to pretend he hadn’t startled me. “Could you tell me what’s being shown in this statue here?”

“It honours the Lady Almalexia and her defeat of the Daedra Prince Mehrunes Dagon,” he said promptly. “The battle levelled the city, but the lives of many were saved by the goddess’ valour.” He gave me a penetrating look through the slits in his helmet. “This is her city, outlander – and we are the High Ordinators, the protectors of Mournhold. Behave yourself.”

“Don’t worry,” I promised. “I’ll be good.”

He snorted and turned away without a word. For once I was more amused than annoyed; it was almost refreshing to be treated with contempt again. I couldn’t help wondering how he’d react if he knew he was talking to the Nerevarine.

I wandered east across the plaza until I came to a much smaller gate set into the wall. On the other side was a large, crowded open-air marketplace which I took to be the Great Bazaar. I noticed with interest that there was an open-air theatre of some kind in the centre, with a crowd of people gathered round it. Once I’d got hold of my would-be assassin and wrung his neck, maybe I’d have time to take in a show.

The steps down to the marketplace took me directly in front of the theatre, and as I got closer I could hear confused murmurs from the crowd. The stage was dressed for a play – a very simple set, with just a rug, some banners and a wall with one door in it – and a Dunmer actress in full costume stood near the doorway, but nothing seemed to be happening. What was this, one of those weird ‘experimental theatre’ pieces?

I picked my way round the edge of the crowd, heading for a trader’s stall, where I bought some provisions. As I was leaving, I accidentally trod on a sheet of printed paper which someone had dropped on the ground. Picking it up, I saw that it was some kind of newssheet, copied on cheap paper under the heading ‘The Common Tongue’.

As I skimmed through it, one article in particular caught my eye. It described a number of mysterious deaths in Wayrest, during the years when Barenziah had lived there as Queen. “I have a little list,” it began. “They never would be missed.”

I read on with increasing astonishment. The article was basically accusing Barenziah’s son, Prince Helseth – now King Helseth of Morrowind – of being responsible for dozens of poisonings, all of people who had posed an ‘inconvenience’ to Helseth in some way or other. “The Common Tongue does not wish to suggest that King Helseth is a poisoner,” it finished, with blatant untruthfulness, “or that the recent death of King Athyn Llethan’s was a poisoning, and not a natural death. The Common Tongue has never seen a single scrap of evidence that would prove such an indictment. And the Imperial coroners have ruled that Athyn Llethan died a natural death.”

Good grief. This was certainly a lot juicier than the stuff you’d find in the Black Horse Courier, Cyrodiil’s own state-funded newsletter. I wondered if the King knew what people were saying about him?

I left the newssheet where I’d found it and set off towards the smith’s stall on the other side of the marketplace. As I passed the back of the theatre, I saw a well-dressed man pacing up and down outside the stage door – the manager, perhaps? I hadn’t gone more than a few steps further when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Excuse me!” It was the man I’d noticed a few moments earlier. “Sorry to bother you but I thought perhaps you could help me. I’m Meryn Othralas, founder of the Mournhold Players.” He had a pleasant, well-modulated voice – an actor’s voice.

“Um, well, I’m kind of busy right now – ”

“Oh, I understand,” he said soothingly. “It’s just that I saw you walking by in your fine armour, and I just had to ask. The show must go on, you see.”

“What do you mean?”

Othralas sighed. “Well, I’m afraid our troupe has its own drama at the moment. Wouldn’t you know that the very day we’re supposed to debut our show, our lead actor Tarvus Beleth comes down with collywobbles? So now I’m desperately trying to find someone who looks like Tarvus to take his place.” He paused. “You know, you kind of look a little like Tarvus…”

I looked at him incredulously. “I look like a male Dunmer?”

“Well… a bit like Tarvus. Close enough, anyway.” He hurried on. “So, what do you say, Imperial? Would you like to take on the part of Clavides, Captain of the Imperial Guard, in our production?”

Okay, this had to stop right here. “I’m sorry, Ser Othralas,” I said, “but I really can’t help you. I’m a fighter, not an actress.”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter,” he said airily. “There’s not much acting involved – all you need to do is stand there and say the lines. If you were a professional, of course, that would be different… but needs must, eh?”

I’d never been in a play before, but I was willing to try almost anything once. If I hadn’t been so busy chasing assassins, I might have given it a shot. “I’ll do it if you’ll tell me where to find the Dark Brotherhood,” I said, not thinking for a moment that he’d actually be able to.

“The sewers beneath the Great Bazaar,” he said promptly. “That’s what they say, anyway. Though I don’t know why you’d want to go looking for those demons… still, it’s your funeral.”

I stifled a groan. Sewers! Why did it have to be sewers? I still hadn’t got over that time I’d had to crawl around in the Vivec underworks.

“So,” Othralas continued, “you’ll take the part, then?”

Sh*t. “What is the play?” I asked, stalling for time.

“The Horror of Castle Xyr. I’m sure you know it, don’t you?”

“Well…” Actually I did recall seeing that play when it was touring in Cyrodiil a few years back – though all I could really remember was that it was about a crazy mage.

“Fantastic!” Without waiting for me to finish, Meryn pressed a copy of the script into my hands. “No need for a lengthy rehearsal, in that case. Review the script for the next two minutes, then talk to me again.”

I goggled at him. “But hang on, I – ”

“No time!” he interrupted, grabbing a box of props. “People are starting to gather, so we need to get this show started. Just make sure you’re back in two minutes!”

He disappeared round the side of the stage, leaving me doing my best impression of a stunned slaughterfish. Two minutes? I couldn’t learn an entire play in two minutes!

