I was saddened when Retnarr did not initially escape with Delphine. I figured the guards would torture him for info as soon as they realized his cellmate was missing. Then, lo and behold, Retnarr figured that out all by himself – and taking out a guard to gain time, weapons and a map was a great idea.
Well, the good news is they know where they want to go and generally the way to get there. The bad news is the Thalmor have clearly learned of their escape and are actively searching for them. Nirnroot muck to shield from detection? Worth a try I guess.
Full Version: Of Eagles and Dragons
Yeah, he's a bit stubborn, as Delphine already noted. 
=====================
Chapter XXXIII – Stuck in the Mire
Saying that Linneá and Gwyndala were in uncharted waters would be the understatement of several Tamrielic eras. Nothing in this life, or a previous one, could have prepared either one of them for the situation they had become immersed in: sitting in a chitinous hut with a Snow Elf, three Falmer chieftains, and a Falmer woman whom they assumed was a shaman of some kind. She held a remarkably indescribable staff adorned with dark feathers and even darker onyx while the male chieftains were armed with more traditional swords and axes.
The tribal representatives also either didn’t get the memo from Gelebor regarding their impending arrival or simply couldn’t set aside centuries of instinct in defending themselves against intruders upon their normally deep realms. Initial introductions may have ended in a far bloodier manner had Gwyn not flexed more of her supplemental and hitherto unseen forest magic by causing a wall of vines to erupt from the ground and form a barricade between the two women and the growling onslaught of hatred from the fallen elves.
Gwyn’s heart thumped loudly against her ribs as Gelebor tried to calm the Falmer leaders down before they hacked through the leafy barrier and she and Linneá were forced to defend themselves. Lightning filled her palms but the sight of the younger Nord patiently waiting with a practiced confidence helped ease her nerves.
“You’re not worried, Linn?” she asked while the magick faded from her grasp.
“We have to trust Gelebor knows what he is doing. And the less hostile we appear, the better.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then we leave. I can slow down time with the Thu’m and we’ll recall someplace safe.” Linneá smiled reassuringly at the Breton. “But if it does come to that, we probably ought to have a place in mind. Elysium?”
“Uh, sure.”
“Good. Now then… chin up, sis. You’ll be the one inheriting this mess – best to stand tall and flex that natural aura of regality.”
Gwyn snorted loudly. “Yeah, that’s me alright. Ya know, just because I’m from High Rock doesn’t mean that I’m born from nobility, Linn.”
“I agree, Gwynnie,” she winked. “But whether you intended it or not, the air of confidence and self-reliance you’ve cultivated over the years gives you a measure of command that few can ignore. I’m pretty sure even my brother will do whatever his queen tells him to.”
“He will if he knows what’s good for him.”
Linneá laughed appreciatively. She looked forward to many long years with her growing family, and she knew that Serana and Salihn did as well. Not a day went by that their daughter didn’t ask Serana where her mum and Auntie Gwyn had gone to – and when they would be back. The end felt tantalizingly within Linneá and Gwyn’s grasp, but an instinct they both readily agreed on was that this felt like the beginning of something much more. And now that Cain had discovered Thalmor influence surrounding the disappearance of Delphine, a worrisome picture had begun to paint itself.
Of course, that all depended on whether or not the Falmer thrashing at Gwyn’s impressively dense wall of vines would cease their blood lust. Figuring any additional overtures to peace would help reduce tension, Linneá slid her tanto out of her belt and made sure the chieftains saw her toss it out of the hut and into the snow.
“We’re going to try something different, Gwyn.” Moving forward until she stood front and center, Linneá knelt on one knee with open palms. “Retract the vines, sis.”
“Yeah, no, I’m not getting you killed. We can wait until they calm down.”
Linneá glanced back with a hardened resolve in her eyes. “That wasn’t a suggestion. If you’d prefer it, I can command you to do so. Let’s not forget whose father is High King.”
The intensity she levied at Gwyn caught the Breton off-guard. There were only a few instances in the time they’d known each other that Linneá set aside her easy-going nature, and this was certainly one of them. Gwyn understood in that moment how Cain’s sister had earned the respect she garnered in Solitude, and why those around her relied on Linneá in their times of need. This was a woman fully confident in her abilities who knew exactly what it took to see a goal through to completion.
Gwyn raised her hand and brought it down with a deft pull that dragged the vines back into the ground.
Sword mid-stroke, the foremost of the three Falmer leaders leapt forward and halted the swing of his blade a hair’s breadth from Linneá’s exposed throat. Gwyn held her breath while unseeing eyes regarded them both. The Falmer’s ears twitched and he snuffled at the pair of humans to sus out whether or not they would be a threat to the stunted leaders gathered before them.
Tense seconds stretched on for eternity until, seemingly satisfied, the Wisewoman thumped the aggressor on his back with her staff and issued a guttural hiss. The three Falmer men finally retreated to their initial positions at the back of the hut.
“That was an excellent display of intent, Mrs. Linneá. Masterfully done.”
“Not my first time,” she said. “Thanks, Gelebor. I’ll let you take it from here.”
After a long day of little progress, Linneá and Gwyn sat in their tent huddled around a conjured flame floating perilously above their very flammable linen blankets. Gwyn eagerly warmed her hands over the flickering heat source while Linneá eyed it dubiously.
“I still don’t think that’s a good idea, Gwyn.”
“Too [censored] bad. I’m tired of being cold all the time.”
“What if it spreads?”
“It can’t. The moment my concentration snaps it will dispel.”
Were it anyone else, Linneá might have argued further. But Gwyn’s mastery over magick, especially now that her destruction spells were no longer corrupted, surpassed even Linneá’s own, and her sister surprised her at every turn with the variety of castings in her arsenal.
Still… a little teasing never hurt.
“Fine. Just don’t catch my hair on fire. It’s taken me a while to grow it out.” She twirled the ponytail that fell midway down her back with a cocky grin.
Gwyn flicked her finger out and a small jet of fire shot towards Linneá and vanished in a wisp of smoke just before it got too close. It caught Linneá unawares, and she slid backward with a mildly startled gasp.
“Don’t tease if you can’t take it yourself,” giggled Gwyn.
“That was a bit too close for comfort, Gwynnie. What would you have done if my hair had caught on fire?”
A deep, emerald-green magick flickered to life in Gwyn’s palm and Linneá frowned.
“No messing with time, sis. It’s not natural.”
“Useful, though.” She snuffed out the spell and then dispelled her heat source. “There, I feel much better now. Got anything other than dried meat left in your pack?”
“Um. Dried fruit?”
“No thanks. Wish I’d thought to throw some real food in my storage chest. And some brandy.”
“Oh, I’ve got brandy,” said Linneá. “For when we succeed, that is.”
“You say that like it’s a foregone conclusion, Linn.”
“It has to be.”
Gwyn nodded lamely while Linneá passed her the few strips of cured venison and handful of dried apple slices that served as their supper after a long day. She chewed on the meat mechanically while retreating into her mind where she could converse with the one person she longed to be with again. To be held in the strong embrace of.
Linneá recognized the vacant look in Gwyn’s eyes and decided she would do just the same.
Days continued to roll by with only fractional steps forward accumulating for the royal diplomats of the High King, and by the end of each of those days Gwyn’s deep admiration for Linneá’s patience grew more and more pronounced. They were only allowed to enter the tribal leader’s hut for less than two hours in the evenings, which gave them very little time to discuss what drove the Falmer out of their homes – a subject they very much did not want to recount to Gelebor, despite his desperate attempts to extract that direly important information.
“I thought you would have known already,” admitted Linneá. The three of them were enjoying a lunchtime tea in Darkfall Cave in preparation for another trying session. “What with the Falmer showing up out of the blue.”
“They are very fearful of the entire affair,” replied Gelebor. “I suspect something very grim has happened to those they left behind.”
“Maybe you need to be more direct,” suggested Gwyn. “They listen to you, but I don’t feel like they respect you. From what I can tell, the Betrayed respond well to direct overtures – like the way Linn showed we weren’t a threat. Or how the Wisewoman battered that chief with her staff to back him off. Why not demand more? It would show them that you carry an authority of your own.”
Linneá sipped thoughtfully from her tea and wondered how Gelebor would take that advice. Thus far, he didn’t seem to think very highly of Gwyn and often remarked to her that the diminutive woman’s brashness could interrupt the delicate dance they weaved with the Falmer leaders. She didn’t disagree with Gwyn, but Linneá felt there was a sort of futility in trying to change the ways of someone who’s age approached incomprehensibility. These were Gelebor’s people, and trying to sway thousands and thousands of years of stoic rigidity in another direction might be as monumental a task as the one they already found themselves grappling with.
And the Snow Elf proved her point seconds after Gwyn finished offering her advice.
“Your opinion is noted, Ms. Gwyndala, but I do not see that as a feasible approach.”
“Course you don’t,” she grumbled. She caught an apologetic glance from Linneá and shrugged her shoulders.
Under normal circumstances, Gwyn likely would have snapped by now and unloaded on the poor, unsuspecting soul who would cast her off as an inconsequential part of these delicate proceedings. Another cog in the wheel, as it were. But she understood the importance of what they were doing and was loathe to be the reason Linneá failed where she normally succeeded.
Gwyn excused herself from the tea table Gelebor had set up in his humble abode by the first Wayshrine and went for a stroll around the wide cave, carefully avoiding the frigid pools of water that could not escape the harsh winter of Skyrim even so far underground. When she disappeared around a confluence of stalagmites and stalactites, Linneá chided the Snow Elf in as friendly a manner as she could muster.
“Don’t be so dismissive of my sister, Gelebor. There’s wisdom in her words.”
“I will not insult my kin with hostility,” he countered. “Ms. Gwyndala is too combative to understand the nuances of dealing with the Betrayed. The slightest misstep could cause them to even turn on myself, and then all would be lost.”
“I would argue that all will be lost if we do not try every tool at our disposal,” said Linneá. “You have to admit… we’ve accomplished little. I’m not gonna celebrate them not wanting to murder us for existing as progress, Gelebor. The Falmer need to tell us what they know.”
“And what would they get in return?” he asked. “Further bloodshed when the Nords learn of this enclave? The entrance to the Vale is in a defensible position, but the Betrayed lack the numbers to defend themselves in the open were an assault to reach the frozen lake.”
“It’ll never come to that, Gelebor. You have my word.”
“Forgive me if I don’t take it on this matter. The Nords are famous for their historical atrocities.”
“All I can ask is that you trust me. Serana and I proved our honor years ago and we are not outliers. My father is leading Skyrim into a new future, and soon my brother, and Gwyn, will continue his legacy. A time is coming when we can all be at peace – if only people like you and I can build on what we’ve already accomplished together.”
Before he could respond, Gwyn drifted back to the table with a mischievous smile touching at her lips that Linneá knew all too well. Her sister had a plan, and she suspected it would involve a thorough dressing down of a certain pale elf who had deigned to dismiss someone with a chip on her shoulder.
“This is a waste of [censored] time,” spat Gwyn. She paced to and fro in agitation over the hard packed snow outside of the large Falmer hut they’d spent the better part of week in with little to show for it. “We aren’t getting anywhere, Linn!”
“I’m inclined to agree,” she sighed. “Like you said, they don’t seem to be listening to Gelebor.”
“Yeah, no [censored].”
“No need to get snippy with me, Gwyndala Louvain.”
Gwyn stopped her pacing and stared at Linneá. She’d never heard Linneá use her full name like that and for a the briefest of seconds Gwyn half expected to see Lydia standing there in her place. A cheeky grin replaced the frustration lining her face and it made Linneá’s eyebrow raise questioningly.
“What now?”
“You sounded just like your mother. It was uncanny.”
“Shut up.”
“That’s not a bad thing, Linn. Lydia is a wonderful person and she’s been more of a mother to me in the short time I’ve known her than my real mother ever could’ve hoped to be.” Gwyn wondered what would have garnered that response. She’d never known Linneá to be anything but close to her future mother-in-law, but there was an odd connotation to the way she had said ‘shut up’. Almost like an annoyance. “Is there something I don’t know about? Between you and Lydia I mean.”
“Nothing worth getting into,” said Linneá. “We had a rough patch some years ago, but it made us closer in the end.”
A finality lingered at the end of her statement that told Gwyn it wasn’t the time to dredge up the past. Instead, she focused back on the hut, and her frustration with Gelebor returned. The Snow Elf was still inside, pinching his throat and making guttural noises to no avail. Something had to be done, and Gwyn decided it was time for that something to happen.
“Linn?”
“Gwyn?”
“Do me a favor. Go take a walk for about, oh, five minutes or so.”
“Uh uh. No way. How can you expect me to skip out on a good verbal thrashing by the master?” she grinned deviously. “I’m staying right here.”
The fact that Linneá had already reasoned out where she was going with that didn’t surprise her at all. The more time she spent with Linneá and Serana, the more she realized they were on a very similar wavelength. A mental connection wasn’t even necessary, although Gwyn did find herself wondering sometimes what that would be like between two individuals who loved each other platonically.
That notion could wait. For now, Gwyn had an elf to dress down.
Saying that Linneá and Gwyndala were in uncharted waters would be the understatement of several Tamrielic eras. Nothing in this life, or a previous one, could have prepared either one of them for the situation they had become immersed in: sitting in a chitinous hut with a Snow Elf, three Falmer chieftains, and a Falmer woman whom they assumed was a shaman of some kind. She held a remarkably indescribable staff adorned with dark feathers and even darker onyx while the male chieftains were armed with more traditional swords and axes.
The tribal representatives also either didn’t get the memo from Gelebor regarding their impending arrival or simply couldn’t set aside centuries of instinct in defending themselves against intruders upon their normally deep realms. Initial introductions may have ended in a far bloodier manner had Gwyn not flexed more of her supplemental and hitherto unseen forest magic by causing a wall of vines to erupt from the ground and form a barricade between the two women and the growling onslaught of hatred from the fallen elves.
Gwyn’s heart thumped loudly against her ribs as Gelebor tried to calm the Falmer leaders down before they hacked through the leafy barrier and she and Linneá were forced to defend themselves. Lightning filled her palms but the sight of the younger Nord patiently waiting with a practiced confidence helped ease her nerves.
“You’re not worried, Linn?” she asked while the magick faded from her grasp.
“We have to trust Gelebor knows what he is doing. And the less hostile we appear, the better.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then we leave. I can slow down time with the Thu’m and we’ll recall someplace safe.” Linneá smiled reassuringly at the Breton. “But if it does come to that, we probably ought to have a place in mind. Elysium?”
“Uh, sure.”
“Good. Now then… chin up, sis. You’ll be the one inheriting this mess – best to stand tall and flex that natural aura of regality.”
Gwyn snorted loudly. “Yeah, that’s me alright. Ya know, just because I’m from High Rock doesn’t mean that I’m born from nobility, Linn.”
“I agree, Gwynnie,” she winked. “But whether you intended it or not, the air of confidence and self-reliance you’ve cultivated over the years gives you a measure of command that few can ignore. I’m pretty sure even my brother will do whatever his queen tells him to.”
“He will if he knows what’s good for him.”
Linneá laughed appreciatively. She looked forward to many long years with her growing family, and she knew that Serana and Salihn did as well. Not a day went by that their daughter didn’t ask Serana where her mum and Auntie Gwyn had gone to – and when they would be back. The end felt tantalizingly within Linneá and Gwyn’s grasp, but an instinct they both readily agreed on was that this felt like the beginning of something much more. And now that Cain had discovered Thalmor influence surrounding the disappearance of Delphine, a worrisome picture had begun to paint itself.
Of course, that all depended on whether or not the Falmer thrashing at Gwyn’s impressively dense wall of vines would cease their blood lust. Figuring any additional overtures to peace would help reduce tension, Linneá slid her tanto out of her belt and made sure the chieftains saw her toss it out of the hut and into the snow.
“We’re going to try something different, Gwyn.” Moving forward until she stood front and center, Linneá knelt on one knee with open palms. “Retract the vines, sis.”
“Yeah, no, I’m not getting you killed. We can wait until they calm down.”
Linneá glanced back with a hardened resolve in her eyes. “That wasn’t a suggestion. If you’d prefer it, I can command you to do so. Let’s not forget whose father is High King.”
The intensity she levied at Gwyn caught the Breton off-guard. There were only a few instances in the time they’d known each other that Linneá set aside her easy-going nature, and this was certainly one of them. Gwyn understood in that moment how Cain’s sister had earned the respect she garnered in Solitude, and why those around her relied on Linneá in their times of need. This was a woman fully confident in her abilities who knew exactly what it took to see a goal through to completion.
Gwyn raised her hand and brought it down with a deft pull that dragged the vines back into the ground.
Sword mid-stroke, the foremost of the three Falmer leaders leapt forward and halted the swing of his blade a hair’s breadth from Linneá’s exposed throat. Gwyn held her breath while unseeing eyes regarded them both. The Falmer’s ears twitched and he snuffled at the pair of humans to sus out whether or not they would be a threat to the stunted leaders gathered before them.
Tense seconds stretched on for eternity until, seemingly satisfied, the Wisewoman thumped the aggressor on his back with her staff and issued a guttural hiss. The three Falmer men finally retreated to their initial positions at the back of the hut.
“That was an excellent display of intent, Mrs. Linneá. Masterfully done.”
“Not my first time,” she said. “Thanks, Gelebor. I’ll let you take it from here.”
-----
After a long day of little progress, Linneá and Gwyn sat in their tent huddled around a conjured flame floating perilously above their very flammable linen blankets. Gwyn eagerly warmed her hands over the flickering heat source while Linneá eyed it dubiously.
“I still don’t think that’s a good idea, Gwyn.”
“Too [censored] bad. I’m tired of being cold all the time.”
“What if it spreads?”
“It can’t. The moment my concentration snaps it will dispel.”
Were it anyone else, Linneá might have argued further. But Gwyn’s mastery over magick, especially now that her destruction spells were no longer corrupted, surpassed even Linneá’s own, and her sister surprised her at every turn with the variety of castings in her arsenal.
Still… a little teasing never hurt.
“Fine. Just don’t catch my hair on fire. It’s taken me a while to grow it out.” She twirled the ponytail that fell midway down her back with a cocky grin.
Gwyn flicked her finger out and a small jet of fire shot towards Linneá and vanished in a wisp of smoke just before it got too close. It caught Linneá unawares, and she slid backward with a mildly startled gasp.
“Don’t tease if you can’t take it yourself,” giggled Gwyn.
“That was a bit too close for comfort, Gwynnie. What would you have done if my hair had caught on fire?”
A deep, emerald-green magick flickered to life in Gwyn’s palm and Linneá frowned.
“No messing with time, sis. It’s not natural.”
“Useful, though.” She snuffed out the spell and then dispelled her heat source. “There, I feel much better now. Got anything other than dried meat left in your pack?”
“Um. Dried fruit?”
“No thanks. Wish I’d thought to throw some real food in my storage chest. And some brandy.”
“Oh, I’ve got brandy,” said Linneá. “For when we succeed, that is.”
“You say that like it’s a foregone conclusion, Linn.”
“It has to be.”
Gwyn nodded lamely while Linneá passed her the few strips of cured venison and handful of dried apple slices that served as their supper after a long day. She chewed on the meat mechanically while retreating into her mind where she could converse with the one person she longed to be with again. To be held in the strong embrace of.
Linneá recognized the vacant look in Gwyn’s eyes and decided she would do just the same.
-----
Days continued to roll by with only fractional steps forward accumulating for the royal diplomats of the High King, and by the end of each of those days Gwyn’s deep admiration for Linneá’s patience grew more and more pronounced. They were only allowed to enter the tribal leader’s hut for less than two hours in the evenings, which gave them very little time to discuss what drove the Falmer out of their homes – a subject they very much did not want to recount to Gelebor, despite his desperate attempts to extract that direly important information.
“I thought you would have known already,” admitted Linneá. The three of them were enjoying a lunchtime tea in Darkfall Cave in preparation for another trying session. “What with the Falmer showing up out of the blue.”
“They are very fearful of the entire affair,” replied Gelebor. “I suspect something very grim has happened to those they left behind.”
“Maybe you need to be more direct,” suggested Gwyn. “They listen to you, but I don’t feel like they respect you. From what I can tell, the Betrayed respond well to direct overtures – like the way Linn showed we weren’t a threat. Or how the Wisewoman battered that chief with her staff to back him off. Why not demand more? It would show them that you carry an authority of your own.”
Linneá sipped thoughtfully from her tea and wondered how Gelebor would take that advice. Thus far, he didn’t seem to think very highly of Gwyn and often remarked to her that the diminutive woman’s brashness could interrupt the delicate dance they weaved with the Falmer leaders. She didn’t disagree with Gwyn, but Linneá felt there was a sort of futility in trying to change the ways of someone who’s age approached incomprehensibility. These were Gelebor’s people, and trying to sway thousands and thousands of years of stoic rigidity in another direction might be as monumental a task as the one they already found themselves grappling with.
And the Snow Elf proved her point seconds after Gwyn finished offering her advice.
“Your opinion is noted, Ms. Gwyndala, but I do not see that as a feasible approach.”
“Course you don’t,” she grumbled. She caught an apologetic glance from Linneá and shrugged her shoulders.
Under normal circumstances, Gwyn likely would have snapped by now and unloaded on the poor, unsuspecting soul who would cast her off as an inconsequential part of these delicate proceedings. Another cog in the wheel, as it were. But she understood the importance of what they were doing and was loathe to be the reason Linneá failed where she normally succeeded.
Gwyn excused herself from the tea table Gelebor had set up in his humble abode by the first Wayshrine and went for a stroll around the wide cave, carefully avoiding the frigid pools of water that could not escape the harsh winter of Skyrim even so far underground. When she disappeared around a confluence of stalagmites and stalactites, Linneá chided the Snow Elf in as friendly a manner as she could muster.
“Don’t be so dismissive of my sister, Gelebor. There’s wisdom in her words.”
“I will not insult my kin with hostility,” he countered. “Ms. Gwyndala is too combative to understand the nuances of dealing with the Betrayed. The slightest misstep could cause them to even turn on myself, and then all would be lost.”
“I would argue that all will be lost if we do not try every tool at our disposal,” said Linneá. “You have to admit… we’ve accomplished little. I’m not gonna celebrate them not wanting to murder us for existing as progress, Gelebor. The Falmer need to tell us what they know.”
“And what would they get in return?” he asked. “Further bloodshed when the Nords learn of this enclave? The entrance to the Vale is in a defensible position, but the Betrayed lack the numbers to defend themselves in the open were an assault to reach the frozen lake.”
“It’ll never come to that, Gelebor. You have my word.”
“Forgive me if I don’t take it on this matter. The Nords are famous for their historical atrocities.”
“All I can ask is that you trust me. Serana and I proved our honor years ago and we are not outliers. My father is leading Skyrim into a new future, and soon my brother, and Gwyn, will continue his legacy. A time is coming when we can all be at peace – if only people like you and I can build on what we’ve already accomplished together.”
Before he could respond, Gwyn drifted back to the table with a mischievous smile touching at her lips that Linneá knew all too well. Her sister had a plan, and she suspected it would involve a thorough dressing down of a certain pale elf who had deigned to dismiss someone with a chip on her shoulder.
-----
“This is a waste of [censored] time,” spat Gwyn. She paced to and fro in agitation over the hard packed snow outside of the large Falmer hut they’d spent the better part of week in with little to show for it. “We aren’t getting anywhere, Linn!”
“I’m inclined to agree,” she sighed. “Like you said, they don’t seem to be listening to Gelebor.”
“Yeah, no [censored].”
“No need to get snippy with me, Gwyndala Louvain.”
Gwyn stopped her pacing and stared at Linneá. She’d never heard Linneá use her full name like that and for a the briefest of seconds Gwyn half expected to see Lydia standing there in her place. A cheeky grin replaced the frustration lining her face and it made Linneá’s eyebrow raise questioningly.
“What now?”
“You sounded just like your mother. It was uncanny.”
“Shut up.”
“That’s not a bad thing, Linn. Lydia is a wonderful person and she’s been more of a mother to me in the short time I’ve known her than my real mother ever could’ve hoped to be.” Gwyn wondered what would have garnered that response. She’d never known Linneá to be anything but close to her future mother-in-law, but there was an odd connotation to the way she had said ‘shut up’. Almost like an annoyance. “Is there something I don’t know about? Between you and Lydia I mean.”
“Nothing worth getting into,” said Linneá. “We had a rough patch some years ago, but it made us closer in the end.”
A finality lingered at the end of her statement that told Gwyn it wasn’t the time to dredge up the past. Instead, she focused back on the hut, and her frustration with Gelebor returned. The Snow Elf was still inside, pinching his throat and making guttural noises to no avail. Something had to be done, and Gwyn decided it was time for that something to happen.
“Linn?”
“Gwyn?”
“Do me a favor. Go take a walk for about, oh, five minutes or so.”
“Uh uh. No way. How can you expect me to skip out on a good verbal thrashing by the master?” she grinned deviously. “I’m staying right here.”
The fact that Linneá had already reasoned out where she was going with that didn’t surprise her at all. The more time she spent with Linneá and Serana, the more she realized they were on a very similar wavelength. A mental connection wasn’t even necessary, although Gwyn did find herself wondering sometimes what that would be like between two individuals who loved each other platonically.
That notion could wait. For now, Gwyn had an elf to dress down.
The Falmer aren’t interested in talking. A wonderful combination of magic then olive branch that the ladies displayed – and it worked only so far as halting open warfare.
No progress in learning what happened to the Falmer though, and Gelebor seems rather impotent at influencing them. Since they’re not really getting anywhere and wasting valuable time, I think Gwyn is right that a good dressing down is in order. I expect that Gwyn may point out that whatever befell the Falmer has not gone away and still poses an existential threat to the Falmer – unless they cooperate and seek some assistance.
Regardless, I’m with Linneá in not wanting to miss a good verbal thrashing by the master.
