<link>https://www.loverslab.com/blogs/blog/1156-a-symphony-of-frost-and-flame/</link><description><![CDATA[<p> Despite the end of the Dragon Crisis, Skyrim remains locked in a Civil War. The Aldmeri, Imperials, Stormcloaks and others all have their own designs on the province. What future does Skyrim have, if any? </p>]]></description><language>en</language><item><title>A Symphony of Frost and Flame - Character Index / (Re)Introductionhttps://www.loverslab.com/blogs/entry/13730-a-symphony-of-frost-and-flame-character-index-reintroduction/ Contents

Character Index (You are here!)

Prologue

Rianne I

Lilith I  

Faielle I

Jon I

 

So I've been gone since forever, but I haven't forgotten or stopped thinking about any of this stuff!

 

I do actually have an almost complete final part of Jon's chapter, but it still needs some work and I figured that since I've been absent for almost an year, a little reminder of who was what and such before posting anything else would be nice, especially since there are a lot of characters with all sorts of motivations. I've also always wanted to do a Character Index of sorts anyway, so here we are!

 

This is not an exhaustive list and is only concerned with people in Solitude and Whiterun for now, which is why Lilith is missing. There are other characters who have not appeared yet who are also not included. So if anyone feels like this lacks a Stormcloak perspective, that will be a thing too, just uh, don't expect them to be the good guys either! We don't have good guys here! \o/

 

Hopefully I'll be seeing you with the next part sometime soon™!

 

A Symphony of Frost and Flame - The people of Solitude

Spoiler

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As a member of a noble household from the old Alinor monarchy, Rianne's heritage inspires both disdain and hope within the still young Aldmeri Dominion, depending on who one might ask.


While most supporters of the monarchy were purged in the early days of the Thalmor takeover, Rianne's family survived through diplomacy, tact and a willingness to compromise, traits which seem lost to modern Thalmor diplomats, but which she has been carefully groomed for.


Rianne is part of the first generation of elves born after the regime change, leaving her in the unenviable position of not being quite as indoctrinated as those that followed, but also with no actual memory of the more cosmopolitan Elven society that used to be.


While not a true believer in Thalmor ideology, Rianne fought with distinction in the Great War, thirty years prior to Skyrim's Dragon Crisis. She continues to serve in the perhaps naive hope of being a moderating influence on her more ideologically charged peers, but her game is a dangerous one to play, and her hands are by no means clean.


Currently stationed in Solitude as part of the Thalmor Expedition, Rianne volunteered for the unfavourable posting to be with her lover, Faielle. She hopes for a swift conclusion to the Thalmor mission in Skyrim and, hopefully, an end to military service for both of them.  
 

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Faielle has often felt as if she was born in the wrong age. Sensitive and caring at heart, her compassionate demeanour place her at odds with the unforgiving, martial doctrine present even in civillian Thalmor society, to say nothing of the military.


Having also been conscripted into the Thalmor Army, Faielle's first action was during the Great War, during which she learned to her considerable discomfort that she was actually quite good at the things she hated.


Among the collective trauma of the Great War, there was one ray of light - she met Rianne, and the two have been largely inseparable in the decades since.


Despite their equal disdain for the Thalmor regime, Rianne and Faielle are both aware that they would never have met under the old monarchy, considering their different backgrounds. An irony which is not lost on either of them.


Not having the luxury of a noble family to protect her, Faielle was part of the early, clandestine Thalmor operations in Skyrim, during which Elven operatives suffered a high level of casualties, especially during dragon attacks.


While the situation has become a lot less volatile since the end of the Dragon Crisis and the formalization of the Thalmor presence in the province, these events have left a deep mark on Faielle.


A moral compass to Rianne's more pragmatic and impulsive attitudes, Faielle wants nothing more than for their tour of service to end, and for a peaceful return to the Summerset Isles.

 

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The most powerful mage currently present in the province of Skyrim - at least according to himself - Talendil is the dispassionate, politically minded leader of the Thalmor Expedition, after his predecessor Ondolemar's assassination by the Blades.