I opened the book and leafed through the first few pages. The dialogue did sound vaguely familiar – though some of the names and references had been changed in the version I remembered, presumably to suit the local politics in Cyrodiil. I’d just have to learn as much as I could, and rely on the book for the rest.

“Why me?” I muttered in exasperation. Why did I keep on finding myself in these crazy situations? I bet Athyn Sarethi would never have let this happen to him; he’d just have said “Forgive me, sera,” in that quiet, dignified way of his, and walked on. Maybe there was some sort of support group I could join? “Basic Assertiveness Training: How To Turn Down Insane Requests From Total Strangers”?

By the end of two minutes I had just about managed to learn the first couple of pages, and was trying not to panic. I’d never acted before in my life – at least, not in front of a proper audience. What if I got out on that stage and just froze up in terror? I’d ruin Othralas’ play, not to mention looking like a complete idiot.

At that moment, Othralas himself came striding back round the corner. “Ah, good job! You’re right on time,” he said, beaming at me. “Let’s get this show on the road. All you have to do is head out through the door, hit your mark in the centre of the rug next to Gureryne – that’s our leading lady – and deliver your lines.”

Desperately I racked my brains for a way out of this. “Captain Clavides is supposed to be a man,” I protested. “Won’t the audience notice he’s being played by a woman?”

“Oh, never mind that!” he said impatiently. “If the audience can buy a Dunmer as an Imperial captain, they can certainly cope with him being the wrong sex. Besides, you’ll be wearing a helmet – here.” He rummaged around in his box of props and handed me an Imperial silver helmet. “Just be careful, because they all know the play well, and I’ll be counting your mistakes.”

Then, to my utter horror, he took the script out of my hands. A wave of panic swept over me. “B- but I…!”

“Off you go!” he whispered, ignoring me completely. “Break a leg!”

He wrenched open the stage door and practically shoved me through it. It was almost as if he didn’t care how badly I ended up performing. If I hadn’t been so flustered, that might have tipped me off that something a bit strange was going on.

I landed on a rug in the centre of the stage, facing the actress I’d seen earlier. “Good evening to you, serjo,” she said instantly, in a rather painful imitation of a lower-class Dunmer accent.

There wasn’t even time to panic any more. I took a deep breath, trying to put myself into the role of the stereotypical pleasant-but-dim Imperial captain. “Good evening,” I replied, making my voice as deep and gruff as possible. “Is your master home?”

And we went on from there. Amazingly, I managed to remember most of the lines, though I did hear a few ‘boos’ from the audience whenever I made a minor slip-up. Clearly Othralas had been right when he’d said they all knew the play.

Before long we had reached the last part of the script which I’d actually learned. It was taking all my concentration to remember the lines, but at the same time I was dimly aware that everything was about to go haywire. What was I going to do next, just improvise the rest of the play?

“Please, serjo, go wherever you want,” Gureryne was saying. “We have nothing to hide. We’re loyal Imperial subjects.”

“As, I hear, are all Telvanni,” I said with a completely straight face, as directed in the script. (In the Cyrodiilic version, that line had been “As, I hear, are all Colovians.”)

There was a ripple of laughter from the audience – and then, suddenly, terrified screams. I whirled round to see that a black-clad Dunmer had leapt up onto the stage, brandishing some sort of Daedric dagger. “You die now, actor scum!” he roared, hurling himself at me.

I’d drawn my own sword before he even got close. There were gasps from the audience as I neatly sidestepped his first blow and grabbed his other arm, shoving him off balance. He slammed into the wall behind me – luckily it was a proper stone wall, rather than a flimsy stage set – and managed to raise his weapon for another strike, then suddenly hesitated. There was a shocked expression on his face, as if he’d seen something he hadn’t expected to see.

I didn’t give him time to recover. The audience shrieked with fear and excitement as I drove the blade of my glass frostsword into the assassin’s stomach. Some of them even clapped – I think they must have thought it was part of the play.

The man slumped to the ground as I pulled out the blade, and I paused to catch my breath. For a moment I thought this must have been another Dark Brotherhood attack – but if so, why had he called me ‘actor scum’? Suddenly it hit me: he’d thought I was Tarvus, the actor who’d fallen sick. But in that case –

I pulled off my helmet and swept an ironic bow to the crowd, who erupted in cheers, then ripped down one of the ‘Mournhold Players’ banners and used it to wipe off my sword. A trembling Gureryne hurried out of my way as I marched through the stage door, yanking it shut behind me. Meryn Othralas was waiting there, looking just slightly nervous.

I slammed my sword back into its scabbard with a force that made him wince. “What. The hell. Was that about?”

“Ah. Yes,” he said, rather faintly. “I hope you can forgive us, but we knew that an assassin would attack sooner or later. There’s a good reason,” he added hastily, seeing the expression on my face.

I leaned back against the wall, folding my arms. “This had better be good.”

“Yes, well, you see –” Meryn was starting to recover his confidence. “Our lead actor, Tarvus, recently had a somewhat indecent tryst with the daughter of a Telvanni diplomat. The diplomat caught him in the act, and vowed revenge. Since Tarvus changes residences frequently, we knew an attack would come during his performance, when the diplomat could be sure of Tarvus’ location.”

“And you didn’t tell me this why, exactly?”

“Well, I thought you might refuse to take the part,” he said reasonably. “Anyway, since you were able to dispatch the would-be assassin, hopefully the diplomat won’t try again. I know that the services of the Morag Tong are very expensive to enlist. I apologise for using you in this manner, sera, but I hope you understand why it was necessary.”

I briefly considered giving him a mouthful of broken teeth, but decided it wasn’t worth the trouble. “Whatever,” I said with a sigh. “I assume I’m getting paid for this?”