No progress in learning what happened to the Falmer though, and Gelebor seems rather impotent at influencing them. Since they’re not really getting anywhere and wasting valuable time, I think Gwyn is right that a good dressing down is in order. I expect that Gwyn may point out that whatever befell the Falmer has not gone away and still poses an existential threat to the Falmer – unless they cooperate and seek some assistance.
Regardless, I’m with Linneá in not wanting to miss a good verbal thrashing by the master.
I'm glad that Retnarr decided to follow Delphine. Nirnroot muck, cool! Listening for Nirnroot in Blackreach certainly brings back memories.
The Snow Elf was still inside, pinching his throat and making guttural noises to no avail.
What a vivid picture of the Snow Elf communicating with the corrupted descendants of his people. But despite all of the talk, Linneá's action at the start is the only thing that has gotten results. Now it's Gwyn's turn! *gets popcorn*
The Snow Elf was still inside, pinching his throat and making guttural noises to no avail.
What a vivid picture of the Snow Elf communicating with the corrupted descendants of his people. But despite all of the talk, Linneá's action at the start is the only thing that has gotten results. Now it's Gwyn's turn! *gets popcorn*
I must admit I'm nervous about penning that takedown of poor Gelebor. We'll get there eventually though!
Chapter XXXIV – The Wait
Serana splashed a dash of fresh cream into her steaming mug of tea and twirled her spoon idly to incorporate it. Mornings like this one were often too quiet for her liking with Salihn off at school and her wife, sister, and brother off who knows where at the behest of their father. It made for many lonely hours in the Blue Palace, save for her time spent with Lydia when the court quieted down. One of those times happened to be right now, and Serana offered a second mug of tea to her mother-in-law who accepted it gratefully.
“Is it getting any easier, dear?”
“No,” answered Serana tersely. “I’d have snapped long ago if we didn’t have our telepathic connection.” Realizing that came off as a little combative, she offered an apologetic smile and minor platitudes. “I appreciate you keeping me company though, mum. You and Salihn are definitely keeping me sane during all of this.”
“You don’t need to explain yourself, Serana. I can empathize. Do you think they’ll be back soon?”
“Are you asking or is dad asking?”
“Is Kirin here with us right now?” asked Lydia. “No, he is not. You and I are speaking, and no one else.”
Setting her mug down after a sip, Serana blushed slightly in embarrassment. “You’re right; I’m sorry, mum. I don’t know when they’ll be home. Elle is frustrated with the lack of progress, but she is about to unleash Gwyn, so maybe we’ll have an idea today. Whether or not that leads to answers or being chased away by a horde of Falmer remains to be seen.”
Lydia imagined the sight of the fiery Breton taking an elf who was likely a foot or more taller than her soon-to-be daughter to task with a subtle grin. At the same time, she couldn’t help but wonder if that was the wisest course of action in the situation she and Linneá were wrapped up in.
“Elle knows what she is doing, mum,” reassured Serana.
“Was I that obvious?” chuckled Lydia. “And can you blame me for worrying?”
“Not at all. But she wouldn’t go that far unless she knew it was necessary.”
“I know. And I trust the both of them.” Lydia finished her tea and glanced out the window. A sundial in the courtyard below cast a shadow on midday.
“It’s lunch time, Serana. I know you’ve been taking it alone in your library, but I want you to join us today. Brelyna will be there too for a change.”
Serana suspected the invitation leaned slightly more towards a demand than a request and she dared not turn it down. Not that it really pained her to do so – Lydia had long since usurped Valerica as the primary motherly figure in her life, and she loved spending time with her. The lonesome lunches were more the result of trying to keep an open mind (in the literal sense) should Linneá need her for something at a moment’s notice. Their books wouldn’t miss her for an hour.
“Lunch sounds great,” said Serana. “Did I smell the aroma of horker stew wafting around this morning?”
“Indeed. I think it’s supposed to be for dinner, but I’m sure the kitchen can send some out. We can stop by and speak to Chef Altair about it on the way.”
The head chef was more than willing to set a crock of stew aside for Serana with the caveat of the potatoes possibly being undercooked so early in the day. Mother and daughter continued on to their favorite dining room with the former pausing just up the hall at the sight of the door being closed shut.
“Hm. That’s odd. The door is normally wide open. Kirin’s always welcoming of anyone passing by who might want to sit with us.”
“Maybe he’s discussing something privately with Brelyna?”
“Husband doesn’t approve of that outside of sensitive areas. I wonder if –“
Tell mum to unclench, nudged Linneá. Kyne is joining the three of you today.
Gotcha. Thanks, Elle. Love you.
I love you, too.
Lydia had been around enough of these silent conversations to recognize one taking place. She waited patiently for Serana’s eyes to refocus. “Well?”
“Kyne is visiting.”
“Oh. I guess we won’t be dining with Brelyna then!”
She knocked politely on the door before entering and glancing around the room. Kirin sat at the table with a stack of letters, and a large brown hawk was perched on an extinguished candelabra in the corner. It cocked its head to the right and pointed at the door with a fearsome talon. Serana pushed it shut and threw the locking bolt as Kyne resumed her human form and extended her arms invitingly.
“It’s lovely to see you again, my child.” She held Serana close for moment and then studied her face to note the creases near her spectacularly blue eyes. “This has been hard on you, hasn’t it? I sometimes forget just how intertwined you and Linn actually are. Hold still, please.”
Kyne raised a divine finger and traced it gently around Serana’s eyes with a faint golden glow in its wake. When she finished, the creases were gone and her face was smooth in a manner befitting a twenty-eight-year-old young woman.
“There, that’s much better,” she said approvingly.
“I didn’t know you could do that, mum,” said Lydia.
“Let’s keep it our little secret,” winked Kyne. “I’m technically not supposed to, but Serana is far too young and healthy for such blemishes.”
“Won’t they just come back?” said Serana. “Not like I’m done worrying about them.”
“I think Elle will be home sooner than you think,” said Kyne.
Serana had just been easing into a chair at the table when the goddess said that and she nearly missed and hit the hard stone floor instead. If that was true, her wife had been oddly reticent on the matter and would be getting a very stern talking to when lunch was over.
“Um. She will?”
“I think so. Their efforts are finally coming to fruition courtesy of Gwyndala. I’ve been keeping tabs on the from afar and I must admit… she has a powerful set of pipes for such a slight frame.” She noted an eager delight filling Serana’s face and headed her off: “Now, that’s not to say she will be home tomorrow, or the next day, or even next week. Just that progress is being made.”
“That’s encouraging to hear,” interjected Kirin. “If only we knew what the Thalmor have done with Delphine we might have positive news on two fronts.”
He returned to reading his letters at the same time a timid knock on the door announced the arrival of lunch. In a flash, Kyne transformed into a mouse and scurried onto Serana’s lap while Lydia unlocked the door and two palace aids rolled in a cart of food and began placing the heavy winter fare on the table, including a large bowl of stew for Serana. They finished by arranging two urns of hot cider amid the platters of food and excused themselves under a barrage of thank yous from the few present Windborne family members.
“Ah! Cain is headed back for Whiterun,” said Kirin, reading through a hastily written letter. “Seems he has the same opinion of that Black-Briar oaf that we all share,” he added. “No surprise there.”
“I’m sure he’ll be glad to be home again,” said Lydia. “Has it been very quiet at Elysium, Kyne?”
The goddess had just filled her seat again when she rolled her eyes and laughed delicately. “It was rather still for some time, but Cain and Gwyn showed up there unexpectedly last night for reasons I don’t care to discuss.”
“Does that mean it’s Linn’s turn to pop in for a tryst, Serana?” asked Lydia. “Never seems to be one or the other with those two.”
Serana finished chewing a bit of diced horker and grinned mischievously. It pleased her to no end that their own late-night escapades had gone unnoticed by anyone at the palace. However, the guards patrolling below the city gate certainly would have heard a disturbance emanating from the tower overlooking it.
“I know that look,” said Kyne. “You two had your own fun last night, didn’t you?”
“A lady never kisses and tells.”
Snow continued to fall outside of the bedroom window. Serana sat curled up in a chair with another cup of tea watching the flakes flutter down and wondered if it was snowing in the Forgotten Vale, too. She hadn’t heard a peep from Linneá since before lunch, which likely meant that all of her wife’s focus was being directed at dealing with Gelebor and the Falmer chieftains in the western fringes of Skyrim.
Memories of days gone by filled her thoughts, and she began to hum a tune she wrote years ago while occasionally muttering the lyrics aloud.
“Old stone walls…”
Serana remembered the first time she sang that song to her beloved and felt the butterflies dancing in her stomach. No amount of time or distance would dull how strongly they loved each other and how that love grew with every passing moment.
“All alone, sitting in the bay window…”
She paused to blow on her tea and take a timid sip, smiling at how befitting that line was of her current position.
“But then, you were there…”
A gentle knock on the door broke her reverie. “Come in!” she called to the unknown visitor.
Kyne entered the room gracefully and sat on the edge of the bed. “Not interrupting anything, am I?”
“Hm? Oh, no, not at all, mum. Just reminiscing. And practicing, I guess.”
“I heard you singing through the door,” nodded Kyne. “Nearly forgot how lovely a voice you have. Do you still write songs?”
“Sometimes. If I need a distraction. I’ve been working on something for when Elle comes home, but, um, it’s just for us.”
“Hopefully you get to share it with her soon, dear.”
Serana resumed staring out the window. Late afternoon approached, which meant she soon would be heading to the schoolhouse. And another long walk home with her daughter who missed her mother just as much, if not more, than Serana did.
“Me too. It crushes me every time I see Salhin’s crestfallen face when I tell her Elle isn’t home yet.”
================
Chapter XXXIV – The Wait
Serana splashed a dash of fresh cream into her steaming mug of tea and twirled her spoon idly to incorporate it. Mornings like this one were often too quiet for her liking with Salihn off at school and her wife, sister, and brother off who knows where at the behest of their father. It made for many lonely hours in the Blue Palace, save for her time spent with Lydia when the court quieted down. One of those times happened to be right now, and Serana offered a second mug of tea to her mother-in-law who accepted it gratefully.
“Is it getting any easier, dear?”
“No,” answered Serana tersely. “I’d have snapped long ago if we didn’t have our telepathic connection.” Realizing that came off as a little combative, she offered an apologetic smile and minor platitudes. “I appreciate you keeping me company though, mum. You and Salihn are definitely keeping me sane during all of this.”
“You don’t need to explain yourself, Serana. I can empathize. Do you think they’ll be back soon?”
“Are you asking or is dad asking?”
“Is Kirin here with us right now?” asked Lydia. “No, he is not. You and I are speaking, and no one else.”
Setting her mug down after a sip, Serana blushed slightly in embarrassment. “You’re right; I’m sorry, mum. I don’t know when they’ll be home. Elle is frustrated with the lack of progress, but she is about to unleash Gwyn, so maybe we’ll have an idea today. Whether or not that leads to answers or being chased away by a horde of Falmer remains to be seen.”
Lydia imagined the sight of the fiery Breton taking an elf who was likely a foot or more taller than her soon-to-be daughter to task with a subtle grin. At the same time, she couldn’t help but wonder if that was the wisest course of action in the situation she and Linneá were wrapped up in.
“Elle knows what she is doing, mum,” reassured Serana.
“Was I that obvious?” chuckled Lydia. “And can you blame me for worrying?”
“Not at all. But she wouldn’t go that far unless she knew it was necessary.”
“I know. And I trust the both of them.” Lydia finished her tea and glanced out the window. A sundial in the courtyard below cast a shadow on midday.
“It’s lunch time, Serana. I know you’ve been taking it alone in your library, but I want you to join us today. Brelyna will be there too for a change.”
Serana suspected the invitation leaned slightly more towards a demand than a request and she dared not turn it down. Not that it really pained her to do so – Lydia had long since usurped Valerica as the primary motherly figure in her life, and she loved spending time with her. The lonesome lunches were more the result of trying to keep an open mind (in the literal sense) should Linneá need her for something at a moment’s notice. Their books wouldn’t miss her for an hour.
“Lunch sounds great,” said Serana. “Did I smell the aroma of horker stew wafting around this morning?”
“Indeed. I think it’s supposed to be for dinner, but I’m sure the kitchen can send some out. We can stop by and speak to Chef Altair about it on the way.”
The head chef was more than willing to set a crock of stew aside for Serana with the caveat of the potatoes possibly being undercooked so early in the day. Mother and daughter continued on to their favorite dining room with the former pausing just up the hall at the sight of the door being closed shut.
“Hm. That’s odd. The door is normally wide open. Kirin’s always welcoming of anyone passing by who might want to sit with us.”
“Maybe he’s discussing something privately with Brelyna?”
“Husband doesn’t approve of that outside of sensitive areas. I wonder if –“
Tell mum to unclench, nudged Linneá. Kyne is joining the three of you today.
Gotcha. Thanks, Elle. Love you.
I love you, too.
Lydia had been around enough of these silent conversations to recognize one taking place. She waited patiently for Serana’s eyes to refocus. “Well?”
“Kyne is visiting.”
“Oh. I guess we won’t be dining with Brelyna then!”
She knocked politely on the door before entering and glancing around the room. Kirin sat at the table with a stack of letters, and a large brown hawk was perched on an extinguished candelabra in the corner. It cocked its head to the right and pointed at the door with a fearsome talon. Serana pushed it shut and threw the locking bolt as Kyne resumed her human form and extended her arms invitingly.
“It’s lovely to see you again, my child.” She held Serana close for moment and then studied her face to note the creases near her spectacularly blue eyes. “This has been hard on you, hasn’t it? I sometimes forget just how intertwined you and Linn actually are. Hold still, please.”
Kyne raised a divine finger and traced it gently around Serana’s eyes with a faint golden glow in its wake. When she finished, the creases were gone and her face was smooth in a manner befitting a twenty-eight-year-old young woman.
“There, that’s much better,” she said approvingly.
“I didn’t know you could do that, mum,” said Lydia.
“Let’s keep it our little secret,” winked Kyne. “I’m technically not supposed to, but Serana is far too young and healthy for such blemishes.”
“Won’t they just come back?” said Serana. “Not like I’m done worrying about them.”
“I think Elle will be home sooner than you think,” said Kyne.
Serana had just been easing into a chair at the table when the goddess said that and she nearly missed and hit the hard stone floor instead. If that was true, her wife had been oddly reticent on the matter and would be getting a very stern talking to when lunch was over.
“Um. She will?”
“I think so. Their efforts are finally coming to fruition courtesy of Gwyndala. I’ve been keeping tabs on the from afar and I must admit… she has a powerful set of pipes for such a slight frame.” She noted an eager delight filling Serana’s face and headed her off: “Now, that’s not to say she will be home tomorrow, or the next day, or even next week. Just that progress is being made.”
“That’s encouraging to hear,” interjected Kirin. “If only we knew what the Thalmor have done with Delphine we might have positive news on two fronts.”
He returned to reading his letters at the same time a timid knock on the door announced the arrival of lunch. In a flash, Kyne transformed into a mouse and scurried onto Serana’s lap while Lydia unlocked the door and two palace aids rolled in a cart of food and began placing the heavy winter fare on the table, including a large bowl of stew for Serana. They finished by arranging two urns of hot cider amid the platters of food and excused themselves under a barrage of thank yous from the few present Windborne family members.
“Ah! Cain is headed back for Whiterun,” said Kirin, reading through a hastily written letter. “Seems he has the same opinion of that Black-Briar oaf that we all share,” he added. “No surprise there.”
“I’m sure he’ll be glad to be home again,” said Lydia. “Has it been very quiet at Elysium, Kyne?”
The goddess had just filled her seat again when she rolled her eyes and laughed delicately. “It was rather still for some time, but Cain and Gwyn showed up there unexpectedly last night for reasons I don’t care to discuss.”
“Does that mean it’s Linn’s turn to pop in for a tryst, Serana?” asked Lydia. “Never seems to be one or the other with those two.”
Serana finished chewing a bit of diced horker and grinned mischievously. It pleased her to no end that their own late-night escapades had gone unnoticed by anyone at the palace. However, the guards patrolling below the city gate certainly would have heard a disturbance emanating from the tower overlooking it.
“I know that look,” said Kyne. “You two had your own fun last night, didn’t you?”
“A lady never kisses and tells.”
-----
]Snow continued to fall outside of the bedroom window. Serana sat curled up in a chair with another cup of tea watching the flakes flutter down and wondered if it was snowing in the Forgotten Vale, too. She hadn’t heard a peep from Linneá since before lunch, which likely meant that all of her wife’s focus was being directed at dealing with Gelebor and the Falmer chieftains in the western fringes of Skyrim.
Memories of days gone by filled her thoughts, and she began to hum a tune she wrote years ago while occasionally muttering the lyrics aloud.
“Old stone walls…”
Serana remembered the first time she sang that song to her beloved and felt the butterflies dancing in her stomach. No amount of time or distance would dull how strongly they loved each other and how that love grew with every passing moment.
“All alone, sitting in the bay window…”
She paused to blow on her tea and take a timid sip, smiling at how befitting that line was of her current position.
“But then, you were there…”
A gentle knock on the door broke her reverie. “Come in!” she called to the unknown visitor.
Kyne entered the room gracefully and sat on the edge of the bed. “Not interrupting anything, am I?”
“Hm? Oh, no, not at all, mum. Just reminiscing. And practicing, I guess.”
“I heard you singing through the door,” nodded Kyne. “Nearly forgot how lovely a voice you have. Do you still write songs?”
“Sometimes. If I need a distraction. I’ve been working on something for when Elle comes home, but, um, it’s just for us.”
“Hopefully you get to share it with her soon, dear.”
Serana resumed staring out the window. Late afternoon approached, which meant she soon would be heading to the schoolhouse. And another long walk home with her daughter who missed her mother just as much, if not more, than Serana did.
“Me too. It crushes me every time I see Salhin’s crestfallen face when I tell her Elle isn’t home yet.”
A lovely interlude full of family business, interactions and a hint or two of news as everyone waits for Cain to return and for Linneá and Gwyn to hopefully learn more about the Falmer situation.
Nice beauty treatment that Serana got from Kyne!
Nice beauty treatment that Serana got from Kyne!
Thanks, Acadian!
Sorry for the long interval - life has been busy and the little time I had to devote to this was spent figuring out how to get the band back together!
Chapter XXXV - On the Wings of the Snow Hunter
Cain stood at a trader stall in the center of Riften trying to figure out if he just got scammed by an Argonian jeweler. The silver ring emblazoned with a very expensive ruby felt oddly light in his hand and he began to have second thoughts about gifting it to Gwyn. Thinking the blacksmith might offer a valid second opinion, he took the ring across town and entered the shop of the elderly Balimund and plopped it down on the counter.
“Can you tell me if this is pure silver?”
Balimund set down the iron dagger he was honing and flicked at the ring a single time. “Mixed with brass,” he grunted. “Did you get it from the lizard?”
“Aye.”
“Tell him to give you a better quality one or the guild will hear about it. They’re the only ones who can keep him on a leash.”
“Guild? You mean the Thieves Guild?”
“Only guild worth a damn in this town,” said Balimund.
“Perfect. I know the leaders name, so that ought to spook him even more. Thank you for your time.”
He left the shop and returned to the wooden stall with a glint in his eye, but before he could so much as utter a single syllable, the Argonian, Madesi, tried to make a break for it. Dashing from behind his counter, he leapt over a fish barrel and fled towards the lower level.
Or at least, he tried to. As Madesi soon learned, it was hard to move very quickly when the world slowed to a crawl, save for the previously unassuming Redguard pursuing you. After using his Thu’um, Cain casually strolled up behind the lizard and bound his hands and feet with rope so that when time resumed its normal pace, Madesi stumbled and fell ungainly to the ground.
The city guards appeared to be amused by the entire fair and did not intervene other than to suggest he not Shout again. Cain apologized to them, and then led Madesi back to his stall.
“You are going to give me what I paid for, or Karliah will hear of this,” said Cain. “And if that isn’t motivation enough, then I will personally make sure your license is revoked when I return to Solitude.”
The Argonian nodded fervently and produced a silver ring worth the gold Cain had given him. Satisfied, Cain cut the rope bindings and sauntered off to find Lorn. The captain ought to have received their new orders by now and Cain was eager to get underway. He found the Nord waiting near the door to the Bee and Barb, waving a piece of parchment to catch his attention.
“On to Whiterun, m’lord. The men an’ I are to head north once we see ya to the gate. The king reckons you’ll be fine on your own from there.”
“Let’s get going then,” said Cain. “It’s early yet and we can probably make good time today.”
“Aye, sir. Should make it to Shor’s Stone by evenin’.”
The captain saluted and left to round up his men while Cain headed into the tavern and up the stairs to his room. It only took a moment to pack up his traveling bag and grab a fresh coffee on the way out. He left out the front gate and worked on getting his horse ready with the stable master while waiting for his escort guards to catch up with him. Cain was leading the palomino steed across the road for a trot under the trees when Gwyn reached out to him.
Nice job with that crook. Are you heading back home?
Sort of. I’m meeting with our Jarl first, but at least I’ll be rid of my babysitters. Lorn is a good man, and I look forward to working with him down the road… I just don’t think I needed the extra protection. Father insisted I not go it alone though.
He’s just worried about you, hon. Don’t take it for granted. I forgot what that felt like until you brought me here to Skyrim. I never imagined I’d have such a devoted and loving family like this. Saving your life was the best decision I ever made. It’s brought me so much more joy than I ever thought possible.
Yeah. And you were such a bitch at first, too!
…You want to try that again?
Am I wrong?
Shut up.
Cain chuckled aloud while leading his horse through a snowy clearing and back out to the gates where Lorn and his troop were gearing up for a long ride through the southern woods of The Rift. Once they were mounted and signaled readiness, Lorn had them form a box formation around Cain, and led them down the road with the hopes of taking lunch in the warmth of Fort Greenwall’s garrison by midday. The weather appeared to be cooperating with his estimation for once, and little besides a light breeze and a blazing sun accompanied the start of a journey home.
Thick, heavy snowflakes began to fall just as the posse descended the road past the Three Sentinels and into the relatively flat lands leading to Greenwall and Shor’s Stone. It didn’t hinder their progress all that much, and a lack of game - be it predator or prey - allowed the men to ease their guard.
Cain began to wince while they rode, and it was not due to the jostling nature of riding horseback. He slid his scarf up higher as if he were fending off the cold, rather than feeling the heated reflections in his mind that were echoing back from Gwyn’s verbal assault on whom they assumed was the last remaining snow elf. He couldn’t focus enough to make out exactly what she was saying to the poor elf, but Cain felt the gist of it and was thankful he’d never provoked her in such a manner.
Then he found himself thinking that it might actually be fun.
Don’t distract me, idiot. We can talk about that later.
Sorry, love.
Chuckling quietly to himself, Cain followed Lorn and the guards west until the silhouette of the old fort eked into view. A midday arrival seemed like a certain bet now, and a brief sojourn in the mess hall sounded very enticing to the chilly Redguard.
As it turned out; lunch would have to wait. They were just about to ride through the outer gate when Gwyn turned the last leg of his trip on its head.
Pack up your [censored], we need you here. Your dad already knows and he dispatched a friend to retrieve you.
What? What’s going on? Cain replied in thought. And why can’t I just recall to you?
He’s still trying to keep our use of that spell a state secret. We’ll explain the rest when you get here.
Okay. Wait, what sort of friend is dad sending?
No idea. Just be ready.
That unexpected change of plans left Cain with a new task on his hands: providing a reasonable explanation to Captain Lorn. Whomever Kirin sent to retrieve him must be someone the soldiers were already aware of, which made things easier, but he knew the captain, and the news certainly wouldn’t go over well. The man didn’t miss a beat and would see that there were more holes in the story behind this sudden departure than there were portholes on a ship.
Luckily, Cain by now outranked all but one person in Skyrim. Well, maybe two. As far as Gwyn was concerned anyway. And since he didn’t know when his new escort would be arriving, he figured a hot lunch was still on the table.
At least, he did until the unmistakable roar of a dragon echoed across the land followed swiftly by the heavy flapping of wings, and an earth quaking thud from somewhere nearby.
“At ease, men!” shouted Cain. Lorn and the guards had dismounted in record time and drawn their weapons. He knew without a doubt they were brave, but the lack of hesitation - even in the face of such a deadly foe - was quite inspiring to Cain. “It’s a friend! Er, I think so, anyway.”
“M’lord?”
“I was sort of expecting something like this. I’ll handle it, Lorn.”
Cain dismounted and whispered a Shout to see where the beast might have landed. All manner of life about him glowed red as the world grew darker with his temporary vision. Off in the trees, some thirty yards away, rested the glow of a massive form.
“Stay here and await my orders.”
Heading off under the canopy of leafless aspen trees, Cain marched towards the waiting dragon with the bravest face he could muster. It wasn’t the first time he’d come face to face with such a creature, but he at least had help that time.
The memory of that fight with Anska and Athis made him falter for a second, but he regained his composure in short order.
It gets easier with time, Cain.
I know. I’m sorry.
Don’t be. I know how much you love me and I’ve never once been jealous. There was a brief pause, and then: okay, well, maybe at first I was. But that vanished the moment you made this link and I felt just how devoted you are. I’ll never stop you from grieving Anska. Losing her wasn’t fair.
Guess that’s why they say life isn’t fair. Anyway, I’ll see you soon. I need to go to talk to a dragon.
A WHAT? Ugh, nothing about this family surprises me anymore.
Cain smiled and hoped that it would add something of a confident look to him while approaching the dragon. He’d dreamed about soaring over the land on the back of the mythical beings ever since Linneá told them of the times she did just that, but he never thought those dreams would come true. For the most part, dragons had gone to ground after the defeat of Alduin, and many, his father included, believed that without the indomitable will of Akatosh’s firstborn holding them to in line with fear, the remaining dragons scattered throughout Tamriel.