Unimpressed by the ideology of national and racial pride that the Thalmor espouse, Talendil's concern is singular: Power. Power for himself over anyone else. Everything else is secondary, and any means to reach that goal are acceptable.


This proclivity towards self-serving is nothing new, Talendil is an "elder statesman", as he would fancy himself, and quickly sided with the nascent Thalmor movement 180 years ago when he sensed that they would win the day.


For his crucial contributions in those early days of the Dominion, Talendil became a respected Magister, his family's fortune growing far beyond those of the old nobles who would've looked down on him in his youth.


But this was not enough. The Magister aims for the very top of the Aldmeri power structure, a seat on the Elder Council of Alinor, and perhaps, even more.
Towards this end, he has called in favours to be made the head of the Skyrim Expedition. While popular opinion among Alinor's political class is that the province is a backwater, Talendil believes that Skyrim is key to any future resistance from the Cyrodilic Empire, and if he were responsible for breaking it, he would gain a great deal of political leverage at home.


He is currently headquartered in Solitude, where many consider him to be the one truly in charge, rather than Queen Elisif or General Varus.


Ambitious, ruthless and cynical, Talendil actively works to keep the Skyrim Civil War going, while ostensibly being in the province to help the Imperials end it. His endless thirst for power and narcissism may cause him to underestimate his opponents, but he remains a dangerous and unpredictable actor, to friend and foe alike.

 
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Celendys is the poster child of the Aldmeri Dominion. Few elves, even among the original "revolutionaries" of the Thalmor themselves, embody the ideology of the Dominion better than she does.


A protege and lieutenant of Magister Talendil, Celendys seems to have inherited much of her master's magical talent, but none of his cynicism. Instead, Celendys is a genuine, true believer in the racial supremacist doctrine of the Thalmor, seeing all non-Elves as her objective inferiors, fit to be little more than slaves to a continent-spanning Elven Empire.


As Talendil's enforcer, Celendys has wreaked havoc across Skyrim in the name of hunting various dissidents, such as Stormcloak rebels or Talos worshippers. While there are many of her peers who believe this work is necessary, the glee and enthusiasm with which she torments her victims has made even other 'true believers' uncomfortable. Needless to say, Celendys is not a popular figure, but she does not care to be.


Celendys is particularly critical of the old Alinor monarchy and nobility, believing that they were leading the Altmer race to destruction. With Rianne being the daughter of such nobility, her scorn is often barely contained.


Cruel, heartless and zealous, Celendys wants Skyrim subjugated, the Empire dissolved, and the Elves ascendant, as they were millennia ago. Unlike her master, personal power is not a means unto itself, but genuinely a tool to help the Dominion thrive.


Ironically, Celendys is a godsend to the propagandists of the Stormcloak rebellion and the anti-Aldmeri Imperial factions. Whenever skeptics raise an eyebrow at the caricature of the unfeeling, robotic, black-clad Aldmeri soldier, they only need to point at her.

 

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Tauron is what Aldmeri propaganda would have one believe all of their soldiers are like.


The ideal Aldmeri soldier is from a simple, rural background. Strong, professional, unquestioningly loyal to his homeland, and untainted by the decadence of the urban elites which have led Alinor to ruin - before the Thalmor revolution, of course.


But things are not quite so simple even among the Aldmeri rank and file. Tauron may have believed all of those things at one point, but multiple tours of duty all over Tamriel have lead only to disillusionment. He has seen first hand how the inflexible ideology of the Thalmor alienated potential allies in Hammerfell and galvanized the natives against them, leading to an embarrassing defeat. Or the failure of Alinor to aid the Dunmer of Morrowind and bring them into the fold - all on theological grounds, supposedly.


While he may not be privy to the mysteries and plots of his superiors, he can see that the Third Dominion, while currently ascendant, is not as invincible as they would have him believe, and he is not the only one. The 'simple' and 'honest' farmers of the Summerset Isles might be more perceptive than their masters give them credit for.


With higher patriotic ideals dashed, Tauron fights because service in the military is compulsory, because he cares for the soldiers he serves with, and because his wife and two children depend on him. Any dishonorable actions he is ordered to carry out are just going to have to be his burden to bear, whenever he tries to sleep.