He cleared his throat, looking slightly relieved. “Ah yes, well… I do intend to pay you in full. Let’s see: during the play you only made two mistakes. Not bad – for an amateur,” he added graciously. “But your acting skills could definitely use some improvement. Here, take this gold and this amulet that will improve your acting abilities whenever you need it.”

He handed me an enchanted amulet and a pouch containing 1,800 septims. I thanked him grudgingly and went on my way, heading for the smithy to buy some armourer’s hammers.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later that I realised what I’d done, and then I wanted to smack my head into the nearest wall. I’d come to Mournhold anonymously, hoping to track down my assassins before they realised I was here, and what was the very first thing I’d done? Taken the lead in a hit play and foiled a Morag Tong attack in front of a huge crowd. I might as well have unfurled a huge banner saying “Look Out, Mournhold: Ada Ventura Is Here!”

As I was heading back up the steps, a young Dunmer woman shyly approached me. “Excuse me, sera,” she said. “It was you in the play, wasn’t it?” I nodded resignedly.

“You were so brave.” She hesitated for a moment. “I wondered… is it true that you’re the Nerevarine?”

Good gods, how had that got out already? “Yes, it’s true,” I said with a sigh, “but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t spread it around. I’m… here on a rest break and I don’t want everyone pestering me for autographs.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks flushed light purple. “Well, in that case… I’ll just leave you alone, then. I’m very sorry to have bothered you.”

Oh, crap. “Hang on a minute. Are you saying you wanted an autograph?”

“Well… yes, I would quite like one,” she said, blushing even more deeply. “If you really wouldn’t mind?”

For a moment, wild paranoia gripped me. What if she was a spy for the Dark Brotherhood? Then I realised how stupid I was being. She wasn’t, and even if she had been, what difference did it make now?

“Okay, then. Just for you.” I slid my pack off my shoulders and began to rummage around in it for a quill and inkwell. “Sorry, what’s your name?”

“Marena Gilnith.” She gave me a small handbill advertising The Horror of Castle Xyr, and I signed it for her with a short, friendly message. “Thank you,” she said, as she took it back. “I can’t wait to tell everyone back home that I met the Nerevarine.”

“You’re not from Mournhold, then?”

She shook her head, looking a bit wistful. “I grew up in a small village in the south of Morrowind. Believe it or not, I had no intention of working here when I came to Mournhold… but you probably don’t want to hear my sob story, do you?”

I hesitated. It was a warm summer evening, and it would still be light for several hours yet; what harm could it do to stay for five minutes? “No, go ahead.”

Marena sighed. “Well, it’s mostly my fault, really. My parents cared for me a great deal, and only wanted the best for me. But when they arranged my marriage to a wealthy nobleman, I couldn’t take it – he was disgusting, and I wanted nothing to do with him. So I ran away, and ended up here in Mournhold.”

I felt a twinge of sympathy for her. My parents hadn’t tried to force me into marriage, but apart from that, her story sounded all too similar to my own. “So what were you hoping to do here, if you didn’t plan to work?”

She blushed again. “I know it sounds silly, but I was convinced that I’d be able to find the man of my dreams.”

“Never rely on that,” I warned her. “Seriously.”

“I was foolish about it, to be sure. I never considered that I’d need money to survive on my own… but I was determined not to go crawling back to the village and beg forgiveness. I’d make it on my own, and only then would I contact my parents and let them know where I was.” She sighed again. “So I started working... and now it’s all I do. I never have time to meet anyone.”

“I’m sorry.” I wasn’t sure what else to say.

Marena shrugged. “Well, I’d better get back to work,” she said, forcing a smile. “Let me know if you meet any nice, single men, will you?”

I doubted that was going to happen, unless she was into guys who hung out in sewers and worshipped the Night Mother. Still… she seemed like a nice woman, and I felt sorry for her. It couldn’t hurt to keep my eyes open, could it?

“What sort of guys are you looking for?” I asked. “Any particular type?”

“I’m not sure… someone charming and worldly, I guess. Someone exciting.”

Not exactly much to go on. Still, I’d already hooked up a noblewoman with a highwayman and a Redoran councillor with his own bodyguard; how hard could it be to find someone for Marena?

As I walked off to look for the entrance to the sewers, I found my thoughts wandering back to my own home in Cyrodiil. I still hadn’t heard anything from my parents; either my letters just hadn’t reached them – which wouldn’t be all that surprising, given the recent troubles – or they still hadn’t forgiven me for running away. Or… well, I really didn’t want to think about the alternative. I hoped Marena would manage to make things up with her own family before it was too late.

It took me nearly half an hour to find the one sewer covering in the entire bazaar. I set a Mark in case I needed to get out in a hurry, then hung around awkwardly for a while, wondering how to look inconspicuous while pulling up a sewer grating. In the end I just lifted it casually and climbed in, and the few people nearby didn’t seem to notice or care.

Beneath the covering was a ladder leading down into the Mournhold underworks. There was a shallow pool of water at the bottom, but luckily it seemed to be just rainwater rather than… any other kind. To one side was a rocky cave which was mostly submerged; to the other was a crumbling stone archway leading into a wide passage.

My plan was to scout out the place briefly, then come back later to tackle the Brotherhood – hopefully with reinforcements. I cast my Amulet of Shadows before heading through the archway, and moments later I was glad I’d taken the trouble – the first thing I saw there was a shifty-looking Khajiit woman mooching around in a corner. I didn’t know if she was anything to do with the Dark Brotherhood, but I didn’t want to risk it.

As I looked around me, I realised that the place didn’t actually look much like a sewer (or smell like one, to my great relief). It was large and airy, with very little water around, and the floor was paved with mosaic tiles – a bit like a corridor, or even a city street. Weird.