Perhaps this one, though, had stayed close by for good reason. Cain had grown very near to it and was wondering if he should bow when the beast broke the proverbial ice.
“Greetings, Dovahkiin. You greatly resemble your father - an honorable dov. I pray that you too bear some measure of his spirit. I am his long-time ally, and sometime counsel-giver. Odahviing, in our tongue, though I would ask that you speak it by mortal means unless I should challenge you to fight the way of the dov.”
“I’m honored to meet you, Odahviing. Are to bear me aloft?”
“Indeed. Kirin Windborne has requested I take you from the prying eyes of mortal men, so that you may engage in your clevercraft.”
“I understand. Allow me a moment to grab my belongings, and then we can depart.”
“Quickly, Dovahkiin. Amativ we must go.”
Returning to the cadre of guards at a trot, Cain beckoned forth Lorn and exchanged hushed words with the captain without giving up too much information. He ordered the men to return to Solitude in a timely manner and to look after his horse. then he loaded fresh supplies from the saddlebags and stuffed them into his pack knowing Gwyn and his sister would be grateful for fresh provisions - of which he had plenty.
“Lorn, it’s been an honor,” said Cain, clasping hands with the Nord. “I expect to see you back at the palace. Something tells me we’ll be working together again.”
“Aye, m’lord. Er, are you sure climbin’ up on that beast’s back is a good idea?”
“I’ve been looking forward to this for a longtime, my friend.”
Sorry for the long interval - life has been busy and the little time I had to devote to this was spent figuring out how to get the band back together!
======================
Chapter XXXV - On the Wings of the Snow Hunter
Cain stood at a trader stall in the center of Riften trying to figure out if he just got scammed by an Argonian jeweler. The silver ring emblazoned with a very expensive ruby felt oddly light in his hand and he began to have second thoughts about gifting it to Gwyn. Thinking the blacksmith might offer a valid second opinion, he took the ring across town and entered the shop of the elderly Balimund and plopped it down on the counter.
“Can you tell me if this is pure silver?”
Balimund set down the iron dagger he was honing and flicked at the ring a single time. “Mixed with brass,” he grunted. “Did you get it from the lizard?”
“Aye.”
“Tell him to give you a better quality one or the guild will hear about it. They’re the only ones who can keep him on a leash.”
“Guild? You mean the Thieves Guild?”
“Only guild worth a damn in this town,” said Balimund.
“Perfect. I know the leaders name, so that ought to spook him even more. Thank you for your time.”
He left the shop and returned to the wooden stall with a glint in his eye, but before he could so much as utter a single syllable, the Argonian, Madesi, tried to make a break for it. Dashing from behind his counter, he leapt over a fish barrel and fled towards the lower level.
Or at least, he tried to. As Madesi soon learned, it was hard to move very quickly when the world slowed to a crawl, save for the previously unassuming Redguard pursuing you. After using his Thu’um, Cain casually strolled up behind the lizard and bound his hands and feet with rope so that when time resumed its normal pace, Madesi stumbled and fell ungainly to the ground.
The city guards appeared to be amused by the entire fair and did not intervene other than to suggest he not Shout again. Cain apologized to them, and then led Madesi back to his stall.
“You are going to give me what I paid for, or Karliah will hear of this,” said Cain. “And if that isn’t motivation enough, then I will personally make sure your license is revoked when I return to Solitude.”
The Argonian nodded fervently and produced a silver ring worth the gold Cain had given him. Satisfied, Cain cut the rope bindings and sauntered off to find Lorn. The captain ought to have received their new orders by now and Cain was eager to get underway. He found the Nord waiting near the door to the Bee and Barb, waving a piece of parchment to catch his attention.
“On to Whiterun, m’lord. The men an’ I are to head north once we see ya to the gate. The king reckons you’ll be fine on your own from there.”
“Let’s get going then,” said Cain. “It’s early yet and we can probably make good time today.”
“Aye, sir. Should make it to Shor’s Stone by evenin’.”
The captain saluted and left to round up his men while Cain headed into the tavern and up the stairs to his room. It only took a moment to pack up his traveling bag and grab a fresh coffee on the way out. He left out the front gate and worked on getting his horse ready with the stable master while waiting for his escort guards to catch up with him. Cain was leading the palomino steed across the road for a trot under the trees when Gwyn reached out to him.
Nice job with that crook. Are you heading back home?
Sort of. I’m meeting with our Jarl first, but at least I’ll be rid of my babysitters. Lorn is a good man, and I look forward to working with him down the road… I just don’t think I needed the extra protection. Father insisted I not go it alone though.
He’s just worried about you, hon. Don’t take it for granted. I forgot what that felt like until you brought me here to Skyrim. I never imagined I’d have such a devoted and loving family like this. Saving your life was the best decision I ever made. It’s brought me so much more joy than I ever thought possible.
Yeah. And you were such a bitch at first, too!
…You want to try that again?
Am I wrong?
Shut up.
Cain chuckled aloud while leading his horse through a snowy clearing and back out to the gates where Lorn and his troop were gearing up for a long ride through the southern woods of The Rift. Once they were mounted and signaled readiness, Lorn had them form a box formation around Cain, and led them down the road with the hopes of taking lunch in the warmth of Fort Greenwall’s garrison by midday. The weather appeared to be cooperating with his estimation for once, and little besides a light breeze and a blazing sun accompanied the start of a journey home.
-----
Thick, heavy snowflakes began to fall just as the posse descended the road past the Three Sentinels and into the relatively flat lands leading to Greenwall and Shor’s Stone. It didn’t hinder their progress all that much, and a lack of game - be it predator or prey - allowed the men to ease their guard.
Cain began to wince while they rode, and it was not due to the jostling nature of riding horseback. He slid his scarf up higher as if he were fending off the cold, rather than feeling the heated reflections in his mind that were echoing back from Gwyn’s verbal assault on whom they assumed was the last remaining snow elf. He couldn’t focus enough to make out exactly what she was saying to the poor elf, but Cain felt the gist of it and was thankful he’d never provoked her in such a manner.
Then he found himself thinking that it might actually be fun.
Don’t distract me, idiot. We can talk about that later.
Sorry, love.
Chuckling quietly to himself, Cain followed Lorn and the guards west until the silhouette of the old fort eked into view. A midday arrival seemed like a certain bet now, and a brief sojourn in the mess hall sounded very enticing to the chilly Redguard.
As it turned out; lunch would have to wait. They were just about to ride through the outer gate when Gwyn turned the last leg of his trip on its head.
Pack up your [censored], we need you here. Your dad already knows and he dispatched a friend to retrieve you.
What? What’s going on? Cain replied in thought. And why can’t I just recall to you?
He’s still trying to keep our use of that spell a state secret. We’ll explain the rest when you get here.
Okay. Wait, what sort of friend is dad sending?
No idea. Just be ready.
That unexpected change of plans left Cain with a new task on his hands: providing a reasonable explanation to Captain Lorn. Whomever Kirin sent to retrieve him must be someone the soldiers were already aware of, which made things easier, but he knew the captain, and the news certainly wouldn’t go over well. The man didn’t miss a beat and would see that there were more holes in the story behind this sudden departure than there were portholes on a ship.
Luckily, Cain by now outranked all but one person in Skyrim. Well, maybe two. As far as Gwyn was concerned anyway. And since he didn’t know when his new escort would be arriving, he figured a hot lunch was still on the table.
At least, he did until the unmistakable roar of a dragon echoed across the land followed swiftly by the heavy flapping of wings, and an earth quaking thud from somewhere nearby.
“At ease, men!” shouted Cain. Lorn and the guards had dismounted in record time and drawn their weapons. He knew without a doubt they were brave, but the lack of hesitation - even in the face of such a deadly foe - was quite inspiring to Cain. “It’s a friend! Er, I think so, anyway.”
“M’lord?”
“I was sort of expecting something like this. I’ll handle it, Lorn.”
Cain dismounted and whispered a Shout to see where the beast might have landed. All manner of life about him glowed red as the world grew darker with his temporary vision. Off in the trees, some thirty yards away, rested the glow of a massive form.
“Stay here and await my orders.”
Heading off under the canopy of leafless aspen trees, Cain marched towards the waiting dragon with the bravest face he could muster. It wasn’t the first time he’d come face to face with such a creature, but he at least had help that time.
The memory of that fight with Anska and Athis made him falter for a second, but he regained his composure in short order.
It gets easier with time, Cain.
I know. I’m sorry.
Don’t be. I know how much you love me and I’ve never once been jealous. There was a brief pause, and then: okay, well, maybe at first I was. But that vanished the moment you made this link and I felt just how devoted you are. I’ll never stop you from grieving Anska. Losing her wasn’t fair.
Guess that’s why they say life isn’t fair. Anyway, I’ll see you soon. I need to go to talk to a dragon.
A WHAT? Ugh, nothing about this family surprises me anymore.
Cain smiled and hoped that it would add something of a confident look to him while approaching the dragon. He’d dreamed about soaring over the land on the back of the mythical beings ever since Linneá told them of the times she did just that, but he never thought those dreams would come true. For the most part, dragons had gone to ground after the defeat of Alduin, and many, his father included, believed that without the indomitable will of Akatosh’s firstborn holding them to in line with fear, the remaining dragons scattered throughout Tamriel.
Perhaps this one, though, had stayed close by for good reason. Cain had grown very near to it and was wondering if he should bow when the beast broke the proverbial ice.
“Greetings, Dovahkiin. You greatly resemble your father - an honorable dov. I pray that you too bear some measure of his spirit. I am his long-time ally, and sometime counsel-giver. Odahviing, in our tongue, though I would ask that you speak it by mortal means unless I should challenge you to fight the way of the dov.”
“I’m honored to meet you, Odahviing. Are to bear me aloft?”
“Indeed. Kirin Windborne has requested I take you from the prying eyes of mortal men, so that you may engage in your clevercraft.”
“I understand. Allow me a moment to grab my belongings, and then we can depart.”
“Quickly, Dovahkiin. Amativ we must go.”
Returning to the cadre of guards at a trot, Cain beckoned forth Lorn and exchanged hushed words with the captain without giving up too much information. He ordered the men to return to Solitude in a timely manner and to look after his horse. then he loaded fresh supplies from the saddlebags and stuffed them into his pack knowing Gwyn and his sister would be grateful for fresh provisions - of which he had plenty.
“Lorn, it’s been an honor,” said Cain, clasping hands with the Nord. “I expect to see you back at the palace. Something tells me we’ll be working together again.”
“Aye, m’lord. Er, are you sure climbin’ up on that beast’s back is a good idea?”
“I’ve been looking forward to this for a longtime, my friend.”
I’m glad Cain took the time and effort to ensure his gift for Gwyn was all that he paid for.
The mind link banter between Cain and Gwyn continues to delight. She is indeed not a woman to be trifled with but it’s nice to see how she has come around to see and appreciate all she now has. Uh-oh, sounds like Gelabor’s on the receiving end of the impatient Breton’s ire.
Nice nod to Lorn and his men how unhesitatingly they were willing to take on a dragon to protect their charge.
Something significant indeed must have happened to warrant a dragon escort! I wonder if the possibility of a showy/impressive arrival by dova is part of the plan. We shall see. . . .
The mind link banter between Cain and Gwyn continues to delight. She is indeed not a woman to be trifled with but it’s nice to see how she has come around to see and appreciate all she now has. Uh-oh, sounds like Gelabor’s on the receiving end of the impatient Breton’s ire.
Nice nod to Lorn and his men how unhesitatingly they were willing to take on a dragon to protect their charge.
Something significant indeed must have happened to warrant a dragon escort! I wonder if the possibility of a showy/impressive arrival by dova is part of the plan. We shall see. . . .
Chapter XXXVI – Into the Shadows
Two Crimson Nirnroots sang mysteriously at the feet of Delphine and Retnarr. Tucked underneath a rocky ledge overhanging a shallow creek running gently downhill towards an underground river that cascaded down to lake far below, the odd plants waited to be picked by the desperate escapees. The Breton had a passing familiarity with alchemy and so it was she who knelt and used her pilfered dagger to gently cut the stem away from the roots. The moment she freed the plant from the earth it gave up its song and rested quietly in her grasp.
“What do I muddle this with. Retnarr?”
“Er, water fer sure. Can’ say beyond tha’.
“Wonderful,” grumbled Delphine.
She still had her doubts about this notion, and not knowing if any other reagents were necessary only compounded those doubts. Water would obviously be needed but that alone would not be enough to activate the magickal properties of the Crimson Nirnroot. What else around here could be used? Old as she was, a master alchemist Delphine was not, and she required at least two ingredients to properly mix anything – poultice or otherwise.
Think, Delphine, think. What else have I seen around here?
Being over eighty years old left some gaps in her memory, and trying to recall alchemical properties from books she had not read in decades took considerable effort on her part. And Retnarr’s anxious breathing certainly did not help.
Vampire dust? Not gonna find any of that around here. Doubt there will be any normal Nirnroot either.
Something eluded her, yet she felt like it was on the tip of her tongue. A reagent at hand that would have to do. Delphine thought and thought and thought until she was ready to chide Retnarr about being quieter when the chilling sound of clicking pincers registered from somewhere close by.
Chaurus eggs! That was it!
“Come on, Retnarr! We need to kill us a beast.”
The Nord squinted. “Wha sorta beast?”
“A chaurus. We need one of their egg clutches.”
“’Course we do.”
“I heard one nearby. Stick close – we don’t have much time.”
He fell in line behind Delphine just as she cast a Detect Life spell to check their surroundings. And to check for the source of the pincers she’d heard. A warm red glow lit up not thirty feet from where they stood, and it looked to be right alongside one of the stone roads laid down millennia ago by the industrious Dwemer. They picked their way towards the venomous beast quietly while clinging to the hope of subduing it with a surprise attack. Once it came into Delphine’s line of sight, she exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding at the sight of several glowing egg sacs.
“How ya wanna stick this pig?” whispered Retnarr.
“Their belly has the last amount of armor, but I’d rather not be under it. That’s a big one.”
The chaurus in question loomed menacingly nearby, digging at some sort of ungodly nest in the dirt. Its pincers continued to click and clack ominously as if it were warning them against doing exactly what they were about to do. But time was short and options were limited.
“Delph, I don’t…”
“Think we can handle it? Neither do I. Let me try something else.”
Delphine prayed to more Divines than she had in years that the boredom of semi-retirement left her with little to besides fitness training and magecraft. She stretched out her toward one of the egg clutches and cast another spell: Telekinesis. Slowly, silently, and most importantly, unnoticed by the motherly chaurus, one of the eggs tore free and floated gently into her outstretched palm.
“Yer startin’ to impress me, Delph. Can’ be havin’ that.”
“We aren’t out of this yet. Let’s move away before it hears us.”
The unlikely duo padded noiselessly away until Delphine felt they were comfortably out of sight from both the chaurus and the ever-encroaching Thalmor searchers. Under the dim light of a glowing mushroom cluster, she found a relatively flat slab of stone and burrowed into the soft earth until she was satisfied the water for the mixture wouldn’t run off the sides.
“Will there be ‘nuff for both of us?” asked Retnarr.
“I hope so. You said it just goes over the heart to disguise our life signs, right? This ought to be enough to cover that.”
She poured out some water forming a small puddle at the center of the rock. Then she fished out the Nirnroot sprigs and chaurus eggs, laying both of them in the water.
“Look around for a round stone, Retnarr. Something smooth I can use to muddle this with.”
“Got ya covered,” said Retnarr. He passed her a stone that must have laid underwater for untold years. Large and smooth on all sides, it was slightly ovular, but it would do the trick nonetheless.
Delphine looked at it with a raised eyebrow. “Why the hell were you carrying that around?”
“’S about the perfect size ter plunk off an elf’s head.”
The Breton laughed in spite of their dire situation and thanked his good, albeit violent, foresight and planning. The stone worked beautifully for grinding the two reagents into a sticky, foul smelling pulp. It had a faint blue glow leftover from the eggs, and, strangely enough, some of the Nirnroot’s song once again trilled ever so audibly. With nothing else for it, Delphine grabbed some of the mucky poultice and spread it over her sternum and indicated Retnarr to do the same.
“That’s it?” she asked him.
“Nay. We need ter mask our sent from the hounds, too. This’ll only fool there magick.”
“Damn. We’ll have to roll around in the muck by that stream over there. I’d say we could lay in the water itself, but that might wash away the mixture.” Delphine bit her lip in consternation. There was a lot that could go wrong with this plan. “We should split up in case this doesn’t work and one of us gets spotted or captured. Mzark is still a ways off.”
“Fat chance, Delph,” growled Retnarr. “We’re in this tergether.”
“Stubborn oaf. Have it your way. C’mon, let’s bed down – hopefully they’ll pass right by us.”
What followed were some of the most intense and stressful moments in all of Delphine’s long life. The feelings of helplessness as she lay there in the dirt, covered from head to toe in mud, and praying that the untested poultice on her chest would let her and a retired soldier remain undetected by the Thalmor were up there with some of her most harrowing moments during the Great War and the subsequent years in hiding afterwards. She scarce allowed herself to breathe, and it took every ounce of her training to steady her breathing when the elves started closing in.
From the moment a patrol came into view, Delphine recognized the unorthodox search pattern they were employing and saw a glimmer of hope for the first time. The Thalmor didn’t have enough soldiers to thoroughly canvas all of Blackreach. They fully relied on spells and their dogs to sniff out the escapees, but neither were likely to come close enough to find her and Retnarr.
And, so, they laid in wait.
Guards and dogs passed them by.
And, still, they laid in wait.
More guards. More dogs.
More waiting.
Finally, a full twenty minutes after either of them saw hide nor hair of an elf, and over two hours since Delphine and Retnarr first burrowed down in the mire, all was quiet. No footsteps could be heard; no orders were shouted; and now dogs barked into the crushing dark. Delphine dared to wiggle until a single hand was free and she cast her detection spell once again. Nothing around. Even the chaurus that had been nearby lay inert after three soldiers had slain it when they encroached upon her nest. The coast was clear.
“Retnarr!” hissed Delphine. “Let’s go! They moved on! It worked!”
“Told ya it would, ya old bag. Jus’ give me a minute. My bones are achin’.”
“How do you think I feel,” she groaned while getting to one knee with a supreme effort. “I’m at least thirty years your senior.”
“An’ that’s why yer an old bag.”
“Ass.” Despite their bickering, Delphine offered the grumpy old Nord a hand in getting to his feet. “Good thinking with the shrouding salve, Retnarr. We’d have been captured in no time without it. Ready to get a move on again?”
“Aye. How far do ya figure we needs to march?”
“Half a day at least.”
Retnarr shook his head balefully. Then he shuffled over to the babbling stream and took a minute to rinse the shrouding filth from his ruined clothes and hardy skin.
“No sense in stinkin’ like a skeever in a sewer. Wash yerself up and lead on.”
There were more pressing things on her mind, but Delphine decided to humor the man anyway. She very quickly washed up before digging out their map and reorienting their position in Blackreach. A few notable markers were easily discernible in their surroundings, and they moved off with a reinvigorated purpose.
“This way to Mzark,” said Delphine. “Think you can keep up?”
“Guess’n we’ll see, won’t we? Dunno where ya get all this energy from, Delph. I’m fairly winded-like already.”
“Me too, Retnarr. Me too. But I can sleep when we’re safe in Dunstad.”
Two Crimson Nirnroots sang mysteriously at the feet of Delphine and Retnarr. Tucked underneath a rocky ledge overhanging a shallow creek running gently downhill towards an underground river that cascaded down to lake far below, the odd plants waited to be picked by the desperate escapees. The Breton had a passing familiarity with alchemy and so it was she who knelt and used her pilfered dagger to gently cut the stem away from the roots. The moment she freed the plant from the earth it gave up its song and rested quietly in her grasp.
“What do I muddle this with. Retnarr?”
“Er, water fer sure. Can’ say beyond tha’.
“Wonderful,” grumbled Delphine.
She still had her doubts about this notion, and not knowing if any other reagents were necessary only compounded those doubts. Water would obviously be needed but that alone would not be enough to activate the magickal properties of the Crimson Nirnroot. What else around here could be used? Old as she was, a master alchemist Delphine was not, and she required at least two ingredients to properly mix anything – poultice or otherwise.
Think, Delphine, think. What else have I seen around here?
Being over eighty years old left some gaps in her memory, and trying to recall alchemical properties from books she had not read in decades took considerable effort on her part. And Retnarr’s anxious breathing certainly did not help.
Vampire dust? Not gonna find any of that around here. Doubt there will be any normal Nirnroot either.
Something eluded her, yet she felt like it was on the tip of her tongue. A reagent at hand that would have to do. Delphine thought and thought and thought until she was ready to chide Retnarr about being quieter when the chilling sound of clicking pincers registered from somewhere close by.
Chaurus eggs! That was it!
“Come on, Retnarr! We need to kill us a beast.”
The Nord squinted. “Wha sorta beast?”
“A chaurus. We need one of their egg clutches.”
“’Course we do.”
“I heard one nearby. Stick close – we don’t have much time.”
He fell in line behind Delphine just as she cast a Detect Life spell to check their surroundings. And to check for the source of the pincers she’d heard. A warm red glow lit up not thirty feet from where they stood, and it looked to be right alongside one of the stone roads laid down millennia ago by the industrious Dwemer. They picked their way towards the venomous beast quietly while clinging to the hope of subduing it with a surprise attack. Once it came into Delphine’s line of sight, she exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding at the sight of several glowing egg sacs.
“How ya wanna stick this pig?” whispered Retnarr.
“Their belly has the last amount of armor, but I’d rather not be under it. That’s a big one.”
The chaurus in question loomed menacingly nearby, digging at some sort of ungodly nest in the dirt. Its pincers continued to click and clack ominously as if it were warning them against doing exactly what they were about to do. But time was short and options were limited.
“Delph, I don’t…”
“Think we can handle it? Neither do I. Let me try something else.”
Delphine prayed to more Divines than she had in years that the boredom of semi-retirement left her with little to besides fitness training and magecraft. She stretched out her toward one of the egg clutches and cast another spell: Telekinesis. Slowly, silently, and most importantly, unnoticed by the motherly chaurus, one of the eggs tore free and floated gently into her outstretched palm.
“Yer startin’ to impress me, Delph. Can’ be havin’ that.”
“We aren’t out of this yet. Let’s move away before it hears us.”
The unlikely duo padded noiselessly away until Delphine felt they were comfortably out of sight from both the chaurus and the ever-encroaching Thalmor searchers. Under the dim light of a glowing mushroom cluster, she found a relatively flat slab of stone and burrowed into the soft earth until she was satisfied the water for the mixture wouldn’t run off the sides.
“Will there be ‘nuff for both of us?” asked Retnarr.
“I hope so. You said it just goes over the heart to disguise our life signs, right? This ought to be enough to cover that.”
She poured out some water forming a small puddle at the center of the rock. Then she fished out the Nirnroot sprigs and chaurus eggs, laying both of them in the water.
“Look around for a round stone, Retnarr. Something smooth I can use to muddle this with.”
“Got ya covered,” said Retnarr. He passed her a stone that must have laid underwater for untold years. Large and smooth on all sides, it was slightly ovular, but it would do the trick nonetheless.
Delphine looked at it with a raised eyebrow. “Why the hell were you carrying that around?”
“’S about the perfect size ter plunk off an elf’s head.”
The Breton laughed in spite of their dire situation and thanked his good, albeit violent, foresight and planning. The stone worked beautifully for grinding the two reagents into a sticky, foul smelling pulp. It had a faint blue glow leftover from the eggs, and, strangely enough, some of the Nirnroot’s song once again trilled ever so audibly. With nothing else for it, Delphine grabbed some of the mucky poultice and spread it over her sternum and indicated Retnarr to do the same.
“That’s it?” she asked him.
“Nay. We need ter mask our sent from the hounds, too. This’ll only fool there magick.”
“Damn. We’ll have to roll around in the muck by that stream over there. I’d say we could lay in the water itself, but that might wash away the mixture.” Delphine bit her lip in consternation. There was a lot that could go wrong with this plan. “We should split up in case this doesn’t work and one of us gets spotted or captured. Mzark is still a ways off.”
“Fat chance, Delph,” growled Retnarr. “We’re in this tergether.”
“Stubborn oaf. Have it your way. C’mon, let’s bed down – hopefully they’ll pass right by us.”
What followed were some of the most intense and stressful moments in all of Delphine’s long life. The feelings of helplessness as she lay there in the dirt, covered from head to toe in mud, and praying that the untested poultice on her chest would let her and a retired soldier remain undetected by the Thalmor were up there with some of her most harrowing moments during the Great War and the subsequent years in hiding afterwards. She scarce allowed herself to breathe, and it took every ounce of her training to steady her breathing when the elves started closing in.
From the moment a patrol came into view, Delphine recognized the unorthodox search pattern they were employing and saw a glimmer of hope for the first time. The Thalmor didn’t have enough soldiers to thoroughly canvas all of Blackreach. They fully relied on spells and their dogs to sniff out the escapees, but neither were likely to come close enough to find her and Retnarr.
And, so, they laid in wait.
Guards and dogs passed them by.
And, still, they laid in wait.
More guards. More dogs.
More waiting.
Finally, a full twenty minutes after either of them saw hide nor hair of an elf, and over two hours since Delphine and Retnarr first burrowed down in the mire, all was quiet. No footsteps could be heard; no orders were shouted; and now dogs barked into the crushing dark. Delphine dared to wiggle until a single hand was free and she cast her detection spell once again. Nothing around. Even the chaurus that had been nearby lay inert after three soldiers had slain it when they encroached upon her nest. The coast was clear.
“Retnarr!” hissed Delphine. “Let’s go! They moved on! It worked!”
“Told ya it would, ya old bag. Jus’ give me a minute. My bones are achin’.”
“How do you think I feel,” she groaned while getting to one knee with a supreme effort. “I’m at least thirty years your senior.”
“An’ that’s why yer an old bag.”