Tauron is in many ways the embodiment of the common Aldmeri soldier, but if the powers that be in Alinor look past the propaganda and a little closer, they may not like what they see.
 

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Sylvia Proudspire is elusive even by the standards of Solitude, a city many Nords deride for its numerous plots and conspiracies.

 

Ostensibly nothing more than the scion of one of Solitude's wealthier noble families, she has been missing for most of the Civil War, returning only recently from what she claimed was a stay in the Imperial City.


With the rest of her family dead under questionable circumstances during the war, little has been seen of the wealthy heiress since her return. Her opulent manor faces out to Queen's Street, a stone's throw away from the Blue Palace itself, but all of her maids and staff are hired from outside of Solitude, and seem sworn to secrecy. Although there is no shortage of eccentric nobles in the city, this is unusual even by their standards.


While the richest nobles in Solitude are infamous for their house parties, not a single soul seems to have stepped into Proudspire Manor since her return, and rumours abound as to what takes place within its halls.


Even fewer people know of Sylvia's talent for sorcery. A secret kept entirely within Skyrim's Circle of Magi, and which even the infamously effective Aldmeri Intelligence is not privy to.


But while Solitude may be good at creating secrets, it is not good at keeping them. The recent spate of disappearances has forced the ponderous bureaucracy to spring into action, and it would not be long before the secrets of Proudspire Manor are laid bare.
 

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On the throne of Solitude sits Queen Elisif 'the Fair', first of her name, Jarl of Solitude and Haafingar Hold and Queen of all Nords.


The latter title is heavily disputed. While alongside Haafingar Elisif can call upon the bannermen of the Hjaalamarch, of Falkreath, and of The Reach, the Jarls of The Pale, Winterhold and The Rift have declared for Eastmarch - Ulfric Stormcloak's domain. Meanwhle Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun Hold stands in the middle, no doubt hoping to choose the winning side. Elisif's realm has been shattered ever since Ulfric Stormcloak killed the previous King of Skyrim - her husband.


The Queen also enjoys the support of the Imperial City as well as of Alinor, both the Imperials and the Elves having their own reasons to want her in charge, even if just nominally.
How much power the Queen actually has - or even wants - is questionable. General Varus, representing the Imperial Legion, and Magister Talendil of the Thalmor Expedition, both throw their weight around when it comes to the fate of Solitude, and there is little Elisif can do but try to placate both of them.


Elisif does have the advantage of being underestimated. Not being a great warrior nor a powerful sorceress, many may think her of little importance.


But Elisif is a native of Solitude, she knows the city and its people far better than any of these outsiders, she has grown up touring the courts of the Imperial City, of Wayrest, Daggerfall and Sentinel. From the Illiac Bay to the Nibenay Basin and up to the Sea of Ghosts - she has travelled, and listened, while others preferred only to hear themselves speak.


Elisif may seem meek and timid, but when Ulfric treacherously killed her husband, he crushed all of her hopes and dreams. She has resolved to do the same to his.  
 

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Varus Laecinnius has a legacy to contend with. He is the only son of famed orator and Imperial Senator Quintus Laecinnius, a man of immense power and influence within the Imperial Senate and the leader of a controversial, pro-Aldmeri faction.


Varus has spent all of his youth preparing for this command. Now a man grown, he is set to replace the disgraced General Tullius at the head of the Imperial Legion in Skyrim, and intends to bring a swift end to the rebellion, which Tullius failed to deliver.


The general often quarrels with Magister Talendil, but the man and elf are more alike than they care to admit. Varus too, is animated by power and influence most of all.


But unlike Talendil, Varus is also a glory hound. He dreams of taking Ulfric prisoner and delivering him to the Imperial City as the centrepiece of his very own Triumph, an event that has not graced the streets of the city since the one thrown in honor of General Jonna and Decianus, the architects of the Battle of the Red Ring, thirty years prior.


Stormcloak strategists underestimate Varus due to his youth and lack of experience with command on this scale, but they play a dangerous game.