I crept through the maze-like passageways until I came to another small archway, leading into a natural cavern. Through a grating in the side wall I could see a skeleton warrior armed with a silver katana. If the Brotherhood really was here, how the heck did they get past these creatures whenever they came in and out? Had they come to some sort of agreement with the skeletons?

I cast my Chameleon enchantment again and crept past the skeletons until I reached a chamber with two exits – one of which was heavily flooded. Damn, I thought. Why hadn’t it occurred to me that this might happen? If I went the wrong way, I could end up wandering around here for hours. Maybe I should have hired a guide.

Then it occurred to me: why shouldn’t I hire a guide? I could afford it. There had to be mercenaries in Mournhold, and some of them (okay, maybe not the more reputable ones) probably knew their way around the sewers. If I managed to find someone trustworthy enough, they could even act as a bodyguard.

Enough exploring for the day, I decided. It was time to find somewhere to stay the night. I used my amulet of Recall to take me back to the Bazaar, then re-entered the Plaza Brindisi Dorom and headed towards the Godsreach district.

[mALX]

Here is my favorite part:

Othralas sighed. “Well, I’m afraid our troupe has its own drama at the moment. Wouldn’t you know that the very day we’re supposed to debut our show, our lead actor Tarvus Beleth comes down with collywobbles? So now I’m desperately trying to find someone who looks like Tarvus to take his place.” He paused. “You know, you kind of look a little like Tarvus…”

I looked at him incredulously. “I look like a male Dunmer?”

“Well… a bit like Tarvus. Close enough, anyway.” He hurried on. “So, what do you say, Imperial? Would you like to take on the part of Clavides, Captain of the Imperial Guard, in our production?”

This had me in stitches!!!

[Helena]

Screenshots from the first few chapters:

A rude awakening
Fire and Ice
Look out, Mournhold...

[mALX]

Screenshots from the first few chapters:

A rude awakening
Fire and Ice
Look out, Mournhold...

My favorite is "A Rude Awakening" - Ada is beautiful in all her shots, but that one accents her best features! I love getting these screenies !!!! It is a real enhancement to the story!!!

[treydog]

Poor Ada- it is a terrible thing to have personal problems so bad that hunting down the DB seems like a pleasant alternative. But that is one of the strengths of your story- those factions and feelings- political and personal- did not magically go away with the death of Dagoth Ur.

“Mournhold!” a voice growled behind me. “City of Light! City of Magic!” I turned sharply round and found myself staring at one of the Ordinator-alikes. I swear they do that just to scare people.

Hey, at least it’s a little better than- “We’re watching you- scum.”

I

looked at him incredulously. “I look like a male Dunmer?”

Now, now- don’t get bogged down by petty details…

I might as well have unfurled a huge banner saying “Look Out, Mournhold: Ada Ventura Is Here!”

No one expects--- Ada Ventura!

I doubted that was going to happen, unless she was into guys who hung out in sewers and worshipped the Night Mother.

Let's not be judgmental...

[Helena]

Chapter 3: O Brother Where Art Thou

Godsreach was an upmarket residential district, its tidy, well-kept streets lined with imposing two-storey mansions. It was far too small to be the only housing district in Mournhold, so I guessed this was just where the wealthiest citizens lived. It was quite impressive – though nothing compared to the Imperial City, I thought, with patriotic pride.

But there was something about the place – the whole of Mournhold, in fact – that made me feel slightly uneasy. Maybe it was the high walls that surrounded each district, blocking out the view of the outside world. Maybe it was the fact that everything felt a little too clean and shiny. Or maybe it was the High Ordinators that lurked on every corner, watching you like a hawk from behind those creepy face-shaped helmets.

The Winged Guar was in the north-west and wasn’t hard to find, as there were quite a few people outside on the terrace enjoying the warm weather. The large buildings nearby seemed to be public halls of some kind – I’d have to check those out if I got the time.

Inside the Winged Guar were a good number of outlanders as well as native Dunmer, and I counted at least one of almost every race (me included). I was a little surprised to see that the guy behind the bar was a Khajiit – not that it’s especially unusual for Khajiit to run taverns, but I hadn’t really expected to see it in an upper-class Indoril district. However, when I spoke to Ra’tesh (that was his name), he told me that the actual owner was an Altmer named Hession.

I’d had a tiring day, mentally as well as physically, so I rented a bed from Hession and went to bed as soon as I’d bathed and had dinner. My room contained three single beds and not much else – it looked like a dorm in the Fighters’ Guild, only more comfortable. Before going to sleep, I locked the door carefully and dragged one of the bedside tables in front of it. I wasn’t really expecting to be attacked by assassins that night, but if they did try anything, at least I’d hear them coming.

But none came. The next morning, after a hearty breakfast, I went to the Bazaar and asked the Redguard smith there about mercenaries in Mournhold. Since I didn’t want to let on that I was planning to hire one, I pretended I was looking for mercenary work myself.

“Well, there’s plenty of work around,” he told me. “With all the troubles on Vvardenfell, any decent mercenaries demand fancy wages there, and get them, no questions asked. Doesn’t leave much choice around here for hiring. That Imperial fellow at the Palace, Calvus Horatius, is the only one I know about.”

“Calvus Horatius?”

“He’s new to Mournhold. No reputation, no references – but he looks like a veteran, and has an honest face.”

I thanked him and set off for the Royal Palace, guessing correctly that I’d find Calvus in the courtyard. He was a stocky Imperial man in his early thirties, with auburn hair and dark-blue eyes – probably Colovian, then. His gear was fairly simple – chainmail armour and an Imperial steel broadsword – but as the smith had said, he looked like a veteran. It was something about the way he held himself.