“Ass.” Despite their bickering, Delphine offered the grumpy old Nord a hand in getting to his feet. “Good thinking with the shrouding salve, Retnarr. We’d have been captured in no time without it. Ready to get a move on again?”
“Aye. How far do ya figure we needs to march?”
“Half a day at least.”
Retnarr shook his head balefully. Then he shuffled over to the babbling stream and took a minute to rinse the shrouding filth from his ruined clothes and hardy skin.
“No sense in stinkin’ like a skeever in a sewer. Wash yerself up and lead on.”
There were more pressing things on her mind, but Delphine decided to humor the man anyway. She very quickly washed up before digging out their map and reorienting their position in Blackreach. A few notable markers were easily discernible in their surroundings, and they moved off with a reinvigorated purpose.
“This way to Mzark,” said Delphine. “Think you can keep up?”
“Guess’n we’ll see, won’t we? Dunno where ya get all this energy from, Delph. I’m fairly winded-like already.”
“Me too, Retnarr. Me too. But I can sleep when we’re safe in Dunstad.”
Ha! Retnarr only had half the information on the nirnroot cloaking mixture. Glad that Delphine was able to figure out the missing piece.
Good call to sneak that egg away from mama chaurus. Not only did Delphine and Retnarr bypass a potentially dangerous fight but also avoided leaving the corpse of a freshly killed chaurus as evidence of their passing for the Thalmor to find.
A tense wait but, thankfully, the mud and cloaking poultice did the trick. Whew!
Looks like they just might make it out of Blackreach.
Good call to sneak that egg away from mama chaurus. Not only did Delphine and Retnarr bypass a potentially dangerous fight but also avoided leaving the corpse of a freshly killed chaurus as evidence of their passing for the Thalmor to find.
A tense wait but, thankfully, the mud and cloaking poultice did the trick. Whew!
Looks like they just might make it out of Blackreach.
I thought about having to fight the chaurus but ultimately realized Delphine was more clever than that. There certainly is light at the end of the tunnel!
====================
Chapter XXXVII – Worlds Collide
Gelebor stood before the Falmer chieftains and continued to make well-intentioned platitudes that continued to prove useless. As you can imagine, it came as quite the surprise to him when Gwyn entered the chitinous hut unannounced, curtseyed to the Falmer with a simpering, ‘please excuse us for a moment’, and steered Gelebor outside with an unrelenting grip on his forearm that possessed a strength quite unindicative of her small stature. Sputtering limp protestations is all the elf could manage at the sudden turn of events, and he did not cease them even as Linneá joined them in walking a fair distance from the tent and stepping into the Wayshrine portal leading back to Darkfall Cave.
“What is the meaning of this, Ms. Louvain?” demanded Gelebor. “Your actions may very well have offended my kin, and I will not have your impulsiveness upend these most delicate proceedings!” The haughty look he wore must have a root in genetics, for Gwyn had never met a mer that couldn’t summon such an expression on demand. He even left it plastered on his face when turning to address Linneá. “And why have you allowed this to happen? I expected –“
“Shut it,” Gwyn cut across with a venomous utterance, “before you regret it. Nobody allows me to do anything. Not Linn, not my fiancé, and definitely not you, Knight-Paladin.”
The way her tone rested on his title ought to have warned Gelebor of what was to come, but the small amount of regard he had shown for the fiery Breton thus far prevented him from realizing just who it was that now stared him down. The few people Gwyn had come across thus far in life who made a similar mistake often came to an understanding soon after that she is not someone to be ignored.
Linneá, on the other hand, felt more than content to have a seat by the fire and simply watch the proceedings unfold.
“Now see here,” Gelebor protested. “There is no need for –“
“I didn’t say you could speak,” spat Gwyn. “And there is a need for this as evidenced by the fact that we’ve been here for days and accomplished a fat lot of [censored] nothing, you prat. You’ve been in that godsdamned tent groaning and grunting at the Falmer with absolutely nothing to show for it! They barely tolerate you and I have no doubt it takes every semblance of self-control they’ve managed to achieve thus far to not slay us and feed the remains to their disgusting pets. We need answers and so far, this has been a colossal waste of our time, even if my lovely sister here is too damn polite to tell you otherwise.”
This actually is going better than I thought it would. The unspoken words fluttered through her connection to Serana along with suitably impressed feelings on the matter.
Oh? Not the fireworks you expected, Elle?
No. Well, not yet anyway. I think her time with Cain and the two of us have smoothed over some of the rougher edges.
“You are in no position to dictate how I deal with my kin,” countered Gelebor. “I must continue to highlight how delicate –“
“If you tell me that one more [censored] time it will be the last thing you do. I don’t want to hear about how delicate you need to be. You need to take off the little kid gloves you are using when you deal with the Falmer and command a presence.”
Gwyn now reached a point where she did have a touch of concern about what she would say next. There was a time, not too long ago, when she wouldn’t be quite so selective about dressing someone down, but she understood the importance of what they were doing and she did not want to be the reason her new family would come away from this empty-handed. But if she went too far, it would border on insulting Gelebor and his distant kin irreparably.
“I cannot demand anything of them,” said Gelebor. “I am not their leader.”
“That doesn’t matter,” replied Gwyn. “You’re attempting to treat them as equals when they are not. I’m not pleased to say such a thing, but it’s true – these Betrayed are only a few years removed from warring with each other underground and they are not the evolved beings we are. If you want to be a positive influence on their development, then you need to take a firmer stance before they get annoyed and kill all three of us.”
“…How dare you,” hissed Gelebor.
Uh oh.
Taking a turn for the worse? asked Serana.
Big time.
“I do not care who you are or who you represent - you are in no place to insult my people!” yelled Gelebor. “To come in here and –“ Whatever the Snow Elf intended to say next became unintelligible. Gwyn’s wrist flicked upward once with a green flash that spun newly sprouted vines about the tall elf binding him thoroughly and covering his mouth.
“You’re done for now,” Gwyn nearly shouted. “I’ll assume that whatever you meant to say was not going to be derogatory. Otherwise, these vines will choke the life out of you, Gelebor.”
“Gwyn…” warned Linneá. She caught her soon-to-be sister-in-law’s eyes and relaxed at the nearly imperceptible wink.
“I know what I’m doing,” she mouthed, silently. The Breton turned her intense gaze back to their Falmer liaison. “It was not my intention to insult you or the Betrayed. What I said to you is the cold hard truth, and you need to accept that if you are to ever lead them into a brighter future.” Gelebor muttered something and struggled against the vines that only tightened under Gwyn’s command. “Knock it off.” His eyes flashed angrily, but he wisely heeded her short statement. “I’m going to release you. Do not make me regret it.”
The vines rescinded into the cold, damp earth of the cave floor as quickly as they had emerged, leaving a slightly haggard-looking elf swaying warily on his feet, the haughty expression he began with all but vanished from his features.
“Take some time to dwell on what I’ve said, Gelebor,” advised Gwyn. “If you can’t grow a [censored] spine and show some initiative with your kin, then I will. And nobody will like the results.”
Knight-Paladin Gelebor remained silent as he strutted off in a manner that could possibly be construed as huffy, but only just. Gwyn let out a long exhale as she sat down around the ever-burning campfire and looked questioningly at Linneá. Her sister seemed completely nonplussed by the preceding events, her face a mask of impassiveness. Frustratingly so, for a moment, until she grinned at her fiery companion.
“That was a job well done, Gwynnie. Maybe a touch too strong at the end, but I think you gave our host plenty to think about.”
“I sure as hell hope so,” said Gwyn. “Or else I’ve [censored] this whole thing up; and I don’t want the first assignment your father trusted me with to end in ruin.”
You did amazingly, Cain whispered in her mind. I can’t think of any other way someone would’ve gotten through to him.
We’ll see.
When a full hour elapsed without hide nor hair of Gelebor’s return, Gwyn began to feel anxious, and the doubt regarding her approach to the matter slowly crept to the forefront of her mind, and it was plain to see on her face. Furtive glances around Darkfall Cave only compounded those feelings until Linneá shimmied over next to her and bumped her shoulder against Gwyn’s.
“Don’t worry so much, sis. Gelebor probably hasn’t been forced to reexamine himself like that for thousands of years. It’s only natural that he made need some time to figure out what just happened to him.”
“We don’t have to for him to mope around, Linn. We’ve been here far too long already.”
Gwyn stood up and paced back and forth across from Linneá, all the time wondering if she could have done something differently, or if she could have been gentler with their host. Did the urgency of their quest influence her actions? Could she have been more reasonable? Would he help them at all now; or send them back to Solitude empty-handed.
At least it would be a short trip.
She felt Cain floating around the fringes of her thoughts, but he had a knack for knowing exactly when to intrude on them, and this was not one of those times. All things considered, she still felt relatively even keeled, which ought to have suggested her self-doubt was vapid. Ultimately, this entire sequence of events came to an abrupt end moments later when the Wayshrine portal flickered to life and Gelebor returned from the Forgotten Vale to rejoin them. How he managed to get there without them knowing Gwyn wasn’t sure, but his haughty demeanor seemed to have returned, which suggested the elf had something up his sleeve.
Linneá jumped to her feet in surprise, but Gelebor cut her off before she could ask a single question.
“I’d like to speak to Ms. Gwyndala first,” he said.
“What do you want?” answered Gwyn as she approached from the fireside.
“To apologize. You were correct in your summations, even if I did not want to hear it. The vines may have been wound a bit too tightly, but I can overlook that in light of our success.”
“Our success?” asked Linneá. “You mean…”
“I returned to the Betrayed after my thoughts cleared and I took the steps Ms. Gwyndala recommended. The chieftains did not like it, but the Wisewomen are aptly named, and stepped in when they tried to be as hard-headed as I was being.”
Linneá practically bobbed up and down with excitement on the heels of her feet while Gwyn remained steadfast. The Breton didn’t want to celebrate anything until they were given answers to the mystery that brought them so far into the freezing wilds of Skyrim, if there were even any answers to give.
“What did the tell you?” said Gwyn.
Gelebor gestured for them to sit down, and then he told the two of them what drove the Falmer above ground and into the sanctuary of the Forgotten Vale.
And they could scarce believe what they heard.
Gelebor stood before the Falmer chieftains and continued to make well-intentioned platitudes that continued to prove useless. As you can imagine, it came as quite the surprise to him when Gwyn entered the chitinous hut unannounced, curtseyed to the Falmer with a simpering, ‘please excuse us for a moment’, and steered Gelebor outside with an unrelenting grip on his forearm that possessed a strength quite unindicative of her small stature. Sputtering limp protestations is all the elf could manage at the sudden turn of events, and he did not cease them even as Linneá joined them in walking a fair distance from the tent and stepping into the Wayshrine portal leading back to Darkfall Cave.
“What is the meaning of this, Ms. Louvain?” demanded Gelebor. “Your actions may very well have offended my kin, and I will not have your impulsiveness upend these most delicate proceedings!” The haughty look he wore must have a root in genetics, for Gwyn had never met a mer that couldn’t summon such an expression on demand. He even left it plastered on his face when turning to address Linneá. “And why have you allowed this to happen? I expected –“
“Shut it,” Gwyn cut across with a venomous utterance, “before you regret it. Nobody allows me to do anything. Not Linn, not my fiancé, and definitely not you, Knight-Paladin.”
The way her tone rested on his title ought to have warned Gelebor of what was to come, but the small amount of regard he had shown for the fiery Breton thus far prevented him from realizing just who it was that now stared him down. The few people Gwyn had come across thus far in life who made a similar mistake often came to an understanding soon after that she is not someone to be ignored.
Linneá, on the other hand, felt more than content to have a seat by the fire and simply watch the proceedings unfold.
“Now see here,” Gelebor protested. “There is no need for –“
“I didn’t say you could speak,” spat Gwyn. “And there is a need for this as evidenced by the fact that we’ve been here for days and accomplished a fat lot of [censored] nothing, you prat. You’ve been in that godsdamned tent groaning and grunting at the Falmer with absolutely nothing to show for it! They barely tolerate you and I have no doubt it takes every semblance of self-control they’ve managed to achieve thus far to not slay us and feed the remains to their disgusting pets. We need answers and so far, this has been a colossal waste of our time, even if my lovely sister here is too damn polite to tell you otherwise.”
This actually is going better than I thought it would. The unspoken words fluttered through her connection to Serana along with suitably impressed feelings on the matter.
Oh? Not the fireworks you expected, Elle?
No. Well, not yet anyway. I think her time with Cain and the two of us have smoothed over some of the rougher edges.
“You are in no position to dictate how I deal with my kin,” countered Gelebor. “I must continue to highlight how delicate –“
“If you tell me that one more [censored] time it will be the last thing you do. I don’t want to hear about how delicate you need to be. You need to take off the little kid gloves you are using when you deal with the Falmer and command a presence.”
Gwyn now reached a point where she did have a touch of concern about what she would say next. There was a time, not too long ago, when she wouldn’t be quite so selective about dressing someone down, but she understood the importance of what they were doing and she did not want to be the reason her new family would come away from this empty-handed. But if she went too far, it would border on insulting Gelebor and his distant kin irreparably.
“I cannot demand anything of them,” said Gelebor. “I am not their leader.”
“That doesn’t matter,” replied Gwyn. “You’re attempting to treat them as equals when they are not. I’m not pleased to say such a thing, but it’s true – these Betrayed are only a few years removed from warring with each other underground and they are not the evolved beings we are. If you want to be a positive influence on their development, then you need to take a firmer stance before they get annoyed and kill all three of us.”
“…How dare you,” hissed Gelebor.
Uh oh.
Taking a turn for the worse? asked Serana.
Big time.
“I do not care who you are or who you represent - you are in no place to insult my people!” yelled Gelebor. “To come in here and –“ Whatever the Snow Elf intended to say next became unintelligible. Gwyn’s wrist flicked upward once with a green flash that spun newly sprouted vines about the tall elf binding him thoroughly and covering his mouth.
“You’re done for now,” Gwyn nearly shouted. “I’ll assume that whatever you meant to say was not going to be derogatory. Otherwise, these vines will choke the life out of you, Gelebor.”
“Gwyn…” warned Linneá. She caught her soon-to-be sister-in-law’s eyes and relaxed at the nearly imperceptible wink.
“I know what I’m doing,” she mouthed, silently. The Breton turned her intense gaze back to their Falmer liaison. “It was not my intention to insult you or the Betrayed. What I said to you is the cold hard truth, and you need to accept that if you are to ever lead them into a brighter future.” Gelebor muttered something and struggled against the vines that only tightened under Gwyn’s command. “Knock it off.” His eyes flashed angrily, but he wisely heeded her short statement. “I’m going to release you. Do not make me regret it.”
The vines rescinded into the cold, damp earth of the cave floor as quickly as they had emerged, leaving a slightly haggard-looking elf swaying warily on his feet, the haughty expression he began with all but vanished from his features.
“Take some time to dwell on what I’ve said, Gelebor,” advised Gwyn. “If you can’t grow a [censored] spine and show some initiative with your kin, then I will. And nobody will like the results.”
Knight-Paladin Gelebor remained silent as he strutted off in a manner that could possibly be construed as huffy, but only just. Gwyn let out a long exhale as she sat down around the ever-burning campfire and looked questioningly at Linneá. Her sister seemed completely nonplussed by the preceding events, her face a mask of impassiveness. Frustratingly so, for a moment, until she grinned at her fiery companion.
“That was a job well done, Gwynnie. Maybe a touch too strong at the end, but I think you gave our host plenty to think about.”
“I sure as hell hope so,” said Gwyn. “Or else I’ve [censored] this whole thing up; and I don’t want the first assignment your father trusted me with to end in ruin.”
You did amazingly, Cain whispered in her mind. I can’t think of any other way someone would’ve gotten through to him.
We’ll see.
-----
When a full hour elapsed without hide nor hair of Gelebor’s return, Gwyn began to feel anxious, and the doubt regarding her approach to the matter slowly crept to the forefront of her mind, and it was plain to see on her face. Furtive glances around Darkfall Cave only compounded those feelings until Linneá shimmied over next to her and bumped her shoulder against Gwyn’s.
“Don’t worry so much, sis. Gelebor probably hasn’t been forced to reexamine himself like that for thousands of years. It’s only natural that he made need some time to figure out what just happened to him.”
“We don’t have to for him to mope around, Linn. We’ve been here far too long already.”
Gwyn stood up and paced back and forth across from Linneá, all the time wondering if she could have done something differently, or if she could have been gentler with their host. Did the urgency of their quest influence her actions? Could she have been more reasonable? Would he help them at all now; or send them back to Solitude empty-handed.
At least it would be a short trip.
She felt Cain floating around the fringes of her thoughts, but he had a knack for knowing exactly when to intrude on them, and this was not one of those times. All things considered, she still felt relatively even keeled, which ought to have suggested her self-doubt was vapid. Ultimately, this entire sequence of events came to an abrupt end moments later when the Wayshrine portal flickered to life and Gelebor returned from the Forgotten Vale to rejoin them. How he managed to get there without them knowing Gwyn wasn’t sure, but his haughty demeanor seemed to have returned, which suggested the elf had something up his sleeve.
Linneá jumped to her feet in surprise, but Gelebor cut her off before she could ask a single question.
“I’d like to speak to Ms. Gwyndala first,” he said.
“What do you want?” answered Gwyn as she approached from the fireside.
“To apologize. You were correct in your summations, even if I did not want to hear it. The vines may have been wound a bit too tightly, but I can overlook that in light of our success.”
“Our success?” asked Linneá. “You mean…”
“I returned to the Betrayed after my thoughts cleared and I took the steps Ms. Gwyndala recommended. The chieftains did not like it, but the Wisewomen are aptly named, and stepped in when they tried to be as hard-headed as I was being.”
Linneá practically bobbed up and down with excitement on the heels of her feet while Gwyn remained steadfast. The Breton didn’t want to celebrate anything until they were given answers to the mystery that brought them so far into the freezing wilds of Skyrim, if there were even any answers to give.
“What did the tell you?” said Gwyn.
Gelebor gestured for them to sit down, and then he told the two of them what drove the Falmer above ground and into the sanctuary of the Forgotten Vale.
And they could scarce believe what they heard.
-----
The High King’s private study at the Blue Palace bustled with activity, and deep feelings of angst permeated the air. Gwyn and the rest of the Windbornes waited mostly in silence for the lone family member yet missing: Cain. He had only just taken off on the wings of a dragon and needed to put some distance between his escort troop before recalling along with the rest of them to discuss Gelebor’s revelation. Sitting cross-legged in front of the blazing fire, Gwyn rubbing at her arms to ward off the cold she still felt from her trip into Skyrim’s winter wilderness. The spell Linneá taught her had helped, but she still lacked that hardy Nord blood.
She stared into the flickering flames, waiting impatiently to see her fiance again. She longed for that the most, despite all she and Linneá had learned. And then, with a brief flash of magick, a windswept Redguard appeared in by her side and extended his hand down to her and she used it to pull herself up and into his arms.
“Gods, I missed you,” said Gwyn into Cain’s chest. “That’s the last [censored] time we split up, got it?” She looked around the room at her new family before giving him a chance to answer. “That goes for all of you, yeah?”
“Fine by me if that means Elle doesn’t go anywhere either,” grinned Serana.
Lydia moved from her place at Kirin’s side and embraced her son warmly. “I’m glad you are home, dear. It’s been so strange not being able to see all of you on a whim. Kyne of course kept us apprised of how you were faring, but I must admit I’d grown accustomed to having all of you recall for a visit at any time. Much like Serana and Gwyn have expressed, I wish we could always keep close.” She then took a seat on her favorite chaise and let her husband have the floor.
Kirin didn’t speak right away. The news brought back by his daughters troubled him greatly, and he rather thought the last time things felt so grim happened to be when he still remained trapped in the Soul Cairn. He always knew the Thalmor would one day return – especially after their new alliances were formed, and with his impending ascension to the Ruby Throne – but to discover that a genocide took place beneath their feet and without being detected made him question his ability to protect any and all who dwelled within the lands under his protection.
They had to do something, and fast. But they only knew of what the Dominion was up to… not where.
“Ahem,” he finally cleared his throat. “Gwyn, have you informed Cain on what you discovered.”
“Yeah. The moment he was airborne.”
“Good. Suffice it to say, we have a new problem to root out and I want all of you involved this time. We’ll need everything we can muster to find the Thalmor and rid our land of them. When the time comes, Salihn will stay here with your mother while I join you in taking out the trash. They can’t hope to stand against our combined might.” At this, Kirin got to his feet and opened the window expectantly. And not a moment too soon for their favorite hawk to soar in and resume her mortal form.
“Hello, children,” smiled Kyne. “It’s lovely to see you all together again.”
“Any news, mum?” asked Linneá.
“Possibly. There are rumors of a madwoman assaulting some guards at Fort Dunstad. I didn’t have time to investigate, but she matched the description for Delphine.”
Gelebor got to discover what it is like to be on the wrong end of an angry Gwyn. She has grown a great deal though – this time her ire was carefully controlled with the intent of (hopefully) enhancing the chance of success of their mission. That included a full knowledge of the stakes involved and potential cost of failure to her new family. Thankfully, she was successful!
I think it was a good choice not to recite for readers what was learned – after all, we’ve had enough peeks into what the Thalmor are up to that we already know.
Nice to have the whole family back together for planning, and welcome news from Kyne of a likely Delphine sighting.
I think it was a good choice not to recite for readers what was learned – after all, we’ve had enough peeks into what the Thalmor are up to that we already know.
Nice to have the whole family back together for planning, and welcome news from Kyne of a likely Delphine sighting.
Chapter XXXVIII – The Voyage of the Damned
The Dawn’s Ghost bobbed up and down on the calm waters of the Topal Bay. Atop the main mast, in the crow’s nest, a sharp eyed Altmer spotter strained his eyes to the north for signs of land. The instant the isle of Tideholm came into view marked the beginning of their unseen journey up the Niben River to their ultimate destination. The emaciated Bosmer, Teliel, waited in belowdecks in a damp and dark cabin without knowing when her next meal came, or when some thuggish Thalmor soldier decided it was time to have a little fun with her. Only her healing spells kept her alive; a fact that surely had not escaped Prime Magistrate Cirion who Teliel rarely saw. If she had to guess, the mer probably spent most of the voyage locked in his cabin scheming up a way to not be a sacrificial lamb to the mad tyrant running the Dominion.
Half naked and wrapped in filthy tattered rags, she sat with knees tucked into her bare chest dreaming longingly of the homely hut she’d been unceremoniously plucked from. Although not much bigger than the room she found herself in, it at least offered a warm fire and a soft bed. The straw pile to Teliel’s left had a musty smell of mold that if left unchecked would foment a disease that would infect the entire crew, herself included. She seriously considered setting it aflame ere the night fell and sleeping on the hard plank floor instead.
Her hand outstretched with a ball of fire flickering to life until the faint noise of soft footfalls caught her ear. Cirion emerged into the light cast by a torch sconce across from her cell and peered through the bars.
“Get up!” he barked. “It’s time for you to enshroud us.” Teliel dragged herself to her feet and shuffled towards her prison door, her grimy exposed breasts catching the Magister’s eye. “And make yourself decent you filthy whore.”
“With what?” she retorted. “The last of your soldiers to come in here ripped my shirt apart before he forced himself on me. Or do you not care about that the men under your command get up to?”
“I don’t care what happens to the tramps rotting in Thalmor prisons. Don’t break our laws and you wouldn’t find yourself in such a position.” That having been said, Cirion stepped away and fished what resembled a burlap sack with armholes cut out of it and handed it to the tiny elf maiden after unlocking the door to her holding cell. “Here. Put this on.”
Teliel slipped the garment over her head and followed the tall elf down the hall and up a ladder, emerging into the warm air of the southern sea under blue skies and a blazing sun. The sudden change in light blinded her for a moment while, thankfully, Cirion was distracted by a soldier leaning against a side rail. It gave her voluminous green eyes a moment to adjust while he berated the charge for all to hear.
Once she could properly see again, her keen vision picked out a small blob on the horizon.
That must be Valenwood, she thought. We’re only a few days out now.
Cirion jammed the hilt of his ornate rapier into her shoulder, and she let out a painful gasp. “Up to the prow, elf. Your staff is already there.”
And so it was. Teliel could feel it before she saw it strapped to a rigging near the front of the ship. The darkness it lived in called to her, begging to cast a shadow over the world of light that was an affront to the eternal darkness. Cirion led her up dangerously close to edge, untied the staff from its heavy rope, bindings and handed it to the Bosmer.
“Do what we brought you here to do and nothing else,” he commanded. “If I catch anything amiss you will wish an ear is the only appendage you are lacking.”
The threat carried little weight for Teliel. Her only tormentors thus far had been the foot sloggers under Cirion’s command – the Magister himself deigned himself above such trivial matters. But the sooner she got this over with, the sooner she could make her own escape and slip from the greedy clutches of the Thalmor. Summoning the ancient magick of Shadows from the crystal tipped staff and supplementing it with her own reserves, Teliel cast a single, powerful burst amidship and with a flicker of dimness the Dawn’s Ghost vanished from sight and slipped into the Realm of Shadows where its voyage would continue unseen by the citizens of Tamriel.
In this realm, Magnus had ceased casting its brilliant glow upon Nirn long ago. Perpetual twilight dominated the mortal plane and the hideous monsters that could only be summoned to aid a caster in the lands this ship and crew had just departed roamed freely, preying on any poor souls trapped in the ravaged land. The waters of the sea were a deep murky orange that reflected no light and offered little insight to the dangers that lurked beneath the waves. Teliel hid a smirk. There was unchecked power in the Realm of Shadows that already began to siphon off. Her staff helped channel it back home, but here it flowed through her just like any other magicka.
There would be no stopping a quick escape.