Ambitious, cunning but untested, Varus intends to cement his name in the Imperial Legion's hall of fame early in his career, but the harsh forests and valleys of Skyrim are nothing like the green, rolling hills of Cyrodil. Should Varus not be careful, Skyrim may prove to be the headstone of the Legion, as well as his prestigious family name.
 

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Sybille Stentor's unnaturally youthful appearance has drawn much speculation from Solitude's court, considering she has served for more than thirty years as the Court Wizard.


While Bretons such as Sybille do have longer lifespans, and sorceresses have been known to use glamours to look younger than they actually are, her appearance nonetheless is the source of much gossip.


Some imaginative but very unwise individuals have speculated that Sybille is afflicted with vampirism, however, the raven-haired sorceress is regularly seen basked in sunlight without any noticeable adverse effects.


The more well-read among the unwise gossipmongers have spoken of rare, sunlight resistant strains of vampirism, but such a thing has not been seen since the 2nd Era, or may even have been merely the stuff of folktales. Such rumours flare up every few years, but nothing has been conclusively proven, and nobody seems to want to be the one to step forward with any evidence.


While all nine members of Skyrim's Circle of Magi are officially equals, Sybille is unquestioningly the primary decision maker, the Court Wizards of the other eight Holds regularly deferring to her on the more important matters.


Ostensibly, the Circle was set up as a politically neutral organization through which Mages could cooperate for the good of the realm. Many peace treaties between warring Jarls have been brokered by their Court Wizards, and to the casual observer the Wizards are little more than advisors to their liege lords.


Some would say that the wizards and sorceresses of the Circle hold far more power and influence than most people think. The common folks' fear and distrust of magic and its wielders is often a source of great amusement to the nobles and the educated, but there may be more to their fears than mere rural paranoia.


A powerful and mysterious sorceress, Sybille's true goals remain unknown to all but her eight associates from the other Holds. Every month, they convene to discuss matters of import. No one quite knows what is said, other than that it's all for the good of the realm, of course.

 

 

A Symphony of Frost and Flame - The people of Whiterun

Spoiler

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Jon Battle-Born is not a coward. In fact, it takes a bravery of its own for a man of Whiterun to stand out for anything other than martial prowess.


While Jon is not completely untalented in those martial pursuits, his passions lie elsewhere, much to his father's chagrin. Always drawn to bards and poetry from a young age, Jon spent much of his childhood ducking out of his sword lessons in favour of the lute and dreaming of enrolling into the prestigious Solitude Bard's College.


Unfortunately, the Civil War, along with his disapproving father, indefinitely put any such plans on hold. Jon, along with the rest of Whiterun, spends most days on edge, anxiously waiting for their Jarl's decision to enter the war.


The only bright light in Jon's life, as far as he's concerned, is Olfina, the daughter of his father's arch-nemesis,  Vignar Grey-Mane. Despite their families differences, the two youth have been pursuing a relationship for at least two years. Their love is somewhat of an open secret, and only time will tell if it is stronger than their families feud.


Strong but sensitive, Jon's world has changed much since the Civil War began, and as all eyes in Skyrim turn to Whiterun, it will only stand to change even more.
 

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Olfrid Battle-Born is the cantankerous patriarch of the Battle-Born family. A veteran of the Great War and the richest man in Whiterun Hold, Olfrid never seems pleased - about anything.


His latest source of displeasure is the Civil War, and Jarl Balgruuf's policy of neutrality. A staunch supporter of the Empire, Olfrid believes that Whiterun should immediately declare for Solitude, drive out any Stormcloak supporters (especially the insidious Grey-Manes) and do their part in putting an end to this 'shameful' uprising.


Of course, what Olfrid usually likes to leave out is that his family would profit greatly from Whiterun's borders being reopened to Cyrodilic trade, and the Imperial soldiers who would no doubt be garrisoned in his city would need all sorts of equipment and goods, which he would be set to provide.


Olfrid is particularly opposed to the Grey-Mane family. Having originally been fast friends and even comrades during the Great War, Olfrid and Vignar find themselves on opposite sides of the Civil War, and they have dragged the rest of their families along with them.