We stood there for a few seconds, sizing each other up, and then he smiled at me. I smiled back.

“If you’re looking for someone to watch your back, I’m available for hire.” He didn’t sound very hopeful.

“I was, as a matter of fact.”

“Really? I’m surprised. You look like you can take care of yourself.”

I couldn’t help feeling rather pleased. It was a long time since I’d had an honest compliment from someone who a) knew what they were talking about and didn’t already know who I was. “I can, but I still have to sleep now and again. I need someone to guard me from attacks by the Dark Brotherhood.”

He drew a sharp, hissing breath. “The Brotherhood? Wow. How did you get mixed up with… hold on, I probably don’t want to know, do I?”

“I wouldn’t be able to tell you even if you did,” I said, shrugging. “I’ve no idea who hired them to kill me. I’m hoping I might find some answers in their lair down in the sewers. Do you know your way around down there?”

“I do, as it happens. That is, I’ve never been to the Brotherhood hideout myself, but I can take you there… if you pay me enough.” He held out a hand. “Calvus Horatius, by the way.”

“Ada Ventura.” He didn’t react to the name. That was fine by me; I certainly didn’t feel like explaining my whole life story.

“Well, my fee is 250 septims for 30 days. I’ve got my own gear and gold, but you could always buy me better gear if you want to improve my effectiveness. Think of it as an investment in your future,” he added with a wink.

250 septims a month wasn’t a bad deal – it was roughly what I used to make in Cyrodiil, before any extra loot I managed to scavenge along the way. “Okay,” I said. “Deal. Here’s half the money, and I’ll pay you the rest once the contract is up, presuming you manage to keep me alive.”

“At your service, ma’am. He saluted smartly, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. I liked the guy already.

We headed off to the Bazaar to buy Calvus some better gear. Unfortunately the smith’s selection wasn’t great – mostly low-grade iron and steel stuff – but I didn’t have time to search around town for something better. I outfitted him with iron greaves, boots and pauldrons, and then we set off to find the sewer entrance.

Calvus told me a bit about himself as we went. He was Colovian, as I’d guessed, and he’d grown up in a small village near the city of Skingrad before joining the Legion as a guard. He was a bit evasive about how he’d ended up in Morrowind, and I didn’t press him to tell me. We all had our skeletons in the closet, after all.

“What about you?” he asked. “Hold on, let me guess. You’re too pale to be a Heartlander, and your accent… hmm, Chorrol?”

I laughed. “Close. I was based there for a few years, so I guess I must have picked up the accent. I actually grew up in the Imperial City.”

“Ah. Nibenese.”

There was just something about the way he said it that set up my hackles. “Is that a problem?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“No, no,” he said innocently, but I could tell he wasn’t going to let this go. We Nibenese – people from south-eastern Cyrodiil and the Heartlands – have always been at odds with the Colovians of the north and west. It’s a friendly rivalry these days, but still a rivalry.

We’d almost reached the sewer grate when it occurred to me that I was running low on Cure Poison potions. Considering who we were about to fight, it would probably be a good idea to fix that. There were a bunch of indoor shops in the Bazaar as well as the open-air stalls, but I wasn’t sure if any of them sold potions. A young Dunmer in Western-style clothing was hanging around nearby, so I decided to ask him.

“Excuse me,” I said. The man turned towards me, and his face lit up.

“Well, hel-lo there,” he growled. “Aren’t you a tasty dish? You must be new to Mournhold – I’d have recognized that beautiful face otherwise.” He swept an overly-elaborate bow in my direction. “Fons Beren at your service, milady. A man who loves beautiful women.”

I nearly burst out laughing. He couldn’t be for real, surely? He sounded like Crassius Curio with a bad chest infection.

“Nice to meet you, er... Fons,” I said, managing to keep a straight face. “I was wondering if – ”

“Yes indeed,” he interrupted. “A great lover, by all accounts – feel free to ask around, of course. But let’s not waste any more time. Shall we skip the formalities, and just head back to my manor?”

I heard a choking sound from Calvus behind me, followed by what sounded like a heavy coughing fit. B*stard.

“Don’t worry about my friend,” I said loudly to the puzzled-looking Fons. “He can’t help it. Colovian, you know. Anyway… I’m sorry, Fons, but I already have a boyfriend. Besides, you’re… not really my type.”

“Not your type? Take another look, baby – I’m every woman’s type!” I gave him a Look. “…No, eh? Well, do you have any cute friends?”

I thought briefly of Marena Gilnith, but instantly dismissed the idea. The poor girl hadn’t done anything to deserve this. “No, sorry. I don’t know anyone else in Mournhold.”

“Well, I suppose that figures.” He sighed. “You know what they say about the cute ones – they always have ugly friends, anyway. But, ah, let me know if you should happen to run into any cute girls, will you? I’m sure they’d be anxious to find out what you’re going to miss out on...”

I murmured something non-committal and turned away, deciding I could do without the extra potions. We hadn’t even got into the sewers yet, and already I felt like I needed a bath.

Calvus was still grinning as we walked towards the sewers. “If you want me to pretend to be your lover, ‘milady’, you’re going to have to pay me extra.”

“What?” Suddenly I realised what he meant. “Oh… no, I really do have a boyfriend. In fact, we’re engaged… well, sort of.”

“How can you be ‘sort of’ engaged?”

I didn’t exactly feel like telling him the whole story. “He’s… a Redoran nobleman’s son. His family aren’t happy about it.”

“Ah.” He didn’t ask me anything more.

The Khajiit woman I’d seen the day before was still hanging around in the sewer entrance. She didn’t look pleased to see me and Calvus, but she didn’t attack us either. “Nice day for it,” I said, keeping my hand on my sword hilt.