“Well?” asked Cirion. “Is that it?” Teliel nodded and handed him back her precious staff. “Excellent. Those Imperial dogs will never know what hit them. Ensign!” he called to the nearest soldier. “Get the prisoner back to her cell and make sure she is fed and healthy when we reach Lake Rumare. Her job isn’t over just yet.”
The guard grabbed her forcefully by the arm but before he they headed back midships, the Magister tutted annoyingly.
“Oh, and one more thing, elf. Don’t think our queen didn’t understand the opportunity presenting itself to you here.” He strode over to Teliel and snapped a single manacle over the wrist of her right hand that might as well have signed her death warrant. She felt the Silence enchantment immediately, and all hope of escape evaporated from her mind. “Can’t have you leaving ahead of the final hour now could we?”
Teliel said nothing and allowed herself to be pushed, shoved, and prodded back to down to the makeshift brig where the lowly soldier thrust her inside. He returned a moment later with a canteen of water, a loaf of bread, and a wedge of eidar cheese that was beginning to harden. Having not eaten in days, she wolfed most of the meager meal down before the ensign’s footsteps receded and got a stomachache for her efforts. Slumped against the wall and panting slightly, Teliel realized that weeks of captivity sapped nearly all of her strength and that her short trek outside had exhausted her completely.
And the infernal manacle digging into her skin meant she was stuck there with the rest of the Altmer bastards as they sailed north towards the Imperial Isle.
She’d never left the area mirrored from her home when she jumped dimensions, so a part of her wondered what the world looked like outside of her forest hut. Would they be assaulted by fell beasts on the air? Would the ship be sunk by hulking water demons desperate to sink their teeth into mortal flesh? She almost wish one of those scenarios did come to pass if only to end the pitiful existence she now lived.
However, the more practical and learned part of Teliel knew that all manner of creatures wee no doubt giving the ship a wide berth. Crystal-Like-Law radiated power that none but the foolish and power hungry Dominion sought to meddle with.
The fate of Teliel – and the Empire – was all but sealed. She could not fathom a way out.
The Dawn’s Ghost bobbed up and down on the calm waters of the Topal Bay. Atop the main mast, in the crow’s nest, a sharp eyed Altmer spotter strained his eyes to the north for signs of land. The instant the isle of Tideholm came into view marked the beginning of their unseen journey up the Niben River to their ultimate destination. The emaciated Bosmer, Teliel, waited in belowdecks in a damp and dark cabin without knowing when her next meal came, or when some thuggish Thalmor soldier decided it was time to have a little fun with her. Only her healing spells kept her alive; a fact that surely had not escaped Prime Magistrate Cirion who Teliel rarely saw. If she had to guess, the mer probably spent most of the voyage locked in his cabin scheming up a way to not be a sacrificial lamb to the mad tyrant running the Dominion.
Half naked and wrapped in filthy tattered rags, she sat with knees tucked into her bare chest dreaming longingly of the homely hut she’d been unceremoniously plucked from. Although not much bigger than the room she found herself in, it at least offered a warm fire and a soft bed. The straw pile to Teliel’s left had a musty smell of mold that if left unchecked would foment a disease that would infect the entire crew, herself included. She seriously considered setting it aflame ere the night fell and sleeping on the hard plank floor instead.
Her hand outstretched with a ball of fire flickering to life until the faint noise of soft footfalls caught her ear. Cirion emerged into the light cast by a torch sconce across from her cell and peered through the bars.
“Get up!” he barked. “It’s time for you to enshroud us.” Teliel dragged herself to her feet and shuffled towards her prison door, her grimy exposed breasts catching the Magister’s eye. “And make yourself decent you filthy whore.”
“With what?” she retorted. “The last of your soldiers to come in here ripped my shirt apart before he forced himself on me. Or do you not care about that the men under your command get up to?”
“I don’t care what happens to the tramps rotting in Thalmor prisons. Don’t break our laws and you wouldn’t find yourself in such a position.” That having been said, Cirion stepped away and fished what resembled a burlap sack with armholes cut out of it and handed it to the tiny elf maiden after unlocking the door to her holding cell. “Here. Put this on.”
Teliel slipped the garment over her head and followed the tall elf down the hall and up a ladder, emerging into the warm air of the southern sea under blue skies and a blazing sun. The sudden change in light blinded her for a moment while, thankfully, Cirion was distracted by a soldier leaning against a side rail. It gave her voluminous green eyes a moment to adjust while he berated the charge for all to hear.
Once she could properly see again, her keen vision picked out a small blob on the horizon.
That must be Valenwood, she thought. We’re only a few days out now.
Cirion jammed the hilt of his ornate rapier into her shoulder, and she let out a painful gasp. “Up to the prow, elf. Your staff is already there.”
And so it was. Teliel could feel it before she saw it strapped to a rigging near the front of the ship. The darkness it lived in called to her, begging to cast a shadow over the world of light that was an affront to the eternal darkness. Cirion led her up dangerously close to edge, untied the staff from its heavy rope, bindings and handed it to the Bosmer.
“Do what we brought you here to do and nothing else,” he commanded. “If I catch anything amiss you will wish an ear is the only appendage you are lacking.”
The threat carried little weight for Teliel. Her only tormentors thus far had been the foot sloggers under Cirion’s command – the Magister himself deigned himself above such trivial matters. But the sooner she got this over with, the sooner she could make her own escape and slip from the greedy clutches of the Thalmor. Summoning the ancient magick of Shadows from the crystal tipped staff and supplementing it with her own reserves, Teliel cast a single, powerful burst amidship and with a flicker of dimness the Dawn’s Ghost vanished from sight and slipped into the Realm of Shadows where its voyage would continue unseen by the citizens of Tamriel.
In this realm, Magnus had ceased casting its brilliant glow upon Nirn long ago. Perpetual twilight dominated the mortal plane and the hideous monsters that could only be summoned to aid a caster in the lands this ship and crew had just departed roamed freely, preying on any poor souls trapped in the ravaged land. The waters of the sea were a deep murky orange that reflected no light and offered little insight to the dangers that lurked beneath the waves. Teliel hid a smirk. There was unchecked power in the Realm of Shadows that already began to siphon off. Her staff helped channel it back home, but here it flowed through her just like any other magicka.
There would be no stopping a quick escape.
“Well?” asked Cirion. “Is that it?” Teliel nodded and handed him back her precious staff. “Excellent. Those Imperial dogs will never know what hit them. Ensign!” he called to the nearest soldier. “Get the prisoner back to her cell and make sure she is fed and healthy when we reach Lake Rumare. Her job isn’t over just yet.”
The guard grabbed her forcefully by the arm but before he they headed back midships, the Magister tutted annoyingly.
“Oh, and one more thing, elf. Don’t think our queen didn’t understand the opportunity presenting itself to you here.” He strode over to Teliel and snapped a single manacle over the wrist of her right hand that might as well have signed her death warrant. She felt the Silence enchantment immediately, and all hope of escape evaporated from her mind. “Can’t have you leaving ahead of the final hour now could we?”
Teliel said nothing and allowed herself to be pushed, shoved, and prodded back to down to the makeshift brig where the lowly soldier thrust her inside. He returned a moment later with a canteen of water, a loaf of bread, and a wedge of eidar cheese that was beginning to harden. Having not eaten in days, she wolfed most of the meager meal down before the ensign’s footsteps receded and got a stomachache for her efforts. Slumped against the wall and panting slightly, Teliel realized that weeks of captivity sapped nearly all of her strength and that her short trek outside had exhausted her completely.
And the infernal manacle digging into her skin meant she was stuck there with the rest of the Altmer bastards as they sailed north towards the Imperial Isle.
She’d never left the area mirrored from her home when she jumped dimensions, so a part of her wondered what the world looked like outside of her forest hut. Would they be assaulted by fell beasts on the air? Would the ship be sunk by hulking water demons desperate to sink their teeth into mortal flesh? She almost wish one of those scenarios did come to pass if only to end the pitiful existence she now lived.
However, the more practical and learned part of Teliel knew that all manner of creatures wee no doubt giving the ship a wide berth. Crystal-Like-Law radiated power that none but the foolish and power hungry Dominion sought to meddle with.
The fate of Teliel – and the Empire – was all but sealed. She could not fathom a way out.
The tiny isle of Tideholm is well familiar from adventuring in the Second Era!
Back to the wretched existence of poor Teliel as she endures captivity by the brutish Thalmor crew on their ship.
Neat description of the cloaking spell that she and the staff cast to hide the ship. A glimmer of hope was dashed as Cirion slaps a ‘null iron’ manacle on Teliel’s wrist to prevent any spellcasting that might have allowed her to escape.
Unfortunately, the Thalmor’s plans seem to unfolding per their wishes.
Back to the wretched existence of poor Teliel as she endures captivity by the brutish Thalmor crew on their ship.
Neat description of the cloaking spell that she and the staff cast to hide the ship. A glimmer of hope was dashed as Cirion slaps a ‘null iron’ manacle on Teliel’s wrist to prevent any spellcasting that might have allowed her to escape.
Unfortunately, the Thalmor’s plans seem to unfolding per their wishes.
It does seem very grim with the way things are unfolding in the south. We'll have to see if it's any better up north!
=======================
Chapter XXXIX – Under an Ancient Sun
“It won’ budge.”
“Pull harder! We’re running out of time!”
“I am pullin’ hard ya old bag!”
Retnarr heaved and yanked and tugged on the seized Dwemer lever uselessly. The tall bronze-colored gate loomed over them and remained steadfastly sealed against intrusion. The elevator to the Tower of Mzark waited just beyond, promising an escape from the dreadful dim light of Blackreach and its Thalmor occupiers. Dogs were barking in the distance, and Delphine did not like how short that distance seemed to be. Time was of the essence.
“Alright, alright, take a breather, Retnarr,” said Delphine.
The old Nord took a seat in the dirt to catch his breath while she paced around the lever and pondered on the latest problem to impede their hasty exit. As if hound dogs, giants patrolling the road, and countless winged chaurus weren’t bad enough they had now walked all this way only to be stopped by a simple mechanical issue. But, despite the number of years removed from the field, Delphine still had the heart of a Blades agent, and she recognized that almost every problem had a solution. In this instance, that meant a Dwemer solution that soon came to her.
“Damn it I’m a fool,” sighed Delphine. “Retnarr, do you still have that vial of oil we grabbed from the ruined centurion?”
“Aye, I was hoping ter sell it if’n we survived this mess. Fetches a nice price in the city.”
“I’ll give you some gold later. Pour it into the mechanism at the base of the lever.”
A few seconds (and some grumbling) later, Delphine grabbed the oiled lever and pulled it towards her with ease. “Hah! Let’s get the hell out of here!”
Her Nord friend did not need to be told twice, and he darted into the lift before Delphine even finished her sentence. Thankfully, the lever inside the lift worked flawlessly, and with an obnoxiously loud burst of steam that Delphine prayed to the Nine would not give away their escape, the lift slowly rose out of sight as they finally left Blackreach behind.
When the lift rose to its destination inside the Tower of Mzark, the gate leading into the ruin stood opened and welcomed them into a short corridor that led to an open room that resembled a study. Shelves full of ruined books lined the wall with stone chairs tucked in between them, and two smaller shelves holding bits of Dwemer cutlery and an empty chest awaited Delphine and Retnarr by another door at the opposite end of the room. The sight beyond filled her with wonder while the old Nord snorted with indifference. A massively imposing Oculory hung delicately in a spherical room with a raised circular floor. At the very center, a container that once housed something of obvious importance remained open and emptied of its contents.
“So, this is where Kirin found his Elder Scroll,” said Delphine. “Amazing. I can only imagine the sights like this he saw during his adventure.”
“Eh? The High King was ‘ere?”
“Yes. Many years ago, when he fought to end the Dragon Crisis. No doubt he walked a similar path to us in Blackreach.”
“Hmph. And ‘ere I thought most nobles an’ such were useless louts.”
“Let me be the first to dispel that notion when it comes your High King, Retnarr. Kirin Windborne will go down in the annals of history as a legendary figure, and his children are not far behind him. And they will all no doubt be on the front lines when the inevitable second war with the Aldmeri Dominion comes to pass.”
“I’ll take yer word for it, Delph. Now how’s about we get the piss outta ‘ere?”
Delphine chuckled and pointed at a third door directly opposite them. They circumvented the impressive Dwemer device and proceeded down another short corridor that led to a second lift. The air around them grew bitingly cold the higher they ascended until the lift came to a stop with the gales of winter blowing snow through the final gate barring their escape from Thalmor clutches. Pale rays of morning sunlight that blinded their eyes after being trapped underground for so long poked lamely through gray clouds. Huge drifts of snow piled up against the stairs leading down from the tower’s exit, and Delphine began to melt it with a flame spell to clear their path.
“It looks to be mid-morning,” she noted. “We can make it part way to Dunstad by evening, but we’ll have to hunker down for the night. See if you can pack up that old tent over there. We’ll need it.”
Retnarr grunted and after she melted a channel through the deep snow, he walked over to the old leather A-frame and carefully dismantled it.
“We should replace some of ‘ese here poles wit new branches, Delph. They’re a bit dry-rotted.”
“Shouldn’t be an issue. The pine forest at the base of the mountain will have plenty to offer. Let’s just take the shell and those sleeping bags and go from there.”
The path down into the valley below was treacherous in the wintry conditions and their progress proceeded at an agonizingly slow pace for two on the lam fugitives whose only goal in life involved getting as far away from the Thalmor as humanly possible. Wind bit at Delphine’s skin and only her warmth spell kept the elderly Breton from dying of exposure in Skyrim’s harsh and unforgiving elements. She let Retnarr take the lead since he had more experience in these conditions and followed him a few paces behind while casting the occasional detect life spell to ensure they weren’t being pursued.
Evening brought with it a driving snowstorm that, while having the benefit of obscuring their tracks, also made navigation nearly impossible. The wind soon blew the snow sideways, forcing them to take shelter in a small cluster of stunted pines.
“What I wouldn’t give for a fire right about now,” Delphine moaned through chattering teeth. “I can’t take much more of this, friend.”
“It’ll pass soon like.”
“How can you know that?”
“I’m a Nord,” he said simply.
True to Retnarr’s words, the whiteout dissipated less than half an hour later and ushered forth a clear, crisp night. He immediately set about crafting new poles for the tent while Delphine again used her flame spell to melt a small clearing in the snow. While she waited for Retnarr to get the tent set up, she scouted the area for any sign of their pursuers and breathed a sigh of relief when she was unable to detect them.
“I think we might be in the clear. There is no chance the elves can track us after that blizzard, and we seem to have wandered too far north. That’ll also throw them for a loop if they know we escaped out of Mzark.”
“Yer gonna have ta forgive me if I don’ take yer word for it. Get some rest an’ I’ll take first watch.”
Delphine didn’t have the energy left to argue, so she ducked into the rudimentary tent and burrowed herself deep into the heavy, down-filled sleeping bag. Once she felt comfortable enough to sleep, she cast a warmth spell again and closed her eyes with the intention of waking up in about four hours.
Delphine instead woke up two days later in the infirmary at Fort Dunstad. And Cain Windborne stood at the end of her bed with his diminutive fiancé.
“Welcome back, Delphine,” he smiled. “How are you feeling?”
She blinked rapidly and looked around. “Er. Confused. How in Oblivion did I end up here?”
“Hypothermia. Your rustic Nord friend thinks you ran out of magicka and that your spell wore off while you slept. Had a patrol from the fort not been out on training exercises he assures me you wouldn’t have survived the night. You were already quite delirious from it, and I'm told a soldier had to rap you over the head just to get you safely back”
“Oh. I guess I’m getting too old for this sort of thing. Maybe next time I’ll stay in Solitude.” She propped herself up against the back of her infirmary bed and took a swig of water from the mug on her bedside table and gazed around the room. The infirmary at Fort Dunstad looked the same as any other she’d had the misfortune of being in, but this time she was the sole occupant. Her thoughts began to stray back to the cozy temple in Cyrodiil until reality caught back up and she nearly burst from the pent-up anxiety over her and Retnarr’s recent discoveries. “By the Nine! Cain – the Thalmor are in Blackreach!”
“We know,” said Cain. “Retnarr filled us in this morning over breakfast. Gwyn and I have already relayed the news to my father and things are already in motion. The elves aren’t going to know what hit them.”
“You must be careful, Cain. They are messing with dangers that should have remained buried forever.”
A dangerous glint flashed over Gwyn’s eyes and when she smiled Delphine was taken aback by her bared teeth. “They’ll regret threatening my family,” she promised.
Delphine didn’t have a lot of prior interaction with her Breton counterpart, but she instinctively knew that something about the finality behind that statement was not something to doubt. Gwyndala Louvain sent a chill down the long-time Blades operative’s spine that had nothing to do with the cold climate of the northern lands and Delphine almost found herself pitying what the Thalmor would soon be dealing with.
Almost. Still, she did not fully understand how the Windbornes planned on dealing with the Dark Heart of Namira. When Delphine glimpsed it deep within Blackreach it already seemed frighteningly unstable from the number of doomed souls being fed into it and she shuddered to think what would happen if that energy were to be released – which it occurred to her was probably the Thalmor’s plan all along. No doubt the resulting explosion of magickal energy would cause catastrophic damage to the entire province of Skyrim. She really was getting too old for all of this.
“I think I’ll sit the next part out,” said Delphine. “It’s obvious from our escape that my days in the field are over. May the Divines watch over you all.”
Cain and Gwyn bowed politely and departed leaving the room momentarily empty until her fellow escapee shuffled in with two steaming mugs. “Have yerself a coffee, Delph. Or I can lend ya my mulled mead if’n that suits yer fancy.”
“Coffee sounds great, Retnarr,” said Delphine. “How are you doing? No hiccups apart from me nearly dying?”
“Nah. The night was quiet ‘til it weren’t. I’m jus’ glad ya didn’t freeze solid out there ya old bag,” grinned Retnarr.
“You and me both.” Delphine savored a sip from her mug and leaned back against her pillow. “So, what’s next for you, my friend?”
“Dunno. It’s a bit cold out to keep driftin’, so’s I might head south an’ find a hay pile or somethin’ in Riften. Maybe even the Ratway.”
“To hell with that, Retnarr. You’re coming to Solitude with me – I’ll have the local captain put you up in the barracks and we’ll see about getting you employed from there. The Blue Palace is always looking for capable guards and you’ve more than earned it. I can put in a good word with the High King.”
“Solitude, eh?” mused Retnarr. “I’ll have ta think about that.”
“It won’ budge.”
“Pull harder! We’re running out of time!”
“I am pullin’ hard ya old bag!”
Retnarr heaved and yanked and tugged on the seized Dwemer lever uselessly. The tall bronze-colored gate loomed over them and remained steadfastly sealed against intrusion. The elevator to the Tower of Mzark waited just beyond, promising an escape from the dreadful dim light of Blackreach and its Thalmor occupiers. Dogs were barking in the distance, and Delphine did not like how short that distance seemed to be. Time was of the essence.
“Alright, alright, take a breather, Retnarr,” said Delphine.
The old Nord took a seat in the dirt to catch his breath while she paced around the lever and pondered on the latest problem to impede their hasty exit. As if hound dogs, giants patrolling the road, and countless winged chaurus weren’t bad enough they had now walked all this way only to be stopped by a simple mechanical issue. But, despite the number of years removed from the field, Delphine still had the heart of a Blades agent, and she recognized that almost every problem had a solution. In this instance, that meant a Dwemer solution that soon came to her.
“Damn it I’m a fool,” sighed Delphine. “Retnarr, do you still have that vial of oil we grabbed from the ruined centurion?”
“Aye, I was hoping ter sell it if’n we survived this mess. Fetches a nice price in the city.”
“I’ll give you some gold later. Pour it into the mechanism at the base of the lever.”
A few seconds (and some grumbling) later, Delphine grabbed the oiled lever and pulled it towards her with ease. “Hah! Let’s get the hell out of here!”
Her Nord friend did not need to be told twice, and he darted into the lift before Delphine even finished her sentence. Thankfully, the lever inside the lift worked flawlessly, and with an obnoxiously loud burst of steam that Delphine prayed to the Nine would not give away their escape, the lift slowly rose out of sight as they finally left Blackreach behind.
When the lift rose to its destination inside the Tower of Mzark, the gate leading into the ruin stood opened and welcomed them into a short corridor that led to an open room that resembled a study. Shelves full of ruined books lined the wall with stone chairs tucked in between them, and two smaller shelves holding bits of Dwemer cutlery and an empty chest awaited Delphine and Retnarr by another door at the opposite end of the room. The sight beyond filled her with wonder while the old Nord snorted with indifference. A massively imposing Oculory hung delicately in a spherical room with a raised circular floor. At the very center, a container that once housed something of obvious importance remained open and emptied of its contents.
“So, this is where Kirin found his Elder Scroll,” said Delphine. “Amazing. I can only imagine the sights like this he saw during his adventure.”
“Eh? The High King was ‘ere?”
“Yes. Many years ago, when he fought to end the Dragon Crisis. No doubt he walked a similar path to us in Blackreach.”
“Hmph. And ‘ere I thought most nobles an’ such were useless louts.”
“Let me be the first to dispel that notion when it comes your High King, Retnarr. Kirin Windborne will go down in the annals of history as a legendary figure, and his children are not far behind him. And they will all no doubt be on the front lines when the inevitable second war with the Aldmeri Dominion comes to pass.”
“I’ll take yer word for it, Delph. Now how’s about we get the piss outta ‘ere?”
Delphine chuckled and pointed at a third door directly opposite them. They circumvented the impressive Dwemer device and proceeded down another short corridor that led to a second lift. The air around them grew bitingly cold the higher they ascended until the lift came to a stop with the gales of winter blowing snow through the final gate barring their escape from Thalmor clutches. Pale rays of morning sunlight that blinded their eyes after being trapped underground for so long poked lamely through gray clouds. Huge drifts of snow piled up against the stairs leading down from the tower’s exit, and Delphine began to melt it with a flame spell to clear their path.
“It looks to be mid-morning,” she noted. “We can make it part way to Dunstad by evening, but we’ll have to hunker down for the night. See if you can pack up that old tent over there. We’ll need it.”
Retnarr grunted and after she melted a channel through the deep snow, he walked over to the old leather A-frame and carefully dismantled it.
“We should replace some of ‘ese here poles wit new branches, Delph. They’re a bit dry-rotted.”
“Shouldn’t be an issue. The pine forest at the base of the mountain will have plenty to offer. Let’s just take the shell and those sleeping bags and go from there.”
The path down into the valley below was treacherous in the wintry conditions and their progress proceeded at an agonizingly slow pace for two on the lam fugitives whose only goal in life involved getting as far away from the Thalmor as humanly possible. Wind bit at Delphine’s skin and only her warmth spell kept the elderly Breton from dying of exposure in Skyrim’s harsh and unforgiving elements. She let Retnarr take the lead since he had more experience in these conditions and followed him a few paces behind while casting the occasional detect life spell to ensure they weren’t being pursued.
Evening brought with it a driving snowstorm that, while having the benefit of obscuring their tracks, also made navigation nearly impossible. The wind soon blew the snow sideways, forcing them to take shelter in a small cluster of stunted pines.
“What I wouldn’t give for a fire right about now,” Delphine moaned through chattering teeth. “I can’t take much more of this, friend.”
“It’ll pass soon like.”
“How can you know that?”
“I’m a Nord,” he said simply.
True to Retnarr’s words, the whiteout dissipated less than half an hour later and ushered forth a clear, crisp night. He immediately set about crafting new poles for the tent while Delphine again used her flame spell to melt a small clearing in the snow. While she waited for Retnarr to get the tent set up, she scouted the area for any sign of their pursuers and breathed a sigh of relief when she was unable to detect them.
“I think we might be in the clear. There is no chance the elves can track us after that blizzard, and we seem to have wandered too far north. That’ll also throw them for a loop if they know we escaped out of Mzark.”
“Yer gonna have ta forgive me if I don’ take yer word for it. Get some rest an’ I’ll take first watch.”
Delphine didn’t have the energy left to argue, so she ducked into the rudimentary tent and burrowed herself deep into the heavy, down-filled sleeping bag. Once she felt comfortable enough to sleep, she cast a warmth spell again and closed her eyes with the intention of waking up in about four hours.
[center]-----
[/center]Delphine instead woke up two days later in the infirmary at Fort Dunstad. And Cain Windborne stood at the end of her bed with his diminutive fiancé.
“Welcome back, Delphine,” he smiled. “How are you feeling?”
She blinked rapidly and looked around. “Er. Confused. How in Oblivion did I end up here?”
“Hypothermia. Your rustic Nord friend thinks you ran out of magicka and that your spell wore off while you slept. Had a patrol from the fort not been out on training exercises he assures me you wouldn’t have survived the night. You were already quite delirious from it, and I'm told a soldier had to rap you over the head just to get you safely back”
“Oh. I guess I’m getting too old for this sort of thing. Maybe next time I’ll stay in Solitude.” She propped herself up against the back of her infirmary bed and took a swig of water from the mug on her bedside table and gazed around the room. The infirmary at Fort Dunstad looked the same as any other she’d had the misfortune of being in, but this time she was the sole occupant. Her thoughts began to stray back to the cozy temple in Cyrodiil until reality caught back up and she nearly burst from the pent-up anxiety over her and Retnarr’s recent discoveries. “By the Nine! Cain – the Thalmor are in Blackreach!”
“We know,” said Cain. “Retnarr filled us in this morning over breakfast. Gwyn and I have already relayed the news to my father and things are already in motion. The elves aren’t going to know what hit them.”
“You must be careful, Cain. They are messing with dangers that should have remained buried forever.”
A dangerous glint flashed over Gwyn’s eyes and when she smiled Delphine was taken aback by her bared teeth. “They’ll regret threatening my family,” she promised.
Delphine didn’t have a lot of prior interaction with her Breton counterpart, but she instinctively knew that something about the finality behind that statement was not something to doubt. Gwyndala Louvain sent a chill down the long-time Blades operative’s spine that had nothing to do with the cold climate of the northern lands and Delphine almost found herself pitying what the Thalmor would soon be dealing with.