While Balgruuf sits on his throne and vacillates about which side to pick, the two patriarchs pull the city in opposite directions, and it may not be long before the quiet, relatively peaceful streets of Whiterun see blood.


Short-tempered and severe, Olfrid is nonetheless an effective administrator, even if not very well liked. He has already brought more wealth and pride to the Battle-Born name than it has had in generations, and if the current leadership of Whiterun proves incapable... perhaps House Battle-Born can fill that role as well.
 

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Jon's older brother is the son Olfrid actually wants. While even Olfrid may not say it out loud, it is no secret he is his favorite.


Idolaf Battle-Born embodies 'proper' Nord culture - at least in his fathers eyes. He is strong, honorable, an expert swordsman, an inspiring leader of men and a father himself. Idolaf has already taken over many of his fathers duties within House Battle-Born, and is much better liked by their bannermen.


But all is not well with Idolaf. Some would say they've never seen him smile since becoming a widower, and the perceived betrayal of the Grey-Manes felt very personal to him, having been a close friend of Avulstein Grey-Mane, and looking up to Vignar as an embodiment of Nordic virtue.


A perceptive but harsh man, Idolaf mirrors his father in many ways. He aspires to lead House Battle-Born to even greater glories and to instil into his young son Lars the proper attitudes required of a Battle-Born patriarch. With the Civil War knocking at Whiterun's gates, Idolaf believes there will be no shortage of opportunities to do just that.
 

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Had Vignar Grey-Mane been born in the Imperial City, he would have likely been one of the most prominent speakers of his age, not to mention a respectable warrior in his own right.


Alas, Vignar has to make do with the halls of Dragonsreach. For decades, at every Council, the voice of Vignar Grey-Mane was synonymous with reason, a voice truly in favour of the people of Whiterun, and one to which many listened.


An eloquent speaker, Vignar captured the attention of men with words, rather than gold, as the Battle-Borns do. For a time, neither family harboured any true ill will towards the other, the two patriarchs having even served together in the Great War, but since Ulfric's rebellion, opinions on Vignar have been sharply divided.


Reserved and cautious at first, Vignar's rhetoric has become ever more fiery, always just a little short of openly supporting Ulfric's cause. To his erstwhile friends of House Battle-Born, his words are already plainly treason.


With the upcoming 998th Whiterun Council of Lords, rumours are abound that Vignar may openly bid Jarl Baalgruuf to declare for Ulfric. Although Vignar's feelings on the matter are no secret, such an act could still have dire consequences.


Honorable and quick witted, but perhaps somewhat blinded by customs and tradition, Vignar Grey-Mane truly wants what is best for his city. Far too old to be of any use in battle, he hopes to use his voice and reputation to serve it one more time - to set it on what he believes is the right path. As pure as his intentions are, he may unwittingly lead Whiterun to ruin.
 

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Just like his former friend Idolaf, Avulstein Grey-Mane has some big shoes to fill.

 

The only son of the famed Vignar Grey-Mane, Avulstein has struggled to live up to his fathers name.


Brash and impulsive, he seeks to bring honour to the Grey-Mane name in his own way: By fighting anyone who disagrees with him and, to his credit, often winning. While he is popular among Grey-Mane bannermen, particularly the younger ones who share his hotheadedness, many fear what may happen to House Grey-Mane once Avulstein becomes its head.


The disappearance of his younger brother Thorald last year has been particularly difficult for him, especially as it was he who encouraged him to volunteer to the Stormcloak Army. Avulstein is convinced the hated Battle-Borns had a hand to play in the disappearance, but evidence has not been forthcoming.


For now, Avulstein is content to match Idolaf's acts of bravado, their men often brawling in the streets as tensions in neutral Whiterun continue to rise. While the City Watch has prevented steel from being drawn so far, it may only be a matter of time.


There may soon come a day when the reckless Grey-Mane scion has to prove himself as not only a good swordhand, but a leader of men.
 

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Nord culture champions strength. The concept of the 'shieldmaiden' is often celebrated, from the sagas of previous Eras to these troubled days. But in practicality, such behaviour is heavily discouraged. Exalted though they may be, actual 'Shieldmaidens' are quite rare.