The woman scowled. “Ahnia does not know you, so Ahnia has nothing to say to you.”

“Fine. You leave us alone and we’ll leave you alone, OK?” She shrugged, and said nothing. I kept a wary eye on her until Calvus and I had rounded the corner.

We retraced the route I’d taken the day before, Calvus leading the way. I mentioned how weird it was that the sewers didn’t really look like sewers. “That’s because they’re not,” he said.

“No?”

“Well… not originally, at least. It’s a sewer now, but most of the tunnels down here are actually what’s left of Old Mournhold. The place was destroyed at the end of the First Era, and the new city was built on top of it.”

“Really?” I shivered. It was slightly creepy to think we were walking through the ruins of a buried, forgotten city.

By now we had almost reached the place where I’d seen skeletons earlier, and I could hear them rattling around in the distance. No point trying to sneak past this time – I had a Chameleon amulet, but Calvus didn’t. He watched with interest as I carefully drew my glass frostsword from its sheath.

“Nice sword.” He winked. “Like me to show you how to hold it?”

I glared at him. “No, but I’ll tell you where you can shove it, tomato-grower.”

“I’ll thank you not to insult my proud tomato-growing heritage, city girl. Besides – ”

We must have been whispering a little too loudly, because at that moment I heard an echoey roar and the sound of skeletal footsteps clattering towards us. Both of us grabbed our swords and prepared to attack, forgetting our regional differences for a moment.

Fighting side by side, it didn’t take the two of us long to clear out all the skeletons. Most of them carried weapons as old and mouldy as their ‘bodies’, but one had a silver katana that was in relatively good condition. I pulled it out of his bony hand and handed it to Calvus with a flourish.

“There,” I said with a wink. “Now you won’t need to be jealous of mine.”

“Thanks.” He took a rag from his pocket and attempted to wipe the blade. “Where’d you get that glass thing, anyway?”

“I found it in a cave.”

“What, just lying around?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” I said, shrugging. “It’s amazing what you can find just lying around in caves in Vvardenfell.”

“Ah yes, Vvardenfell. Land of milk and honey.” He sighed. “I should have headed that way myself, shouldn’t I?”

By this time we’d reached the chamber with two exits. “This is as far as I got yesterday,” I whispered to Calvus. “Know which one leads to the Dark Brotherhood?”

He nodded, and pointed towards the lower passage – the one that was half-filled with water. I groaned. “Think it’s shallow enough to wade through?”

“I doubt it. I haven’t tried it myself, but I hear the water’s twelve foot deep in places.”

We exchanged glances. “Crap. Oh well, I guess there’s only one thing for it.”

Calvus folded his arms and grinned as I began to unbuckle my armour. “Well, it didn’t take you long to start getting your kit off,” he remarked. “I mean, I’d heard things about Nibenese women, but – ”

I lunged at him, but he dodged the blow. “Hey! I’m supposed to be protecting you, remember? Besides, that was just payback for the ‘tomato-grower’ comment.”

Rolling my eyes, I turned away and ducked behind a pillar to finish undressing. I finally emerged, stripped down to my underwear, to find Calvus had done the same. He was strongly-built and muscular, and I felt an instant flutter of attraction towards him. In the past I wouldn’t have minded, but now it made me uncomfortable – it felt like a betrayal of Varvur.

Calvus’ reaction to seeing me near-naked was a bit less subtle. “Holy sh*t.”

He was staring directly at my chest. My hands were already balling into fists when I realised what he was actually looking at – the scars. “What the hell did that? A werewolf?”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” I said stiffly. Even half a year on, I was still self-conscious about those scars. Besides, if I had to explain all about Dagoth Ur and the Nerevarine prophecies now, we’d be here for the next month.

Swimming across that underground lake, carrying our armour and weapons across piece by piece, was a long and tedious process. If either of us found it sexy to start with, we definitely didn’t by the end. It was a major relief when we could finally get out of the water, dry ourselves off and put our gear back on.

A little way down the next sewer ‘street’, Calvus suddenly caught at my arm. “Hold on. I thought I heard something.”

I strained my ears to hear. Yes, that definitely sounded like footsteps somewhere beyond the next corner. I motioned to Calvus to take point, and he carefully peeked round the corner, hiding behind a large rock which had crushed half the passage.

A few moments later he drew his head back. “Dark Elf woman,” he whispered. “Looking the other way, so she’s probably not a lookout. Doesn’t look armed, but she might be a mage or have a dagger or something.”

I thought for a moment, then scrabbled around in my pouch for the Chameleon ring which Larrius Varro had given me as a ‘present’. I handed it to Calvus, who nodded and slipped it onto his finger. The enchantment wasn’t powerful enough to keep the woman from seeing him, but it would allow him to sneak up on her without being heard.

Calvus hurried forward, whilst I crept along several paces behind him. As soon as he reached the woman he grabbed her from behind, clamping a hand over her mouth and pressing his blade against her throat. “Scream, and you’re dead.”

I hurried up to join them as he loosened his grip on her mouth. “Okay, girl, you got any weapons? If so, you’d better tell me about them right now.”

The woman shook her head, obviously too terrified to speak. She was middle-aged, rather haggard-looking, and wore nothing apart from a dirty green robe – not even shoes. I got the feeling our ‘prisoner’ was just some poor beggar who’d made her home down in the sewers.

“Wh- who are you?” she finally managed to stammer.

“Doesn’t matter,” I said sharply. “Who are you, and what are you doing down here?”

“N- Narisa Adus.” She was quivering like a pile of jelly. “You frightened me! I thought you were members of the Black Dart Gang!”

I frowned. “The Black Dart Gang?”