Almost. Still, she did not fully understand how the Windbornes planned on dealing with the Dark Heart of Namira. When Delphine glimpsed it deep within Blackreach it already seemed frighteningly unstable from the number of doomed souls being fed into it and she shuddered to think what would happen if that energy were to be released – which it occurred to her was probably the Thalmor’s plan all along. No doubt the resulting explosion of magickal energy would cause catastrophic damage to the entire province of Skyrim. She really was getting too old for all of this.
“I think I’ll sit the next part out,” said Delphine. “It’s obvious from our escape that my days in the field are over. May the Divines watch over you all.”
Cain and Gwyn bowed politely and departed leaving the room momentarily empty until her fellow escapee shuffled in with two steaming mugs. “Have yerself a coffee, Delph. Or I can lend ya my mulled mead if’n that suits yer fancy.”
“Coffee sounds great, Retnarr,” said Delphine. “How are you doing? No hiccups apart from me nearly dying?”
“Nah. The night was quiet ‘til it weren’t. I’m jus’ glad ya didn’t freeze solid out there ya old bag,” grinned Retnarr.
“You and me both.” Delphine savored a sip from her mug and leaned back against her pillow. “So, what’s next for you, my friend?”
“Dunno. It’s a bit cold out to keep driftin’, so’s I might head south an’ find a hay pile or somethin’ in Riften. Maybe even the Ratway.”
“To hell with that, Retnarr. You’re coming to Solitude with me – I’ll have the local captain put you up in the barracks and we’ll see about getting you employed from there. The Blue Palace is always looking for capable guards and you’ve more than earned it. I can put in a good word with the High King.”
“Solitude, eh?” mused Retnarr. “I’ll have ta think about that.”
The Great Escape was almost foiled by a sticky old Dwemer lever. Thankfully, some Dwemer oil fixed that.
Out of the Frying Pan and into the Blizzards of Skyland! Bretons – especially old ones – really aren’t cut out for that clime.
Thankfully, with Retnarr’s help and that of a passing patrol, the pair make it to Fort Dunstad – and some warmth.
Gwyn doesn’t bat an eye at ruffling up her feathers when she feels her family’s in danger. Took her a long time to get there but she’s fiercely protective of this new family she fell into.
Let’s hope Kirin and Cain know what their doing when it comes to the Dark Heart of Namira. . . .
Out of the Frying Pan and into the Blizzards of Skyland! Bretons – especially old ones – really aren’t cut out for that clime.
Thankfully, with Retnarr’s help and that of a passing patrol, the pair make it to Fort Dunstad – and some warmth.
Gwyn doesn’t bat an eye at ruffling up her feathers when she feels her family’s in danger. Took her a long time to get there but she’s fiercely protective of this new family she fell into.
Let’s hope Kirin and Cain know what their doing when it comes to the Dark Heart of Namira. . . .
Retnarr the alchemist. 
Not fighting the chaurus was very Delphine.
Sweet, Gywn finally got through to Gelebor, and Gelebor finally got through to the Falmer.
Gwyn is formidable indeed to send a chill down Delphine's spine – as she has several times proven. Good to see Delphine and Retnarr made it to safety.
Not fighting the chaurus was very Delphine.Sweet, Gywn finally got through to Gelebor, and Gelebor finally got through to the Falmer.
Gwyn is formidable indeed to send a chill down Delphine's spine – as she has several times proven. Good to see Delphine and Retnarr made it to safety.
Chapter XL – A Confluence of Fates
The door shut with a snap. Cain let the healers resting in the antechamber know that Delphine had woken and appeared no worse for wear while Gwyn waited impatiently in the infirmary hallway. Once they were together again, they made their way back through Fort Dunstad’s cold and stony halls until they reached the two-story entryway. A pair of heavily reinforced wood doors standing at least twelve feet high separated them from the clamor of the packed parade ground that awaited the High King’s son and his soon-to-be princess.
“Does your father want us out there? Or upstairs with him on the parapet?”
“Upstairs most likely. I think that’s where Linn and Serana are, too.”
“After you, my love.”
They ascended the steps to the upper level and headed out into the cold Skyrim winter via a set of much less impressive doors that could not be reached by siege equipment. The wind bit at Gwyn’s face even through her warmth spell as they took their place along the ramparts with the other members of the vanguard. On one side of a raised dais stood Captain Lorn with two trusted soldiers from his ranks. To the other side, Linneá and Serana awaited them with a sadness in their eyes that did not reflect the smiles they offered.
“Have you heard from mum at all?” asked Gwyn. “Is Salihn okay?”
“She misses us but is in good spirits otherwise,” said Serana. “Kids are so resilient.”
“You’ll be back before you know it,” said Cain. He gave her a reassuring sort of side hug and turned to his father who waited at the foot of the dais. “Ready?”
“Aye, son.”
Together, the Windbornes gazed out over the assembled battalion of soldiers standing in formation on the trampled parade ground of Fort Dunstad. Three-hundred men and women instantly fell silent at the sight of their king, and thee-hundred hands saluted him with a rousing ‘hup!’. Only the occasional cough could be heard in the stillness of the air.
Kirin began to speak, and all eyes were trained on him – including those of his children. Cain listened with rapt attention to the rousing speech his father orated to rally the troops in the face of their first confrontation with the Thalmor, and the Aldmeri Dominion. It came much faster than Cain had ever expected, and it never occurred to him that the first battle would take place on Skyrim’s soil. Or so soon after his return. The fragile peace since the end of the Great War was never meant to last, but it always felt like there would be more time.
And now he and Gwyn, and Linneá and Serana were poised to strike first, and clear a path down to Blackreach for the king and his men. Cain felt Gwyn’s fingers lacing through his own and he realized his hands were trembling.
Don’t be ashamed, dear, Gwyn whispered into his thoughts. Every one of us here is scared. We all have so much to lose. But we also have each other, and that’s more than the elves can reckon with. We’ll get through this.
I know. The bastards won’t know what hit them.
A raucous cheer echoed around the fort and Cain realized his father’s speech had ended. Kirin stepped down from his perch and beckoned them all into a semi-circle, save for Lorn and his men. “The captain will stay with me for now. I plan to march the troops double-time, so you’ll have a two day head start at best. Make sure there are no scouts or patrols on the surface.”
“You’re sure we can’t make the climb to Mzark?” said Serana. “It’s a lot closer than Alftand...”
“Too steep and narrow. The Alftand lift your mother and I discovered is more suited for such a large contingent. Just make sure it’s safe.”
“It will be, dad,” promised Linneá. “Are the ships in position, too?”
“They should be. If our Thalmor friends had any notion of fleeing to the Sea of Ghosts they will be in for one hell of a surprise.”
Teliel vomited the moldy bread she’d been fed into the corner of her cell and sat back against the wall panting heavily. Her captors apparently felt they had no more use for the Bosmer if this is how they were treating her now. Privately, she wished the end would come more swiftly so that she didn’t have to witness their plans come to fruition. It had been a long time since Teliel felt guilt over anything, but no one should have the death of hundreds of thousands of innocents thrust onto their shoulders. Death was the easy way out, and at this point she welcomed it with open arms.
Her eyes roamed the tiny cell below decks and came to a rest on the barred porthole. At least this one has a view. Teliel’s original cell had become inundated with filth and waste from her captivity to the point the Thalmor decided to move her just so they’d be able to stomach approaching the tiny elven figure. Least they won’t touch me now. She settled her breathing after a moment of focus and rose to her feet, lithe fingers wrapping around the cold iron bars of her viewing port. The bustling wooden docks of a port town rushed silently past as the ship bore her north. Bravil. We’re nearly there. Slumping back down to the floor, she tucked her knees into her chest and closed her eyes. Death is too good for me.
A wave of unnumbered tears fell to the floor and soaked into the grimy planks.
“Magistrate Lisotel, we have no more subjects for submission.” The ensign who drew the shortest lot among his unit felt his heart racing when the words tumbled out of his mouth. He stood erect and at attention, but one never knew what sort of mood the Magistrate would be in, or how he would receive ill news. By some miracle, Lisotel simply nodded without bothering to address the ensign directly.
“Very well. Tell your commanding officer it is time to muster the troops for evacuation. They need to be heading north for the coast at haste, lest they end up consumed by our queen’s wrath.”
The ensign bowed his head and rushed to find his lieutenant. Lisotel finished the half-empty goblet of wine on his desk and left to inspect the stability of the object their entire operation revolved around. The old dwemer Debate Hall that now housed his field office bustled with activity while the mages under his command compared notes or panickedly discussed how promptly they could retreat to the hidden harbor and the docked ship that would usher them away from the impending doom they had wrought. Lisotel ignored them as he exited the hall and beheld the hungry orb fluctuating vehemently from the countless poor souls that were fed to it over the last few months.
Our victory is most certainly assured, he thought to himself. Perhaps Penolore shall treat me with the respect I have earned from here on out.
Any further musings on Lisotel’s lust for power and recognition evaporated in an instant. The Dark Heart of Namira faded to utter blackness and crimson bolts of lightning erupted from within that burned the very air it sundered. The ground beneath Lisotel’s feet shook violently as rocks broke free from the cavern ceiling far above and plummeted down upon the old dwemer city.
Auri-El preserve us. It’s grown too unstable.
Magistrate Lisotel returned to the Debate Hall and issued an immediate evacuation order.
Under the cover of twilight, four figures materialized about two miles down the mountain path that wound its way up to the Great Lift at Alftand. Wary of prying eyes, they immediately sought cover amid a small outcropping of stone tucked against the mountain face but not before one of them scooped up an innocuous looking flat stone and discarded it.
Perfect placement, mum, Linneá thought at the goddess.
Be safe. That goes for all of you.
“Are we ready?” Linneá asked her siblings.
At their silent nods, four invisibility spells were cast, and the High King’s vanguard trekked silently up the snow-covered path towards the large metal tower that housed their point of ingress to Blackreach. Midnight beckoned when they reached the small summit. Not daring to call the lift in case it was under observation, Linneá, Serana, and Cain waited at the top of the shaft while Gwyn levitated elegantly down towards the bottom and paused just above the lower gate to cast a detect life spell. The glowing silhouettes emanated by half a dozen Thalmor guards patrolling the lift vestibule confirmed their supsicions.
“It’s under guard,” said Gwyn, floating back out through the open gate and alighting gently on the ground. “What do we do now? Sit and wait?”
“How many?” asked Cain.
“Six that I could detect. Delphine’s escape probably has them paranoid.”
“We can eliminate them in the blink of an eye,” said Linneá. “But then we’ll give away our presence. Godsdammit, why does Blackreach have to be so [censored] big – it’ll take way too long to find another way in.”
“Maybe we can…” Serana trailed off when the very bones of the earth rumbled beneath their feet for several long seconds. “What the hell was that?” An eerie silence fell over the land. The nocturnal sounds of nature were gone, leaving only gusty winds and the worried breathing of their party. “An earthquake?”
“I don’t like it,” said Cain. “Too much of a coincidence.” And then another intense rumbling filled not the ground this time, but the very air around them. “Uh, what was that now?”
“Bad news,” said Linneá with a grim look. “Avalanche. We’re going down there whether we like it or not now. We need to see find out what caused the quake anyway, so it looks like our plans have changed. I’ll let mum know.”
The four of them checked their gear before closing the metal gate to ward off the incoming torrent of rocky snow and began their descent. Gwyn sank slowly with her levitation spell while Linneá, Serana, and Cain carefully scaled down the geared lift mechanism along the edges of the shaft. Blackreach was a long way down, and it took the better part of two hours until the stationary elevator platform finally came into view. With their feet on firm ground once again, the three climbers sat down to rest while Gwyn cleared the way forward.
“She’s teaching me that levitation spell the moment we get out of here,” groaned Linneá. “I should’ve asked her the first time I saw Gwyn use it.”
“Isn’t it illegal?” said Cain.
“Like I care about that.”
Light footsteps upon stone announced Gwyn’s return, and she took a seat next to her fiancé while he caught his breath. “Guards are handled. We can move on when you three are ready.”
“I don’t like it,” said Kirin. Following Linneá’s message to Kyne the goddess joined his side and now rested on his outstretched arm under the guise of a hawk. “The troops can’t help now, and my children are trapped down there with the Thalmor.”
“You must trust in their abilities, my child. They are wholly capable of handling themselves.”
“It’s that Daedric devilry I worry about, mum. There are too many unknowns when dealing with such a thing.”
It had been a long time since Kirin had involved himself directly in matters such as this, but now he found himself wishing fervently that he stood side-by-side in the face of the dangers lurking beneath his feet. Powerful as they were, it would still be only four individuals against an unknown number of Thalmor operatives and soldiers. The worry was plainly etched across Kirin’s features, and Kyne took pity knowing that few things were worse than the despair of standing idly by while your children endure hardships.
“Under normal circumstances I would advise that you return to Solitude,” began Kyne, “but I do feel your place is needed at their side this time. Linneá will be here any second, my child.”
His daughter appeared barely a hair’s breadth after Kyne said she would, grabbed his hand, and whisked Kirin away to join them in Blackreach. The first thing he noticed once his eyes adjusted to the darkness were a half dozen bodies twisted and mangled amid vines riddled with dagger-like thorns that had seemingly sprung up unabated from the otherwise damp and empty soil. Not even the gleaming quicksilver and moonstone armor of the Dominion withstood the forces of nature when utilized by magick.
“Hello, kids. I take it this is your handiwork, Miss Gwyndala?”
“They never made a peep,” she nodded. “And please, just call me Gwyn, dad.”
Kirin beamed at the Breton and offered her a fatherly hug. “As you wish, Gwyn. It appears your talents will be sorely needed on this day.” He released the tiny woman from his embrace and regarded his other children who stood in wait for his orders. There were few other times in his life where he felt so proud, and, despite the hardships ahead, Kirin was overjoyed to be fighting by their side. “I won’t waste time with another speech. The Thalmor are here and they must be stopped. We stick together until the end, got it?”
“Got it!” chorused four confident voices.
“Excellent. Delphine said their center of operations was in the old city beneath that glowing ball in the distance. Let’s get a move on it!”
The door shut with a snap. Cain let the healers resting in the antechamber know that Delphine had woken and appeared no worse for wear while Gwyn waited impatiently in the infirmary hallway. Once they were together again, they made their way back through Fort Dunstad’s cold and stony halls until they reached the two-story entryway. A pair of heavily reinforced wood doors standing at least twelve feet high separated them from the clamor of the packed parade ground that awaited the High King’s son and his soon-to-be princess.
“Does your father want us out there? Or upstairs with him on the parapet?”
“Upstairs most likely. I think that’s where Linn and Serana are, too.”
“After you, my love.”
They ascended the steps to the upper level and headed out into the cold Skyrim winter via a set of much less impressive doors that could not be reached by siege equipment. The wind bit at Gwyn’s face even through her warmth spell as they took their place along the ramparts with the other members of the vanguard. On one side of a raised dais stood Captain Lorn with two trusted soldiers from his ranks. To the other side, Linneá and Serana awaited them with a sadness in their eyes that did not reflect the smiles they offered.
“Have you heard from mum at all?” asked Gwyn. “Is Salihn okay?”
“She misses us but is in good spirits otherwise,” said Serana. “Kids are so resilient.”
“You’ll be back before you know it,” said Cain. He gave her a reassuring sort of side hug and turned to his father who waited at the foot of the dais. “Ready?”
“Aye, son.”
Together, the Windbornes gazed out over the assembled battalion of soldiers standing in formation on the trampled parade ground of Fort Dunstad. Three-hundred men and women instantly fell silent at the sight of their king, and thee-hundred hands saluted him with a rousing ‘hup!’. Only the occasional cough could be heard in the stillness of the air.
Kirin began to speak, and all eyes were trained on him – including those of his children. Cain listened with rapt attention to the rousing speech his father orated to rally the troops in the face of their first confrontation with the Thalmor, and the Aldmeri Dominion. It came much faster than Cain had ever expected, and it never occurred to him that the first battle would take place on Skyrim’s soil. Or so soon after his return. The fragile peace since the end of the Great War was never meant to last, but it always felt like there would be more time.
And now he and Gwyn, and Linneá and Serana were poised to strike first, and clear a path down to Blackreach for the king and his men. Cain felt Gwyn’s fingers lacing through his own and he realized his hands were trembling.
Don’t be ashamed, dear, Gwyn whispered into his thoughts. Every one of us here is scared. We all have so much to lose. But we also have each other, and that’s more than the elves can reckon with. We’ll get through this.
I know. The bastards won’t know what hit them.
A raucous cheer echoed around the fort and Cain realized his father’s speech had ended. Kirin stepped down from his perch and beckoned them all into a semi-circle, save for Lorn and his men. “The captain will stay with me for now. I plan to march the troops double-time, so you’ll have a two day head start at best. Make sure there are no scouts or patrols on the surface.”
“You’re sure we can’t make the climb to Mzark?” said Serana. “It’s a lot closer than Alftand...”
“Too steep and narrow. The Alftand lift your mother and I discovered is more suited for such a large contingent. Just make sure it’s safe.”
“It will be, dad,” promised Linneá. “Are the ships in position, too?”
“They should be. If our Thalmor friends had any notion of fleeing to the Sea of Ghosts they will be in for one hell of a surprise.”
-----
Teliel vomited the moldy bread she’d been fed into the corner of her cell and sat back against the wall panting heavily. Her captors apparently felt they had no more use for the Bosmer if this is how they were treating her now. Privately, she wished the end would come more swiftly so that she didn’t have to witness their plans come to fruition. It had been a long time since Teliel felt guilt over anything, but no one should have the death of hundreds of thousands of innocents thrust onto their shoulders. Death was the easy way out, and at this point she welcomed it with open arms.
Her eyes roamed the tiny cell below decks and came to a rest on the barred porthole. At least this one has a view. Teliel’s original cell had become inundated with filth and waste from her captivity to the point the Thalmor decided to move her just so they’d be able to stomach approaching the tiny elven figure. Least they won’t touch me now. She settled her breathing after a moment of focus and rose to her feet, lithe fingers wrapping around the cold iron bars of her viewing port. The bustling wooden docks of a port town rushed silently past as the ship bore her north. Bravil. We’re nearly there. Slumping back down to the floor, she tucked her knees into her chest and closed her eyes. Death is too good for me.
A wave of unnumbered tears fell to the floor and soaked into the grimy planks.
-----
“Magistrate Lisotel, we have no more subjects for submission.” The ensign who drew the shortest lot among his unit felt his heart racing when the words tumbled out of his mouth. He stood erect and at attention, but one never knew what sort of mood the Magistrate would be in, or how he would receive ill news. By some miracle, Lisotel simply nodded without bothering to address the ensign directly.
“Very well. Tell your commanding officer it is time to muster the troops for evacuation. They need to be heading north for the coast at haste, lest they end up consumed by our queen’s wrath.”
The ensign bowed his head and rushed to find his lieutenant. Lisotel finished the half-empty goblet of wine on his desk and left to inspect the stability of the object their entire operation revolved around. The old dwemer Debate Hall that now housed his field office bustled with activity while the mages under his command compared notes or panickedly discussed how promptly they could retreat to the hidden harbor and the docked ship that would usher them away from the impending doom they had wrought. Lisotel ignored them as he exited the hall and beheld the hungry orb fluctuating vehemently from the countless poor souls that were fed to it over the last few months.
Our victory is most certainly assured, he thought to himself. Perhaps Penolore shall treat me with the respect I have earned from here on out.
Any further musings on Lisotel’s lust for power and recognition evaporated in an instant. The Dark Heart of Namira faded to utter blackness and crimson bolts of lightning erupted from within that burned the very air it sundered. The ground beneath Lisotel’s feet shook violently as rocks broke free from the cavern ceiling far above and plummeted down upon the old dwemer city.
Auri-El preserve us. It’s grown too unstable.
Magistrate Lisotel returned to the Debate Hall and issued an immediate evacuation order.
-----
Under the cover of twilight, four figures materialized about two miles down the mountain path that wound its way up to the Great Lift at Alftand. Wary of prying eyes, they immediately sought cover amid a small outcropping of stone tucked against the mountain face but not before one of them scooped up an innocuous looking flat stone and discarded it.
Perfect placement, mum, Linneá thought at the goddess.
Be safe. That goes for all of you.
“Are we ready?” Linneá asked her siblings.
At their silent nods, four invisibility spells were cast, and the High King’s vanguard trekked silently up the snow-covered path towards the large metal tower that housed their point of ingress to Blackreach. Midnight beckoned when they reached the small summit. Not daring to call the lift in case it was under observation, Linneá, Serana, and Cain waited at the top of the shaft while Gwyn levitated elegantly down towards the bottom and paused just above the lower gate to cast a detect life spell. The glowing silhouettes emanated by half a dozen Thalmor guards patrolling the lift vestibule confirmed their supsicions.
“It’s under guard,” said Gwyn, floating back out through the open gate and alighting gently on the ground. “What do we do now? Sit and wait?”
“How many?” asked Cain.
“Six that I could detect. Delphine’s escape probably has them paranoid.”
“We can eliminate them in the blink of an eye,” said Linneá. “But then we’ll give away our presence. Godsdammit, why does Blackreach have to be so [censored] big – it’ll take way too long to find another way in.”
“Maybe we can…” Serana trailed off when the very bones of the earth rumbled beneath their feet for several long seconds. “What the hell was that?” An eerie silence fell over the land. The nocturnal sounds of nature were gone, leaving only gusty winds and the worried breathing of their party. “An earthquake?”
“I don’t like it,” said Cain. “Too much of a coincidence.” And then another intense rumbling filled not the ground this time, but the very air around them. “Uh, what was that now?”
“Bad news,” said Linneá with a grim look. “Avalanche. We’re going down there whether we like it or not now. We need to see find out what caused the quake anyway, so it looks like our plans have changed. I’ll let mum know.”
The four of them checked their gear before closing the metal gate to ward off the incoming torrent of rocky snow and began their descent. Gwyn sank slowly with her levitation spell while Linneá, Serana, and Cain carefully scaled down the geared lift mechanism along the edges of the shaft. Blackreach was a long way down, and it took the better part of two hours until the stationary elevator platform finally came into view. With their feet on firm ground once again, the three climbers sat down to rest while Gwyn cleared the way forward.
“She’s teaching me that levitation spell the moment we get out of here,” groaned Linneá. “I should’ve asked her the first time I saw Gwyn use it.”
“Isn’t it illegal?” said Cain.
“Like I care about that.”
Light footsteps upon stone announced Gwyn’s return, and she took a seat next to her fiancé while he caught his breath. “Guards are handled. We can move on when you three are ready.”
-----
“I don’t like it,” said Kirin. Following Linneá’s message to Kyne the goddess joined his side and now rested on his outstretched arm under the guise of a hawk. “The troops can’t help now, and my children are trapped down there with the Thalmor.”
“You must trust in their abilities, my child. They are wholly capable of handling themselves.”
“It’s that Daedric devilry I worry about, mum. There are too many unknowns when dealing with such a thing.”
It had been a long time since Kirin had involved himself directly in matters such as this, but now he found himself wishing fervently that he stood side-by-side in the face of the dangers lurking beneath his feet. Powerful as they were, it would still be only four individuals against an unknown number of Thalmor operatives and soldiers. The worry was plainly etched across Kirin’s features, and Kyne took pity knowing that few things were worse than the despair of standing idly by while your children endure hardships.
“Under normal circumstances I would advise that you return to Solitude,” began Kyne, “but I do feel your place is needed at their side this time. Linneá will be here any second, my child.”
His daughter appeared barely a hair’s breadth after Kyne said she would, grabbed his hand, and whisked Kirin away to join them in Blackreach. The first thing he noticed once his eyes adjusted to the darkness were a half dozen bodies twisted and mangled amid vines riddled with dagger-like thorns that had seemingly sprung up unabated from the otherwise damp and empty soil. Not even the gleaming quicksilver and moonstone armor of the Dominion withstood the forces of nature when utilized by magick.
“Hello, kids. I take it this is your handiwork, Miss Gwyndala?”
“They never made a peep,” she nodded. “And please, just call me Gwyn, dad.”
Kirin beamed at the Breton and offered her a fatherly hug. “As you wish, Gwyn. It appears your talents will be sorely needed on this day.” He released the tiny woman from his embrace and regarded his other children who stood in wait for his orders. There were few other times in his life where he felt so proud, and, despite the hardships ahead, Kirin was overjoyed to be fighting by their side. “I won’t waste time with another speech. The Thalmor are here and they must be stopped. We stick together until the end, got it?”
“Got it!” chorused four confident voices.
“Excellent. Delphine said their center of operations was in the old city beneath that glowing ball in the distance. Let’s get a move on it!”
This is exciting! The gang is together and on the stealthy move through Blackreach! Hopefully they will find a way out that is not covered by ice and rocks above. I can picture the glowing ball in the distance. I love Blackreach.
Poor Teliel. I wonder if she’ll somehow be able to shed those null iron manacles and somehow help undo that hungry pulsing orb.
Drums of war! Cain and the three ladies at his side comprise a formidable scouting party. And the High King joins them!
“They never made a peep,” she nodded. “And please, just call me Gwyn, dad.”
- - A wonderful passage. The first part attests to her lethality, while the second part shows that she really is a full part of this family now.
Drums of war! Cain and the three ladies at his side comprise a formidable scouting party. And the High King joins them!
“They never made a peep,” she nodded. “And please, just call me Gwyn, dad.”
- - A wonderful passage. The first part attests to her lethality, while the second part shows that she really is a full part of this family now.
Interlude
The tinkling of broken glass broke the sudden silence as warmed apple cider splashed onto the hem of a stunned Lydia's evening gown. "MY HUSBAND IS WHERE!?" Kyne flinched under the queen's furious glare and did an ungainly sort of shuffle while contemplating whether or not she could flee through the open window. But she hesitated a second too long: "AND YOU WENT ALONG WITH THAT!?"