 This has caused Olfina Grey-Mane no shortage of trouble. Independent, somewhat stubborn, but well-spoken, Olfina takes after her father far more than her older brother ever could, but unlike the scheming societies of Cyrodil or the harsh meritocracy of Summerset, she could never hope to supplant her male sibling.


Instead, Olfina has spent her time defying every stereotype of a 'good Nord woman' she could think of, regularly spending her day with swords rather than needles, in pants rather than dresses, and shaming courters by outright denying them before even hearing them out.


Worse yet, Olfina has found a lover in the younger son of her father's rival. Jon Battle-Born is the only man to whom Olfina has shown anything other than her steely exterior, and she seems determined to stand by him regardless of any protests or threats.


As the political situation in Whiterun reaches a boiling point, Olfina cares not. She hopes only to be with Jon. Should her family not support her, she would be distraught, but more than ready to go her own way.

 

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 'Who holds the advantage in the Civil War?', one might ask.


Supporters of both sides would be quick to come up with reasons as to why their side is not only righteous, but also on the cusp of victory.


Jarl Balgruuf has a different answer. He thinks Whiterun is winning.


His careful - and in his mind, wise - policy of neutrality has lead to a deadlock, with neither side able to muster the strength to defeat the other. The city of Whiterun swarms with spies and diplomats both blue and red, all knowing that whoever secures Skyrim's central hold will likely also win the war. None have made a good enough case for their side so far.


Balgruuf's policy is a fragile one, though. As the war drags, both Solitude and Windhelm's patience is running thin, as is that of the two largest landowners in Whiterun Hold - the Grey-Manes and Battle-Borns.


Should Balgruuf continue to do nothing, he may find his vassals taking matters into their own hands, and if they do, his titles will hold no power outside the walls of Dragonsreach.


An adequate politician cursed with an inflated sense of self-importance, Jarl Balgruuf may have made for a reasonable peacetime ruler, but he finds himself out of his depth in the current crisis, whether he cares to admit it or not. Without decisive action, Whiterun may fall into chaos, and with it, the rest of the province.
 

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Every respectable Jarl has a bard in his court, and if she is young, talented and beautiful, it only makes the Jarl's court more prestigious.


Livia is one of the latest graduates from the Imperial City's College of the Arts. Surpassing even Solitude's Bard College in fame, Jarl Balgruuf paid a small fortune to employ her.


However, while genuinely a talented singer, the bard trade is merely Livia's hobby. The one who recommended her to Balgruuf was Farengar 'Secret-Fire', his Court Wizard. Unknown to Balgruuf, the arrangement was a favour from Farengar to the Cyrodilic Circle of Magi.


Secretly a sorceress and an envoy from the larger and more powerful Mage organization to the south, Livia has left the comforts of the Imperial City to create closer ties between the two groups, especially in the face of their far more united Aldmeri counterparts.


Although still relatively inexperienced in magic compared to her peers, Livia has shown cunning far beyond her age, with her sweet, delicate demeanour making her appear far more harmless than she actually is.


While the more cynical may be able to see through the deceptive smile and to the opportunistic schemer underneath, many have been positively charmed, and she loves that almost as much as she loves the power her magical talent grants her.


Perhaps the best case for 'Appearances can be deceiving', Livia appears to have a bright future in the scheming, conspiratorial underworld that is Mage poltiics. For now, she participates in the Skyrim Circle's monthly meetings, acting as Cyrodil's representative. Her ultimate loyalties, however, might just be only to herself.
 

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Not even in her wildest dreams could Lydia imagine the highs and lows that the last two years would take her through.


Assigned by Jarl Balgruuf as housecarl to the by-now legendary Last Dragonborn, Lydia has been with him through thick and thin, from his initial ascent up the treacherous steps of the Throat of the World, to his final and still mysterious confrontation with the World Eater.


Along the way, the two had fallen in love in a way Lydia never thought she would experience. When Lydia took up the sword and shield, she accepted that traditional romance was an unlikely fit for her. With him, however, everything seemed possible.