“I think I’ve heard of them.” Calvus relaxed his grip on Narisa, but kept his sword near to her throat. “They look like harmless beggars, and they hang out in the sewers, waiting to ambush adventurers who come out of the ruins loaded with loot. They use darts – deadly poisons, enchantments, that sort of thing. Never heard of anything so evil.”

Narisa nodded. “They ambushed my lover and me in the Temple Sewers. Variner held them off while I ran, and when I turned to look back, he was down.” Her voice shook. “Now Variner’s ghost comes to me at night, begging me to come to him, to rescue him. He says he has a message for me... but I can’t go down there. They’d kill me for sure.”

I exchanged glances with Calvus. “Is that why you’re down here?”

“Yes.” Tears were running down her cheeks. “I’ve been here for days. If only I could see Variner’s ghost, and speak with him... but I’m not even sure exactly where he is. I – I don’t suppose…?”

Oh bloody hell, no. I was not going to get sidetracked with another bunch of random favours for total strangers. Besides, I wasn’t even sure if her story was true – though if the smell of her was anything to go by, it might well be.

“If I happen to run across your lover’s ghost,” I said at last, “I’ll definitely try to get his message. But I’m not making any promises. Let her go, Calvus.” He lowered his sword cautiously. “No sudden movements, OK? And don’t even think about trying anything funny while our backs are turned.”

She shook her head, then pointed towards the large gate just in front of us. “If you’re going down there, be careful. I think the Dark Brotherhood live in these caves. They never come this way, but I’ve sometimes heard them talking behind the door.”

So we’d found what we were looking for. That was something, at least.

Inside the gate, some steps led down into another passageway carved out of natural rock. Calvus and I hadn’t gone far before we heard more footsteps and voices in the distance. Using Larrius’ ring for concealment, Calvus went ahead to scout out the terrain, and was back within about half a minute. “Two guards, looking right this way.”

“Okay, let me deal with this.” I cast the Amulet of Shadows – hoping this would be the last time I’d need to use it – and slipped round the corner, running silently up to the two Brotherhood guards. Like the two who’d been sent to kill me, they wore black leather armour which completely covered their heads and bodies – and that gave me an idea.

I slipped around the back of the first assassin, who was standing slightly behind the other, and used the good old Star of the West power to silently knock him out. The other one didn’t even notice. Then I snatched up the biggest, heaviest-looking rock I could find, crept up behind the second assassin and hit him with every ounce of strength I could muster. Not even the leather helmet was enough to protect him from the force of the blow.

I pulled off the unconscious guards’ helmets and bashed their heads in a few more times – nasty, but I couldn’t risk them waking up again – then hurried back to Calvus. “OK, I’ve knocked them both out, so we can take their uniforms. I had to use my Star of the West, though – so don’t waste yours unless you absolutely need it.”

Calvus raised an eyebrow. “Resourceful. Shall we dump our own gear somewhere outside, then?”

“Good idea. We don’t want the Brotherhood to find it.”

We went back into the sewers and hastily pulled off our armour in front of an astonished-looking Narisa, then hurried back to the guards and stripped them of their armour. Luckily the uniforms fitted us both reasonably well – well enough for us to pass as Brotherhood members, anyway. “Here,” I said to Calvus, handing him my Divine Intervention amulet. “Use this if we need to get out in a hurry.”

“What if someone tries to talk to us?”

“Mmm… good point.” I mulled it over for a while, until a thought suddenly occurred to me. “Never mind, I’ll handle it. Just let me do the talking.”

Calvus looked skeptical, but didn’t object. We walked on, picking our way over fallen columns and stonework that littered the rocky ground – relics of Old Mournhold, I guess – until the passage ended abruptly at the entrance to a vast cavern.

Calvus and I found ourselves staring down into what looked like an ancient courtyard, half-buried in rock. The few remaining buildings were mostly in ruins, but a few were still standing – they had a strange, twisty conical shape, like swirls of ice-cream. Black-clad Dark Brotherhood members stood, walked and talked amongst the ruins. It looked almost like a normal city street scene, except that the ‘street’ was underground and the ‘citizens’ were all assassins.

“Gods,” Calvus breathed. “There must be dozens of them.”

I nodded grimly. There was no way we could possibly fight them all at once. “What now?” he whispered.

“Not sure.” I paused. “We look for whoever’s in charge, I guess.”

“Where shall we start?”

On a ledge just below us, at the bottom of a rickety wooden ladder, was one of those strange swirly buildings. “Let’s try there,” I murmured. “Try to act natural, but be prepared to fight.”

We made our way down the ladder and through the heavy, circular stone door that led into the building. The two Brotherhood assassins standing nearby didn’t seem to notice anything, which was a good sign. As soon as we entered the building, I cast the enchantment from the amulet Meryn Othralas had given me – the one that was supposed to improve my acting skills.

The building, which seemed to be the remains of some old manor house, was littered with rocks and debris. The Brotherhood had hung glowing red lights around the place, giving it that extra touch of cliché – gods, what a bunch of posers they were. Clearly the stories I’d read about them hadn’t been exaggerated.

Most of the Brothers in the house just nodded to us or ignored us as we passed, but as we approached another of those round stone doors, two guards blocked our way. “What do you want with Vules, brothers?” one of them said in Dunmeris.

I crossed my fingers, praying this would work. Thank Akatosh I’d taken all those extra language lessons with Varvur. “Urgent message for him,” I replied, hoping I was right to assume that ‘Vules’ was a man.

It worked! My voice actually sounded like a male Dunmer’s throaty growl. The guard hesitated for a moment. “What’s the message?”

“I can’t tell you, brother. It’s for his ears only.” I was using as few words as possible, trying not to make any grammatical errors.