The tinkling of broken glass broke the sudden silence as warmed apple cider splashed onto the hem of a stunned Lydia's evening gown. "MY HUSBAND IS WHERE!?" Kyne flinched under the queen's furious glare and did an ungainly sort of shuffle while contemplating whether or not she could flee through the open window. But she hesitated a second too long: "AND YOU WENT ALONG WITH THAT!?"
This one is a little short. I had to split up that was on it's way to becoming a 5,000 word penultimate chapter, the balance if which should come later this week.
Chapter XLI – A Reckoning of Fates
A narrow shadow passed over the porthole in Teliel’s holding cell and roused the bosmer from her dark thoughts. She scrambled to her feet and peered through the barred window at a sight she had been dreading. The shoreline of the upper Niben gave way to a wide mouth as the ship sailed into Lake Rumare.
Guess that was the Red Ring Road bridge we passed under.
She didn’t have much time: the guards would be coming soon and Teliel needed all the strength she cold get. Tossing aside the ragged facsimile of a blanket her captors had thrown into the cell; she scooped up the scraps of bread and spoiling cheese she’d hidden away in case things took a turn for the worse. Staring wistfully at the meager rations, Teliel couldn’t fathom a time when said things would be more dire. She heard footsteps upon wood coming from the darkness and began to shovel the food into her mouth, taking large bites and swallowing painful gulps. The jangle of metal keys and the click of a lock announced the guard’s arrival, and a strong hand hoisted the short elf roughly to her feet before she finished a stale hunk of bread.
“Move it, whelp, or I’ll use the whip to make you move,” shouted the guard. He gave her no chance to acclimate to the sudden burst of light from an illumination spell and dragged her along the ship’s corridor to a set of stairs leading outside at the opposite end from her cell. The door opened at the crest of the stairs, and even the muted sun of the Shadow Realms blinded her eyes after countless days trapped belowdecks.
Teliel stumbled onto the main deck of the Dawn’s Ghost and whimpered in pain. The enchanted manacles dug into her wrist, and blood seeped from her knees after crashing into the rough timbers of the ship. A guard dragged the bosmer forcefully to her feet so that she was eye-to-eye with Cirion, the awful bastard of an Altmer that had allowed Teliel to reach her current pitiful state. She focused her gaze over his shoulder, and her heart sank to new depths at the sight of the tower rising nearly high enough to kiss the clouds.
The White-Gold Tower.
“Ah, I see you’ve recognized our ultimate destination,” sneered Cirion. “Thanks to your aid, the Empire will never see us coming until it is too late for them to act.”
At a gesture towards the stern, the guard spun Teliel around so that another sight could freeze the blood flowing hotly through her veins. Transparent Law floated without aid above the deck, and it radiated dazzling amounts of uninhibited magicka under the ushering of four hooded Thalmor wizards who chanted sacred incantations that were manipulating the Heart to reach unstable levels. Even without drawing near to it, Teliel could sense the mystical bindings of the Heart unraveling. Soon enough, those bindings would shatter and release a blast of creatia so unfathomably powerful that it would defy comprehension.
And there was nothing she could do to stop it.
But she had to try – for the sake of all those living in and around the Imperial City.
“It’s too late for you to try and be brave,” said Cirion, as if he could sense her internal struggle. “That ship sailed long ago, if you’ll pardon the expression. You cannot stop the Heart from imploding. We are all doomed to die with the scum of man and their weak empire. Even though I once sought to escape this fate, there is no such luck for those of us on this damned voyage. We go to our deaths so that elvenkind will once again rule Tamriel unopposed. The age of the Altmer is about to begin.”
Cirion prattled on maniacally while Teliel remained within the grasp of her guard, but her eyes were trained on one thing and one thing only: her staff, clenched tightly in the Prime Magistrate’s fist. If she could somehow reach it… remove it from his control… then maybe they would be the only ones that had to die. A broken stave was useless and would leave them stranded in the Realm of Shadows, the Dominion’s plans left in ruin while Transparent Law sundered a land of monsters and Divines know what else.
Teliel shifted her stance until all of her weight rested on her left heel. If I could just get this asshole to loosen his grip on my arm a little. She doubted Cirion would expect her head to ram his chin, and the momentary confusion ought to be just enough for her to plant a foot against the brittle wooden staff and snap it.
Unfortunately, her movements did not go unnoticed and with a fleeting nod from Cirion another guard moved to her side and forced the elf to her knees rendering Teliel unable to fight back.
“No getting out of this one I’m afraid,” cackled the Prime Magistrate. “In fact, you will be my guest of honor at the prow. And once the Heart has been unleashed, you will perish quickly and mercifully.”
“Mercifully?” spat Teliel. “Nothing about the way you bastards have treated me has been merciful. I’ve been raped, starved, and tortured for weeks and you speak of mercy? I hope the Divines cast you into the void when this is over and that you are doomed eternally. Perhaps Molag Bal will claim your soul and maybe then I will have some measure of solace.”
“Shut up, you useless bitch. Guards! Take her up front at once!” Turning on the spot, he raised Teliel’s staff with an elaborate gesture and pointed it skyward. “Helm, steer us directly towards the southernmost point of the isle and lash the wheel in place! I will take no chances! It’s time the Empire learns of their fate!”
The tip of the staff began to glow, drawing power from the Shadow Realm as Cirion readied the magicka required to return the ship and all aboard to their own dimension. Completely out of options, Teliel lunged desperately at the fanatical despot while the guards shoved her on, but she could not escape their grip and struggled futilely against them and the enchanted manacles binding her hands. With nothing else for it, she sank her teeth into an arm that strayed close to her face causing one of the guards to let go instinctively. Quick as a flash she kicked out at the other guard and when Teliel felt his grip relent too, she dove recklessly at Cirion but fell short when the Prime Magistrate noticed the commotion and jammed the butt of her staff directly into the bosmer’s head.
Stunned and disoriented, Teliel registered too late what she was hearing.
“Ungrateful whelp. Kill her and toss her over the side. The slaughterfish can feast on her remains.”
Teliel felt herself being dragged across the planks as Cirion raised the staff again and returned the Dawn’s Ghost to their mortal realm. The clear blue skies and bright sun of a crisp winter day were the last sights she could focus on before a dagger plunged into her rib cage and the guards threw her into Lake Rumare. The water overcame all of her senses save for Teliel’s wide elven eyes until they too were blinded by the immense power unleashed from a dying Heart.
The ship and everyone aboard became one with non-existence. The sundering of Transparent Law had succeeded and there was no stopping the magickal explosion unleashed by the Aldmeri Dominion. The earth shook. The sky darkened. Thousands perished in an instant, and the Empire of Cyrodiil crumbled to dust along with the Imperial City and the White-Gold Tower.
And the limp body of an exploited bosmer sank to the depths of a lake forever altered by an apocalyptic catastrophe.
---------------------------------------
Chapter XLI – A Reckoning of Fates
A narrow shadow passed over the porthole in Teliel’s holding cell and roused the bosmer from her dark thoughts. She scrambled to her feet and peered through the barred window at a sight she had been dreading. The shoreline of the upper Niben gave way to a wide mouth as the ship sailed into Lake Rumare.
Guess that was the Red Ring Road bridge we passed under.
She didn’t have much time: the guards would be coming soon and Teliel needed all the strength she cold get. Tossing aside the ragged facsimile of a blanket her captors had thrown into the cell; she scooped up the scraps of bread and spoiling cheese she’d hidden away in case things took a turn for the worse. Staring wistfully at the meager rations, Teliel couldn’t fathom a time when said things would be more dire. She heard footsteps upon wood coming from the darkness and began to shovel the food into her mouth, taking large bites and swallowing painful gulps. The jangle of metal keys and the click of a lock announced the guard’s arrival, and a strong hand hoisted the short elf roughly to her feet before she finished a stale hunk of bread.
“Move it, whelp, or I’ll use the whip to make you move,” shouted the guard. He gave her no chance to acclimate to the sudden burst of light from an illumination spell and dragged her along the ship’s corridor to a set of stairs leading outside at the opposite end from her cell. The door opened at the crest of the stairs, and even the muted sun of the Shadow Realms blinded her eyes after countless days trapped belowdecks.
Teliel stumbled onto the main deck of the Dawn’s Ghost and whimpered in pain. The enchanted manacles dug into her wrist, and blood seeped from her knees after crashing into the rough timbers of the ship. A guard dragged the bosmer forcefully to her feet so that she was eye-to-eye with Cirion, the awful bastard of an Altmer that had allowed Teliel to reach her current pitiful state. She focused her gaze over his shoulder, and her heart sank to new depths at the sight of the tower rising nearly high enough to kiss the clouds.
The White-Gold Tower.
“Ah, I see you’ve recognized our ultimate destination,” sneered Cirion. “Thanks to your aid, the Empire will never see us coming until it is too late for them to act.”
At a gesture towards the stern, the guard spun Teliel around so that another sight could freeze the blood flowing hotly through her veins. Transparent Law floated without aid above the deck, and it radiated dazzling amounts of uninhibited magicka under the ushering of four hooded Thalmor wizards who chanted sacred incantations that were manipulating the Heart to reach unstable levels. Even without drawing near to it, Teliel could sense the mystical bindings of the Heart unraveling. Soon enough, those bindings would shatter and release a blast of creatia so unfathomably powerful that it would defy comprehension.
And there was nothing she could do to stop it.
But she had to try – for the sake of all those living in and around the Imperial City.
“It’s too late for you to try and be brave,” said Cirion, as if he could sense her internal struggle. “That ship sailed long ago, if you’ll pardon the expression. You cannot stop the Heart from imploding. We are all doomed to die with the scum of man and their weak empire. Even though I once sought to escape this fate, there is no such luck for those of us on this damned voyage. We go to our deaths so that elvenkind will once again rule Tamriel unopposed. The age of the Altmer is about to begin.”
Cirion prattled on maniacally while Teliel remained within the grasp of her guard, but her eyes were trained on one thing and one thing only: her staff, clenched tightly in the Prime Magistrate’s fist. If she could somehow reach it… remove it from his control… then maybe they would be the only ones that had to die. A broken stave was useless and would leave them stranded in the Realm of Shadows, the Dominion’s plans left in ruin while Transparent Law sundered a land of monsters and Divines know what else.
Teliel shifted her stance until all of her weight rested on her left heel. If I could just get this asshole to loosen his grip on my arm a little. She doubted Cirion would expect her head to ram his chin, and the momentary confusion ought to be just enough for her to plant a foot against the brittle wooden staff and snap it.
Unfortunately, her movements did not go unnoticed and with a fleeting nod from Cirion another guard moved to her side and forced the elf to her knees rendering Teliel unable to fight back.
“No getting out of this one I’m afraid,” cackled the Prime Magistrate. “In fact, you will be my guest of honor at the prow. And once the Heart has been unleashed, you will perish quickly and mercifully.”
“Mercifully?” spat Teliel. “Nothing about the way you bastards have treated me has been merciful. I’ve been raped, starved, and tortured for weeks and you speak of mercy? I hope the Divines cast you into the void when this is over and that you are doomed eternally. Perhaps Molag Bal will claim your soul and maybe then I will have some measure of solace.”
“Shut up, you useless bitch. Guards! Take her up front at once!” Turning on the spot, he raised Teliel’s staff with an elaborate gesture and pointed it skyward. “Helm, steer us directly towards the southernmost point of the isle and lash the wheel in place! I will take no chances! It’s time the Empire learns of their fate!”
The tip of the staff began to glow, drawing power from the Shadow Realm as Cirion readied the magicka required to return the ship and all aboard to their own dimension. Completely out of options, Teliel lunged desperately at the fanatical despot while the guards shoved her on, but she could not escape their grip and struggled futilely against them and the enchanted manacles binding her hands. With nothing else for it, she sank her teeth into an arm that strayed close to her face causing one of the guards to let go instinctively. Quick as a flash she kicked out at the other guard and when Teliel felt his grip relent too, she dove recklessly at Cirion but fell short when the Prime Magistrate noticed the commotion and jammed the butt of her staff directly into the bosmer’s head.
Stunned and disoriented, Teliel registered too late what she was hearing.
“Ungrateful whelp. Kill her and toss her over the side. The slaughterfish can feast on her remains.”
Teliel felt herself being dragged across the planks as Cirion raised the staff again and returned the Dawn’s Ghost to their mortal realm. The clear blue skies and bright sun of a crisp winter day were the last sights she could focus on before a dagger plunged into her rib cage and the guards threw her into Lake Rumare. The water overcame all of her senses save for Teliel’s wide elven eyes until they too were blinded by the immense power unleashed from a dying Heart.
The ship and everyone aboard became one with non-existence. The sundering of Transparent Law had succeeded and there was no stopping the magickal explosion unleashed by the Aldmeri Dominion. The earth shook. The sky darkened. Thousands perished in an instant, and the Empire of Cyrodiil crumbled to dust along with the Imperial City and the White-Gold Tower.
And the limp body of an exploited bosmer sank to the depths of a lake forever altered by an apocalyptic catastrophe.
Yikes! I’ll wager septims to sweetrolls this can’t be good.
Teliel’s story remains a heartbreaking one of desperate courage till the end.
I’m curious as to the damage. Is all the Empire gone? Just Cyrodiil and environs? Any impact on Skyrim? Being a bit of an optimist, I’m going to wager that the Aldmeri Dominion has just used their most potent weapon’s one and only shot.
Teliel’s story remains a heartbreaking one of desperate courage till the end.
I’m curious as to the damage. Is all the Empire gone? Just Cyrodiil and environs? Any impact on Skyrim? Being a bit of an optimist, I’m going to wager that the Aldmeri Dominion has just used their most potent weapon’s one and only shot.
QUOTE(Acadian @ Apr 13 2026, 05:26 PM) 
Yikes! I’ll wager septims to sweetrolls this can’t be good.
Teliel’s story remains a heartbreaking one of desperate courage till the end.
I’m curious as to the damage. Is all the Empire gone? Just Cyrodiil and environs? Any impact on Skyrim? Being a bit of an optimist, I’m going to wager that the Aldmeri Dominion has just used their most potent weapon’s one and only shot.
We'll find out soon. For now, there is still the Dark Heart to deal with...Teliel’s story remains a heartbreaking one of desperate courage till the end.
I’m curious as to the damage. Is all the Empire gone? Just Cyrodiil and environs? Any impact on Skyrim? Being a bit of an optimist, I’m going to wager that the Aldmeri Dominion has just used their most potent weapon’s one and only shot.
=============================
Chapter XLII – In Darkness Lies the Fallen Heart
The silence in Blackreach was oppressive. Naught could be heard near where the Great Lift at Alftand descended save for the heavy footfalls of two men jogging towards a false sun in the far distance. At their backs, and so light on their feet that even the faintest of zephyrs could be heard over rapid their steps, were three women keeping their own pace so that the slighter of them would not lag behind. Their progress was steady. Occasionally, it became gainful until a territorial chaurus crossed their paths, or a swift underground stream had to be forded. All while a cacophony of light emanating from the ruined dwemer city they hastened towards spurned them on with increasing urgency and thunderous rumbles shook the earth under their feet, warning them of an impending doom that could not be permitted to come to pass.
Towering mushroom stalks with expansive pileus lumbered and waved in lieu of the trees grown far above in the open air of Nirn. Glowing evanescent spores shook loose and fluttered all about the group swiftly closing the gap between relative safety and indescribable peril. Hours passed by in a blur until, panting heavily, Gwyn begged the others to stop so that they could take a breather.
“Just ten [censored] minutes,” she gasped around the painful stitch in her side. “Please! I’m not an athletic freak of nature like the rest of you lot! Especially you, dad! Where do you get off being in such fantastic shape at your age!?”
“At my age?” Kirin joked, feigning indignity. “I still have a few months before my fifty-fifth trip around the sun! Besides, you’re so slender that I would’ve wagered a hefty bag of gold you could outlast us all!”
Gwyn rolled her eyes and protested playfully with her newfound family while Cain kept watch. He privately wondered whether or not his fiance would play the ‘I’m a mage’ card as a defense, but he realized that didn’t hold up when his sisters were also mages. Well, Serana, at least. Despite her saying otherwise, Linneá definitely fit the mold of a spellsword. Gwyn was decidedly the only pure mage in the group and her lack of conditioning reflected that – which unfortunately was to her detriment at that moment when the ground shook more violently than it had yet, and an intense wave of powerful magicka released in a vibrant corona from their destination.
“We need to keep moving,” urged Cain.
“Agreed,” said Linneá. “Wait a sec.” She dug into the satchel strapped to the waistband of her armor and prised a small green tincture from among the other bits and bobs crammed into the small leather pouch. “Here, drink up Gwynnie. That’ll refill and boost your stamina pool for a bit.”
“A bit?” asked Gwyn after downing the potion in a gulp. The normally bitter mixture was surprisingly clear and pleasant with floral notes that lingered on her palate. “How long is a bit?”
“Uh… three days. Give or take.”
“THREE DAYS!?” She glanced at the empty bottle in wonder. “H-how? The most I’ve ever gotten out of a brew is about an hour! And they never tasted anything remotely as nice as that did!”
“You can thank my wife here for that. She’s had about, er, forty-two hundred years to refine her technique.”
“Cheater.”
“Don’t be jealous, sis,” Serana suggested gently. “It’s not a competition.” She teasingly patted Gwyn on the top of her head and winked at the fuming, red-faced Breton. “Shall we get a move on now?”
“Just because I love you doesn’t mean I won’t set your ass on fire.”
Kirin laughed heartily and took the lead once again in pursuit of their destination. They were making excellent time thanks to the now impressive pool of stamina Gwyn had, and within a short three hours they were approaching the outskirts of the dwemer city. Halting on the road, the five of them ducked behind an outcropping of stone and quietly watched the area for signs of life. The glow from the massive mechanical construct floating above the city lit the gloom around them well enough to see without the aid of magickal assistance, which meant none of their prey would be out in the open. It was eerily quiet apart from the continued pulsating eruptions and ensuing tremors from the Dark Heart of Namira. Not a soul could be seen in or around the outer walls marking the border of the ruins.
“Doesn’t it seem odd that there are no soldiers about?” said Serana. “Delphine made it seem like this place was positively teeming with Thalmor…”
“I don’t like it,” replied Kirin. “LAAS YAH NIR.” he whispered.
“Beat me to it, dad,” said Cain. “What do you see?”
“We’ve got our work cut out for us. They must know Delphine made it to safety. There’s a small regiment worth of elves lying in wait beyond the battlements. Three hundred, if I had to guess.”
A hush fell among them. Having three fully-fledged Dragonborn on their side certainly helped, but that amount of resistance was still a tall order. Coming out unscathed would require a well-laid plan – and several small miracles. Gwyn shifted nervously and clung tightly to Cain’s stout arm. She wasn’t nearly as strong as the rest of them and her lack of armor meant a single missed blow from a sword or mace or axe would bring a swift end to a short life. Cain gave her a reassuring kiss on the cheek and silently promised that he would never allow that to happen. Then he too used the Aura Whisper shout to study the ambush layout… and after allowing his eyes to roam, an altogether different sight caught his eye and brought a broad grin to his face.
“What is it, Cain?” asked Linneá. “You look positively inspired.”
“If I’m not mistaken, there is a dragon roosting on a broad ledge above that fake sun. What say we wake him up and add a little chaos into the mix?”
Her eyes lit up with excitement, and together the five of them hatched a plan to give them an edge in thwarting the Dominion’s machinations. It wasn’t foolproof and there were plenty of things that could go wrong in an instant, but the unexpected arrival of a dragon would certainly throw the Thalmor troops into disarray at the same time two Dragonborns and a necromancer assaulted their flank with sundering Thu’ums and dreadful masses of undead minions.
All while Linneá and Gwydala, the two best suited to containing the erratic daedric artifact, stuck to the shadows and hastened directly to it.
“I’ll scale the outer wall and hit the sun with Unrelenting Force,” volunteered Cain. “The noise will be enough to wake up everything in Blackreach. Once the dragon attacks, I’ll join the fray from above.” He turned to face Gwyn and held her hands tightly within his own. “We’ll keep the elves distracted as best we can. Deal with the Heart and keep each other safe, yeah?” He waited for a nod from both Gwyn and Linneá before kissing his love and scampering off towards the city walls.
I love you. Please please please please be careful, Gwyn pleaded in Cain’s mind.
I will. And I love you, too. Keep my sister safe.
The Windborne patriarch whispered his life detection shout again and kept an eye on Cain’s progress – and the movements of the Thalmor troops lying in wait. It only took a moment for his son to reach the base of the wall and lob a climbing rope up onto the battlements.
“Okay, he’s making his way up. Everyone get into position!”
Fanning out silently, the remaining four split up and steeled themselves for the upcoming battle. Kirin and Serana lurked at the foot of a looming stone staircase that led up to the city gates while Linneá and Gwyn circled around the western wall to where a smaller gate stood barred before them. They waited impatiently for all hell to break loose.
And then it did.
The Battle of Blackreach began in earnest. With an ear-ringing clang, Cain’s thunderous Thu’um clashed into the suspended artificial sun of the ruined city and plunged the area into chaos. A great horned dragon with purple and black scales roared menacingly at the intrusion on its slumber and swooped down in a flurry of leathery wings and attacked everything in sight. Scrambling from the unexpected aerial assault, the Thalmor troops turned their attention away from the city gates just as every undead creature Serana could muster from the Soul Cairn and any other realm of Oblivion poured forth in a demonic haze that took the soldiers unawares.
At the rear of the summoned mass Kirin drew his sword and with a rallying Nordic battle cry he signaled that it was time for the Windbornes to join the fray. Cain released a torrent of Shouts from his perch on the wall into the pockets of soldiers scrambling to find cover against the swooping dragon and its seeking talons. Serana and Kirin marched purposefully into the fray with an aura of storm magick encasing the former and the power of a dragon’s aspect encasing the latter. Blistering spells unleashed from her open palms sought any stray Thalmor lucky enough to claw their way through the mass of summons while Kirin’s keen sword dispatched any elves unlucky enough to come within his reach.
-----
On the far side of the city, Linneá and Gwyn fought their own perilous battle through the soldiers that remained in place. Taking the lead with magick in one hand and her longsword in the other, Linneá led the way through the reeling defenders.
“Linn, are you sure we can do this!?” cried Gwyn as she ensnared an armor-clad Altmer in a tangle of choking vines. “It feels like there are way too many of these assholes! Ow, [censored]!” A glancing blow from a blunt mace grazed her shoulder just enough to elicit an unnatural crack from the joint. Gwyn’s arm fell lamely to her side and Linneá covered her while she ducked down to heal herself.
“You alright, Gwyn?” Linneá asked while dispatching the mace wielder and two other soldiers for good measure.
“I’ll live.” She winced at the stiffness from a few test flexes. “Last time I allow that to happen though.”
Linneá grunted in response as a hair-raising bolt of lightning flew from her fingertips and reduced an archer to ash. Then a dozen more Thalmor soldiers made the mistake of rushing them head on and were frozen solid by the young Dragonborn’s Ice Form shout. The duo kicked over the hapless troops causing their bodies to fall to the ground and shatter. Gwyn winced and wondered for a split second what would happen when the dead men and women thawed, and that distraction almost cost her dearly. Another archer stepped from the shadows and loosed an arrow that buried itself in Gwyn’s side.
Reeling in shock and pain, the Breton reacted instinctively, and her hand opposite hand filled with green magicka. She muttered an incantation and breathed a sigh of relief at the arrow leaving her body as time wound a few seconds backwards to where she could side-step the arrow with ease.
“Gwyndala!” scolded Linneá. Her sword convinced the archer’s head to take a permanent vacation from its body while she glared at the smirking mage. “Don’t play around with time like that! We could’ve easily healed you!”
“Yeah, but there would’ve been a scar.”
“Gods, you’re impossible sometimes. C’mon, we don’t have far to go.”
-----
Blackened soil, and stone stained with crimson lay beneath heaps of dead Dominion soldiers. The chaos of a dragon, the swarming menace of the undead, and the unrelenting assault of two Dragonborns thoroughly broke the front lines and the spirits of the small regiment, and all but a few handfuls of the brave stood their ground. The rest had either fled into the darkness of Blackreach or fallen back to protect Lisotel and the Dark Heart.
The ground quaked beneath their feet the closer they got to the ever-consuming artifact and the more unstable it grew, the more magicka it released – occasionally with a deafening jet of energy that blasted holes through the ancient walls of the dwemer city or struck the cavern ceiling high above.
“We need to hurry,” panted Serana. She downed a stamina potion and wiped the grime of battle from her forehead. “Elle and Gwyn will get overwhelmed if the elves keep falling back that way.”
“I agree,” nodded Kirin. “You two go reinforce the girls – I’ll handle the dragon.”
“Handle?” asked Cain. He didn’t love the idea of his father engaging a powerful dragon on his own. Dragonborn he may be, but the years were not slowing down for Skyrim’s High King. “How do you plan on doing that?”
“Not by fighting, if that’s what you mean. He and I are going to have a conversation.”
“Dads got this, Cain,” said Serana. “I just felt a stab of frustration on Elle’s part regarding your fiancé, so let’s get a move on it.”
Cain sighed and after clasping his father’s shoulder, he departed for the city center with Serana by his side. He wondered exactly just Gwyn might have done to annoy Linneá and decided he could spare a moment to find out. What did you do, hon? Serana mentioned that my sister was all twisted up…
Um. Nothing important.
Gwyndala Louvain…
Ugh, fine, you pain in the ass. I used Time Magic to undo being shot with an arrow. Happy now?
The redguard shook his head. Truthfully, he was surprised she’d managed to go this long without having done something like that. Or worse. They’d agreed she shouldn’t use it except under extreme circumstances, and it didn’t seem like Linneá had viewed it as such. Which meant Cain would have to scold Gwyn about it later. And that is not a conversation he looked forward to.
-----
Linneá and Gwyn were growing nearer to the Dark Heart.
The rumblings caused by its instability were growing and the frequency of magickal eruptions were becoming far to dangerous for anyone unlucky enough to be fighting their way through the ruined city. The fading roar of a dragon could be heard over the noise of battle as it departed for somewhere far away from the source of the unrest raging on in Blackreach. Only Magsitrate Lisotel and six of his chosen lieutenants remained in a defensive perimeter around the Heart, despite the increasing likelihood that the troublesome Windborne family would soon overwhelm them. The Thalmor man so desperate to win his queen’s favor felt the one constant he needed to ensure victory slipping away – time. He did not doubt that the damned clan of Nords would manage to contain the Dark Heart if they were victorious, and he increasingly felt the threads of destiny fleeing from his grasp.
Unless…
Lisotel studied the erratic motions of the utterly black orb floating at the center he and his men had formed around it. The instability had become so pronounced that it was visible with the naked eye. Fractures in the endless layers of power were plain as day. The surface had become scarred and pocked.
Perhaps it just needs one more little push.
“Soliders! Forget the plan – it is time to give your lives up for the Dominion. Throw yourselves into Namira’s power lest you be slain instead by these upstart snow dogs!” The elves looked uncertainly at one another. Like most enlisted men, the idea of dying in battle to a superior foe felt much more enticing than committing suicide to empower an artifact of the daedra. Lisotel saw them shuffling nervously and simply bid them to remember the various brutal ways their comrades had fallen at the hands of the warriors and mages bearing down upon them. “Do this for your queen and we will make sure Skyrim never opposes the Dominion again! We are on the cusp of annihilating this frigid land and those that rule it!”
-----
“Linn! Are you seeing this [censored]!?” The two women stopped dead in their tracks in horror. They were almost upon the Heart and its last line of defense when those last vestiges of Thalmor resistance willingly cast themselves into the frighteningly unstable artifact. “Did they just… seriously? How indoctrinated do you have to be to do something like that!”
Linneá stared aghast at the spectacle but for an altogether different reason. She sensed the sudden shift in magickal fluctuations and understood at once that they were too late. The only remaining Thalmor – someone high ranking judging by the gold regalia inlaid on their robe – had achieved what they set out to do. The Dark Heat of Namira had finally consumed too much life force. The instability had grown too great, and there was no way to reverse the process. They were too late. The explosion would kill them all and cave in all of Central Skyrim. The Sea of Ghosts would rush inland flooding Dawnstar and any other settlements in the valleys. Hundreds of thousands of lives were about to meet and end they would never see coming. They had failed. The Windbornes were too late and failed in their most sacred oath: to protect their kingdom and all that dwelled within it.
No. I can’t allow that. Linneá only saw one path forward. One chance to lead them through the darkness. She felt the tears threatening to well up in the corners of her eyes and focused instead on that drive. The drive to do right by her people. And by her family.
“Hey, Linn… do you feel that? It’s almost like that thing is…” Gwyn’s blood froze. She felt it now too, and the malice behind it. “[censored]… Linn! What do we do!? I don’t think we can stop –“
“Take care of the elf.”
Gwyn felt the steel in her sister’s voice and did as she was told. Linneá must’ve had a plan – she always did. Lisotel and the Dark Heart were a mere fifty feet away from them now, and the Breton closed the gap quickly. Despite the three hundred years of experience the Magistrate had, he fell to his knees under the onslaught of her magicka and struggled futilely against the thorny vines that bound his wrists and ankles together. Gwyn sneered at the captive Thalmor leader and was about to demand he help undo the mess he’d caused when a blast of magick from the Heart lashed out and threw her back near Linneá’s side where she laid in the dirt, stunned and disoriented.
“Stay here and wait for the others,” said Linneá. “I’ll handle this.”
“What…?” mumbled Gwyn. “Linn, how…”
But Linneá had already left. She strode toward the Dark Heart with a knowing purpose. With each step, she grew nearer to the menace that threatened to undo everything she loved. And with each step, she prayed. She prayed to her beloved Kyne; she prayed to Akatosh. She even prayed to Divines she’d never once had cause to worship, if only to keep her family safe. She prayed they would hear her, and that they would offer strength in Skyrim’s time of needed. An aura of golden light encased her body and slowly blossomed out as she called deeper upon her dragon blood than ever before. She felt a rush of power welling up inside of her and knew without a doubt that the gods had not forsaken them yet.
And one goddess in particular promised to stay with her until the very end.
I will always love you, Linneá, Kyne wept in her mind. There will never be another so deserving of being my champion. And I will look after them all. I promise.
Linneá didn’t respond. She couldn’t. It hurt too much. And her radiance continued to grow as she approached the Heart with the Blessings of Kyne and Akatosh feeding the power encasing her until the faint form of a dragon swirling through the magickal eddies enveloped the altar upon which she now stood.
Magistrate Lisotel wormed against his bindings and watched in stunned disbelief. Could this woman – this simple Nord – really bring the Dominion’s plans to ruin? After all he’d endured? After all the death he’d caused? The Altmer gave up struggling against the vines. They were too tight. He could do nothing but watch, and pray his sacrifices were not in vain.
-----
Not far away, strong hands lifted Gwyn to her feet. “Are you okay?” Cain’s face swam into view, and she shook her head to clear it. “I… yeah. I’m fine, I think. But Linn…”
Serana sought for her wife, and at the sight of the ever-growing golden aura, she took off towards the Heart with the others at her heel. By the time they reached the focal point of all that was causing this, it was too late. The power radiating from Linneá formed an impenetrable barrier around her and the Dark Heart of Namira, and the moment she felt her father and brother approaching, Linneá began to feed off of their power, too. The barrier blazed brightly at the inrush of power from the Dragonborns, and the once dim outline of a dragon strengthened with her spirit and soared about the Heart as a ward against the evil that would soon be unleashed.
I’m with you to the end, my child. You are so brave.
And outside the barrier, Serana pleaded frantically to no avail: “ELLE! PLEASE DON’T DO THIS! WE CAN FIND ANOTHER WAY, JUST LET US IN! LET US IN!”
I’m sorry, my love, answered Linneá, silently. There is no other way. I love you and Salihn so much. Tell her… tell her I’m sorry.
Kirin approached the shimmering golden bulwark against destruction and pulled Serana into his embrace while Cain comforted Gwyn by their side. The High King placed a hand against the barrier and nodded solemnly. He let the power of his dragon blood flow uninhibited and felt his son do the same. He knew Linneá would not be doing this if there was any other way.
“Linn. You’re mother and I love you and are so proud of the woman you’ve become. I’ll see to it that Tamriel never forgets your name, and I’ll spend my days looking forward to spending an eternity in Sovngarde with you.” Solemn tears ran through the grime on his face and fell to mingle on Serana’s blouse with the tears flowing freely her eyes. “We’ll keep them safe,” he promised.
“As will we,” said Cain and Gwyn in unison. “I wish we’d had more time together, sis,” wept Cain. “There were countless years ahead of us that we should have enjoyed together. All of us. I love you.”
“Linn., I…” Gwyn faltered. The hollow memories of loss from losing her aunt flooded back in and she broke down in Cain’s arms.
“It’s alright, Gwynnie,” soothed Linneá from beyond their reach. “I know you’ll always be there for them.” The Dark Heart pulsed angrily behind her. It teetered on the verge of collapsing and she knew there were only mere seconds left. “I love you all. More than you’ll ever know.”
And no amount of time will ever dull how much I love you, Serana. I await you at the end.
The Dark Heart of Namira gave a final shudder and imploded. Utter darkness fell in upon itself and consumed everything around it before releasing an eruption of magicka that swelled inside the barrier and sent tremors through the earth felt as far away as Valenwood. The dragon encircling the protection offered by Linneá’s sacrifice roared in defiance at the chaos and destruction within until Heart expended its last remainder of magickal energy and vanished from Nirn. The barrier fell and only emptiness lingered.
Blackreach fell silent at last, save for the agonizing cries of Serana, who fell into despair at the absolute silence in her mind.
Heartbreaking. Even heroes die sometimes. 
You did a fabulous job with Linneá’s internal dialogue as she weighed her decision – her death and the pain it would cause her family versus the mass destruction (including not only her life but the lives of her family) the heart would unleash upon all of Skyrim if not contained.
You did a fabulous job with Linneá’s internal dialogue as she weighed her decision – her death and the pain it would cause her family versus the mass destruction (including not only her life but the lives of her family) the heart would unleash upon all of Skyrim if not contained.
Thank you, Acadian. As you can imagine, it was difficult to write, even having planned from the start how it would unfold.
====================
Chapter XLIII – The Encroaching Shadows
The heaviest snowfall in centuries blanketed the land. The people of Skyrim hunkered down in their homes, blissfully unaware of how close to ruin their lives came, only venturing the onslaught of winter for a pint of mead at the local tavern. News from the Heartland had slowly begun to trickle north via courier, and those that regularly received news from the south were aghast at the reports of an attack on the Imperial City. Memos from Cloud Ruler Temple, House Redoran, the Crowns and the Forebears, and the Kingdoms of Daggerfall regarding the scale of that same attack were piled on Kirin Windborne’s desk but they had been cast aside when he returned to the Blue Palace.
Reaching for a gifted wine from an archduke in Daggerfall, Kirin uncorked the bottle and poured the deep red spirit into two waiting glasses. He handed one to his son and took a seat with him in front of the fire. Words did not come easy to either one of them. Still covered in dirt and viscera from their battle in Blackreach, their underclothes left a trail of filth wherever they rested. Cain took a sip of wine, and wondered how his fiance was faring. Gwyn, Serana, Lydia, and Kyne had all gone to wake Salihn for the hardest conversation any parent could possibly have.
With a heavy sigh, Kirin set his glass down on an end table and stared unseeing into the dancing flames. “I never thought it would come to this. No parent should outlive their child.”
Cain wanted to say something – anything – to comfort his father, but he somehow thought that no words were better than empty ones. Like the rest of his family, he was too numb from it all. A pervasive emptiness filled the souls of those Linneá left behind that would not easily be overcome. Still…
“It’s not fair, is it?” said Cain. “Least of all to little Salihn. Linn was… so vibrant. So full of life. I don’t think any of us will ever be the same again.” He glanced out of the windows straddling the fireplace and lost himself in the white flakes fluttering across the glass panes. He suspected it would be a long winter… the longest in many an age. Searching for a distraction of any kind to ease the pain, his mind wondered to the reports from Cyrodiil. “It all seems so far away, doesn’t it? To think the Empire would ever fall…”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Kirin. “Not right now. I know you seek a way of easing your burden Cain, but now is not the time for that. You need to grieve. We need to grieve. Even if that means doing so in silence.”
There lay a wisdom in his father’s words that Cain could not refute. And so silence it was, until memories of more joyful times rekindled the smallest of sparks. Linneá’s antics had brought a smile to his face so many times that he had long lost count. They were moments he would treasure forever. From the first time they laid eyes on one another and she greeted him with a joyous hug, to the radiant pride she wore when he and Gwyn announced their engagement. And everything in between.
“Maybe grief doesn’t have to be despair.”
“I couldn’t agree more, Cain,” said Kirin. “We will honor my daughter’s memory. It’s the least we can do for her sacrifice.” He picked up his glass and clinked against Cains. “To Linneá. May she turn the Hall of Shor upon its head.”
The clinking sound of glass faded.
And outside, the snow continued to fall.
The heaviest snowfall in centuries blanketed the land. The people of Skyrim hunkered down in their homes, blissfully unaware of how close to ruin their lives came, only venturing the onslaught of winter for a pint of mead at the local tavern. News from the Heartland had slowly begun to trickle north via courier, and those that regularly received news from the south were aghast at the reports of an attack on the Imperial City. Memos from Cloud Ruler Temple, House Redoran, the Crowns and the Forebears, and the Kingdoms of Daggerfall regarding the scale of that same attack were piled on Kirin Windborne’s desk but they had been cast aside when he returned to the Blue Palace.
Reaching for a gifted wine from an archduke in Daggerfall, Kirin uncorked the bottle and poured the deep red spirit into two waiting glasses. He handed one to his son and took a seat with him in front of the fire. Words did not come easy to either one of them. Still covered in dirt and viscera from their battle in Blackreach, their underclothes left a trail of filth wherever they rested. Cain took a sip of wine, and wondered how his fiance was faring. Gwyn, Serana, Lydia, and Kyne had all gone to wake Salihn for the hardest conversation any parent could possibly have.
With a heavy sigh, Kirin set his glass down on an end table and stared unseeing into the dancing flames. “I never thought it would come to this. No parent should outlive their child.”
Cain wanted to say something – anything – to comfort his father, but he somehow thought that no words were better than empty ones. Like the rest of his family, he was too numb from it all. A pervasive emptiness filled the souls of those Linneá left behind that would not easily be overcome. Still…
“It’s not fair, is it?” said Cain. “Least of all to little Salihn. Linn was… so vibrant. So full of life. I don’t think any of us will ever be the same again.” He glanced out of the windows straddling the fireplace and lost himself in the white flakes fluttering across the glass panes. He suspected it would be a long winter… the longest in many an age. Searching for a distraction of any kind to ease the pain, his mind wondered to the reports from Cyrodiil. “It all seems so far away, doesn’t it? To think the Empire would ever fall…”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Kirin. “Not right now. I know you seek a way of easing your burden Cain, but now is not the time for that. You need to grieve. We need to grieve. Even if that means doing so in silence.”
There lay a wisdom in his father’s words that Cain could not refute. And so silence it was, until memories of more joyful times rekindled the smallest of sparks. Linneá’s antics had brought a smile to his face so many times that he had long lost count. They were moments he would treasure forever. From the first time they laid eyes on one another and she greeted him with a joyous hug, to the radiant pride she wore when he and Gwyn announced their engagement. And everything in between.
“Maybe grief doesn’t have to be despair.”
“I couldn’t agree more, Cain,” said Kirin. “We will honor my daughter’s memory. It’s the least we can do for her sacrifice.” He picked up his glass and clinked against Cains. “To Linneá. May she turn the Hall of Shor upon its head.”
The clinking sound of glass faded.
And outside, the snow continued to fall.
-----
Arrangements were made the following day. Linneá Windborne would be laid to rest in the Temple of the Divines among the storied kings and queens of bygone days. Couriers were dispatched to each and every town, village, and hamlet, and all the citizens of Skyrim were invited to attend a most solemn occasion. Messages from dignitaries far and wide trickled in offering promissory notes of future visits to Solitude to pay their respects. The winter days were short and cold, yet none of those able to travel to the capital in time were deterred. The story of how the High King’s daughter had given her life in defense of the kingdom had spread like wildfire. Her name was celebrated in every nook and cranny of Skyrim while the royal family endured the loss and planned her funeral.
And far across the mortal realms, the snow continued to fall.
Deep within the palace walls, a somber breakfast took place in a familiar dining chamber. Not a one of the participants felt like eating, but they did so in heavy silence anyway. Soft linen napkins were used for dabbing at tears more than wiping away food, and sniffles were commonplace among the scraping of silverware on ceramic.
Kirin and Lydia were the first to depart, seeking each other’s company in private. Cain and Gwyn bundled up a platter of food for Serana whom had yet to leave her quarters, but they remained seated for the moment. Despite her immense age and infinite wisdom, their goddess seemed to have take the loss of her champion harder than the rest of them. Kyne had spoken very little since their return, and she always avoided their eyes.
Invite her to come with us, Gwyn murmured across her link with Cain. I don’t like the idea of her being alone.
I planned to. “Come with us, mum?” he offered, hopefully. “We’re gonna check on Serana and Salihn and make sure they get something to eat.”
“Go ahead without me.”
Gwyn frowned. That wasn’t like her. “She, no, they need you, mum. Please come with us.”
“I will do as I please, child. You would do well to remember that.” Kyne assumed the avatar of the hawk and vanished in an instant.
“What the [censored] was that about?” asked Gwyn.
“I don’t think she knows how to deal with this. Like us, I think it hurts too much for her. They were very close. Closer than the rest of us are to Kyne anyway. I wonder if at some point Linn really did become a daughter to her. They were always around each other since Linn was born…”
“Makes sense,” sniffled Gwyn. “Guess I never really thought about it that way. And they were linked like we were too. I couldn’t imagine losing that connection to you. It must be agonizing.”
“It is.”
Gwyn hugged her fiance and they wept together for a while before departing the dining hall with a bag of food and drink in hand. Palatial life went on all around them just like any other day, but joy or contentment was not to be found in the faces of the guards or staff. Linneá Windborne had left her mark on countless lives and would never be forgotten.
And outside the palace walls, the snow continued to fall.
-----
Five days had passed and the hardest morning of Serana’s life finally arrived. She stood by a mirror in her bedroom, smoothing the creases of a long black dress that fell to her ankles. There were no elaborate braids, or bits of filigree woven into her shoulder length hair. Instead, a wide brimmed hat adorned with preserved nightshade blossoms hung from the edge of the mirror. Blue eyes overwhelmed with grief stared back at her in the mirror. Eyes that would never get lost in the wide hazel eyes of her wife again. Serana grabbed a kerchief from the vanity table and blotted her cheeks with it.
The door opened and Lydia stepped in with Valerica at her heels. “It’s time, dear.”
“Is Salihn ready?”
“She is,” answered Valerica. “My granddaughter is strong, Serana. I… I regret that I haven’t been around more often to see her grow. But you’ve done a far better job than I ever did. She’s waiting for you.”
Serana hugged her mothers in turn and left the room without hesitation. Her daughter waited in the den wearing a matching black dress and hat. There was a sadness beyond belief written on her face, yet still she smiled at her mother as if it were any other day and they were simply departing for school. Serana took Salihn’s hand and the four of them left to meet the others in the palace foyer. The silence in the empty corridors was palpable, but it was nothing compared to the despondent emptiness in her mind. For the last six years, her thoughts had never been alone. Linneá was always there, and she was always with Linneá’s. And then there was nothing, and suddenly she understood exactly what her brother went through when Anska passed away. If she didn’t have Salihn…
No. I can’t think like that. There is no place in Sovngarde for the cowardly. We need each other now more than ever.
Before Serana knew it, she stood with the rest of her family near the enormous wood and wrought iron doors leading to the front courtyard of the Blue Palace. Soon they would be trudging through the snow-covered streets of Solitude. Already the clamor of assembled masses drifted through to their ears. They stood awkwardly by in wait for the sole remaining member of the procession. Thankfully, a veiled Kyne joined them before idle conversations could spring up. Serana didn’t have the strength for pleasantries. She barely had the strength for what was to come.
Sensing this, Lydia, Valerica, and Gwyn took the lead and sheltered Serana and Salihn between them as they departed the palace. Kirin, Cain, and Kyne brought up the rear, and the people of Skyrim fell in line behind them as they walked. Not even whispers were uttered among the crowds lining the long walk to the Temple of the Divines. Heads were bowed. Tears were wept. Prayers were intoned in silence.
And across the entirety of Nirn, the snow continued to fall.
-----
The next evening felt marginally easier. Dinner had been delivered there instead of the dining room, and Lydia poured glasses of firebrand wine for everyone while the High King finally took the time to consider the gravity of what transpired in Cyrodiil while they were defending their own home. And laying his daughter to rest. All signs pointed to a parallel attack by the Dominion but on a much larger scale. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the scale of destruction described in the latest reports. He glanced around the room at the joyless faces of his kin. Kyne and Serana’s absence was notable, but not unexpected. The goddess had been very withdrawn in their time of need, and it felt as if she were distancing herself from her children. And as a widowed mother Serana was right where she needed to be.
“How bad is it?” asked Cain. Gwyn lounged against her fiance, exhausted from it all. She privately wished they could just go home to Elysium, but knew it was too soon for that. There would be too much going on.
“… The entire island is underwater,” said Kirin. “Only remnants of the White-Gold Tower are visible in the lake’s center. And some of the smaller towns along the lake shore were flooded and washed away with the receding tides.”
Lydia moved behind the desk with him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. She felt the weight of responsibility in the tense muscles of her husband, the man who was primed to lead an empire. An empire that crumbled to dust. He wanted to help – she could tell as much. The Heartland was in disarray; leaderless with their seat of government utterly annihilated in the blink of an eye. Cyrodiil was easy pickings for the Dominion.
“Where do we start?” said Lydia. “They need our help.”
Kirin raised his own hand to his shoulder and squeezed hers. “Our first priority is to provide whatever aid we can. I already dispatched communications to our allies. We’re going to begin coordinating relief efforts and mobilizing our troops to defend the borders. The empire may be gone, but those Thalmor bastards haven’t defeated us and they never will, and with these attacks, they’ve made one thing perfectly clear: the Second Great War has begun.”
Not a single person present felt any differently. The grief of loss remained prevalent, but anger had finally risen through the shock and taken root. A daughter; a mother; a sister was stolen from the Windbornes and there would be a reckoning. For nigh on two-hundred years the Third Aldmeri Dominion had sown unrest and waged war on the rest of Tamriel, and now came the time to stand firm in the face of that adversity. Their actions illustrated a complete disregard for any lives but their own, and with their genocidal actions in Cyrodiil, they could no longer be left unchecked.
Skyrim, High Rock, Hammerfell, and Morrowind were the seat of opposition; and the Nordic Tongues were set to rally the free peoples of Tamriel.
The High King raised a glass to his family. “For Linneá.”
“For Linneá,” their voices echoed.
And outside the palace walls, the snow continued to fall.
A powerful episode of grief. Great job showing how each member of the family struggles with the loss of Linneá in their own way. All under the unrelenting fall of Kyne’s frozen tears that blanket the land.
It seems clear the Thalmor need to be taken down but that will not be an easy task.
It seems clear the Thalmor need to be taken down but that will not be an easy task.
QUOTE(Acadian @ Apr 17 2026, 03:26 PM)
A powerful episode of grief. Great job showing how each member of the family struggles with the loss of Linneá in their own way. All under the unrelenting fall of Kyne’s frozen tears that blanket the land.
It seems clear the Thalmor need to be taken down but that will not be an easy task.
Thank you for being along for the ride. We just have one entry left...It seems clear the Thalmor need to be taken down but that will not be an easy task.
===================
Epilogue
Perpetual darkness reigned over a borderline inhospitable land. An eternal night sky filled with swirling auroras barely illuminated the rocky earth covered with ruins. Monolithic stones driven by unknown forces floated in the air. Glowing plants, and poisonous coral-like structures sprouted from sparse patches of acidic soil. Stunted and leafless trees were uncommon and clustered together offering no canopy for protection against prying eyes. Or from dangerous predators. By some divine miracle, fresh spring water sometimes rose to the surface in small pools that glistened under the maelstroms high above.
Daedra walked the land in droves. Some scuttled about on eight legs, while others soared overhead with leathery, bat-like wings and long tails. Armored Dremora patrolled in packs defending their mistress’ realm. Few mortals ever made it to the Scuttling Void, but those that did were typically discovered in short order. Elf and man flesh was a delicacy in these demonic lands, and the hapless intruders were offered to Namira first. Those lucky enough to be devoured had their souls pass into the Void. The less fortunate were bound to servitude for eternity in the Daedra’s floating citadel.
And far across this hellish realm, miles away from Namira’s throne, a dim fire flickered among the knotted trunks of a leafless copse. Two figures draped in ragged robes sat across from one another trying with utmost restraint to not murder their counterpart.
“It’s been nearly four months and you still won’t give up? We can’t survive here alone, asshole. Next time you pull a stunt like that I’ll leave you tied to a rock for the winged twilights to see.”
“Bah. I can’t believe I ended up here with you of all people. I’d sooner have a chaurus for company. And what exactly is your plan if we are to survive, snow dog? Escape? From the Scuttling Void? Don’t make me laugh. Incursion portals to this realm were sealed ages ago by the Elder Council. There is no escape. We are going to die here and it will be unpleasant. Better you accept that now.”
Accepting defeat was, of course, out of the question while breath remained in the lungs of the more optimistic of the unlikely duo. The reflected flames of their meager campfire flickered across unfocused hazel eyes. There had to be a way out. And not just for their sake.
“Feel free to go your own way if you think you can hack it, elf. But I will escape this place or I will die trying. You of all people should know I am not above that.”
The other snorted obnoxiously but, for once, there was no derision behind it. It was a point he could not refute. “Very well. I’ll concede that. So, where do we begin?”
“We still need to find a way to communicate beyond the boundaries of this realm. That hasn’t changed. We can’t do anything on our own.”
“And just how do you propose we do that? You might have noticed a distinct lack of courier service around here.”
“Hah. Hah. Just leave that part to me. Get some sleep, Lisotel; I’ll take first watch.”
The less optimistic of the two shrugged and huddled down under his robe. A slight shimmer briefly filled the air around him while he cast a small, precautionary protection spell around his wretched form.
Still unnecessary, but I guess I don’t blame him. Although it was still dangerous to let her guard down around the pitiful form, the turmoil in the skies above strove for her attention and won out in the end. Somewhere out there, floating across the endless Void, was their home. We’ll be together again, Ana. I promise.
Magistrate Lisotel. . . . Formerly of Queen Penelore’s court and architect of the ‘feed the falmor and our foes to the Dark Heart' plan.
It seems that somehow both he and Linneá were saved from actual death by being cast into Namiras’s realm.
When Linneá says she will escape, I believe that she likely will. And so we end on somewhat of an optimistic note.
It seems that somehow both he and Linneá were saved from actual death by being cast into Namiras’s realm.
When Linneá says she will escape, I believe that she likely will. And so we end on somewhat of an optimistic note.
When the Heart finally overloaded it faded back to the Scuttling Void, sorta like how Azura says in Skyrim that her star will eventually do the same. It would've drawn in way more had Linneá not been sacrificing herself. It'll be interesting to see if those two can eventually get along. Book five will start eventually.
Thanks you everyone who came along for the ride!
Thanks you everyone who came along for the ride!
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