The guard sighed. “All right. Be quick. You know he doesn’t like to be...” I didn’t recognise the next word, but I assumed it was ‘disturbed’.

The moment we were inside the room, I quickly recast the enchantment. “How did you do that?” Calvus whispered.

“Shh. I’ll tell you later.”

We rounded a corner and found ourselves in a makeshift bedroom, with a fire in one corner and several bedrolls spread over the floor. The man called ‘Vules’ was sitting on a bench, reading a book. He wore full Dark Brotherhood armour, but without a helmet.

I cleared my throat, and Vules looked up. “Yes?” he said sharply. “What do you want?”

“A message for you, brother.” I thought quickly. “It’s… about the Ventura contract.”

Vules tensed up immediately; it was obvious that he recognised the name. “What about it?”

“The last two attempts failed. The ‘client’ isn’t happy about it.”

He ground his teeth. “His Majesty is well aware that this is… a difficult assignment. There is no need for him to be concerned. If he needs reassurance, I will – ”

I wasn’t listening. His first two words had driven everything else out of my head. “His Majesty?” I blurted out, realising too late that I had spoken in Tamrielic – and with my own voice.

Vules’ eyes bulged out. In the half-second it took him to realise what was going on, Calvus had stepped forward and cast his own ‘Star of the West’ spell. The assassin staggered backwards, grasping weakly at his sword, but didn’t collapse altogether.

I couldn’t risk him shouting for help, and there wasn’t time to think of another plan. As he began to draw his sword, I seized my own blade and thrust it into his chest, aiming for the heart. The sword slipped from his fingers and he clutched at his chest, opening and closing his mouth in a desperate attempt to speak.

“No...” he gasped. “Tell my liege... I have... failed h...”

His eyes went blank all of a sudden, and he slumped to the ground. My liege?

“Damn.” I spun round to face Calvus. “Quick. Search this place for books, documents, anything like that. We need to get out of here fast.”

He nodded and began to look around by the bedrolls, while I quickly searched Vules’ pockets. Buried deep in one of his pockets was a folded piece of paper. I quickly opened it out and read the contents, which were in Tamrielic and signed with an official-looking seal:

The Bearer of this document, under special dispensation of the Night Mother, who has entered in a contract in perpetuity with H, is given special dispensation to execute Ada Ventura, an Imperial recently residing on the island of Vvardenfell. In accordance with all laws and traditions, the afore-mentioned personage will be executed in the name of H in the most expedient manner possible. All services of the Dark Brotherhood are at the disposal of the Bearer of this binding and non-disputable document.

I stared blankly at the page in my hand, my mind a whirl. ‘H’? “His Majesty… tell my liege I have failed him…” What was the new king’s name again? Helseth…

I swallowed hard. Calvus’ hand grasped my shoulder. “Ada? Have you found what you need? We should leave before they get suspicious.”

“Yes. I’ve found it.” I folded the paper and slipped it into my pouch, then quickly wiped off my sword. “Okay, let’s go.”

We headed back out through the door, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. I wondered how long it would take the Brotherhood to find out what had happened. Hopefully not until we were well out of this place.

As soon as we got back to the passage where we’d left the guards’ bodies, we stripped off the Brotherhood armour. Then we hurried back into the sewers, where we put our own armour back on as quickly as possible. Narisa Adus watched us, quaking.

“Just a hint,” I said to her, as we were about to leave. “I think some of the Dark Brothers may be coming this way soon. You might want to hide yourself.” She hurried off with a faint squeak.

Calvus and I cast our Divine Intervention spells, and found ourselves inside an Imperial shrine. From the look of the place it was part of the Royal Palace. Before I could do more than glance around, Calvus pulled me out through a nearby door into the courtyard where I’d first met him. I’d lost track of time down in the sewers, but it seemed to be mid-afternoon.

“Sweet Mara.” He leaned back against the wall, mopping his brow. “I can’t believe we got out of that place alive. So what did the letter say?”

“We can’t discuss it here,” I said shortly. “Come with me.” I dragged him through the gate into the Plaza Brindisi Dorom, and we walked to a secluded spot well away from any of the guards. Then, without another word, I handed him the contract.

His face turned pale. “Holy…! Ada, do you realise whose seal this is?”

“I don’t, but I can probably guess,” I said. “The Royal Family of Mournhold, right?”

He nodded rather grimly. “My liege… Good gods. I don’t know how you’ve managed to piss off the King, but you seem to have done it pretty thoroughly.” He paused for a moment. “You know that people say he – ”

“ – poisoned loads of people, yes.”

“And murdered the old King. And the old King’s heir.”

“What?”

“Talen Vandas, Llethan’s nephew. He was very popular with the people, and they say Llethan was grooming him for the throne. Then he was killed in a hunting ‘accident’, not long after Helseth arrived in Mournhold.” Calvus shook his head. “I wish I’d known about this before we settled our fee. I’d have charged you double.”

I said nothing. A cold, sick feeling was spreading over my entire body, but it wasn’t fear. It was anger.

“Well, what do we do now?” Calvus said eventually. “I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted. And hungry. And I wouldn’t mind a bath either.”

I wondered briefly why I didn’t feel tired, and then realised that it was the ring Azura had given me. It had an enchantment which kept my stamina levels high. I didn’t wear it much except on missions; otherwise I’d forget to sleep.

“Okay,” I said at last. “Let’s have some dinner, and a bath. Then I need to write a letter to someone.”

“And what then?”

“Then…” I smiled grimly. “We pay His Majesty the King a little visit.”

Calvus’ face was an absolute picture. “Lead on, my lady,” he said hoarsely.

This post has been edited by Helena: Nov 9 2010, 12:45 PM