And yet, their flame was as hot as it was brief. The man who returned from Sovngarde - where she could not follow - was very different from the one who had went in. Haunted and haggard, the one who had once been her rock seemed like a shell of his former self, even as the whole realm celebrated around him.


Then one day, he was just gone. No letter. No explanation as to where he may have went. Not even for her. Lydia has still not gotten over it.


As an associate of the Last Dragonborn and an inductee into what is left of the Blades, Lydia is hunted by Aldmeri Intelligence. Her animosity towards the Thalmor is rivaled only by that of Ulfric and his men. She has spent the last year all over Skyrim searching for her love, to no avail.


A strong and proud warrior now broken, Lydia lacks purpose. Despite her sacrifices, her homeland is still fraught with conflict. Brothers still spill each other's blood while foreigners and elves pick over the province for their own ends. This would all have to stop. Their hard-won victory in the Dragon Crisis could not have been for nothing. Skyrim would be free, or she would die trying.

 

 

 

 

]]>13730Tue, 18 May 2021 17:40:00 +0000A Symphony of Frost and Flame - Jon I (Part II)https://www.loverslab.com/blogs/entry/11294-a-symphony-of-frost-and-flame-jon-i-part-ii/ I mean, okay. It's not as fast as I wanted, but it's faster than before.

 

Contents

Prologue

Rianne I

Lilith I  

Faielle I

Jon I Part I

Jon I Part II (You are here!)

 

May want to check out previous parts if you're new, otherwise you know how this goes!

 

Spoiler

 

As Jon followed his brother into the Great Hall of Dragonsreach, he could hear the flurry of footsteps and whispers ahead. They were all here. All the men of note in Whiterun Hold. The two brothers were late, the spring Council was about to begin and with it, perhaps an end to a fragile peace.

 

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As they made their way through, Jon spotted an unlikely pair on their way out. Livia, the Court Bard, squinted and smiled at them as they approached.

 

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"My Lords of Battle-Born. It is a pleasure to see you could make it in time for such an important debate. It is so wonderful that all the great warriors of Whiterun have gathered here today, to protect us all. Don't you think so, Farengar?"

 

The man beside her, Farengar 'Secret-Fire', was Jarl Baalgruuf's court wizard. Every Jarl in Skyrim would have such an advisor. As a student of history, Jon knew that more than once, such men and women had worked more for themselves than their liege. Farengar was eccentric even for a mage.

 

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Farengar merely nodded, his face partly hidden by the hood he insisted on wearing in public. Livia smiled pleasantly, trying to make the interaction less awkward. She was a bard of some renown from the Imperial City Bards' College. Even more prestigious than the local one in Solitude, the talents of their graduates were sought after by men of means across the entire Empire.

 

Jon found it curious that she would be in Skyrim of all places. As someone of her talent and beauty would likely have been desired by far more prestigious courts. Her association with Farengar seemed stranger still, the man was famous for being reclusive and interested in little but his books and spells.

 

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Nevertheless, Jon had been an avid admirer ever since her arrival last year, after Alduin's defeat. She performed the by now famous 'Tale of the Tongues' - a ballad honoring the Dragonborn's victory. It was the most beautiful rendition Jon had heard before or since. He could only dream of becoming half as good.

 

"And a pleasure to see you again as well, Lady Livia. A pity you will not be joining us this year. The halls of Dragonsreach will be all the poorer without your presence."

 

Jon could almost -feel- his brother roll his eyes. Had he gone too far? He did not think so, it was the truth! Besides, he would rather hear anything than another debate about the civil war. That had already been the subject of every dinner Jon had attended this year.

 

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"Hmmmh."

 

Livia smiled mischievously. He had not met her more than three or four times, but she would always look as if she knew more than one would expect of her. Every move, every twitch in her lips seemed deliberate. Sometimes Jon was unsure if he should admire her or fear her - but why would anyone fear a bard?

 

The lady would share a sidelong glance with Farengar, before turning around and heading towards the exit.

 

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"Enjoy the festivities, My Lords - such as they are. Remember that peace is a fragile thing, and you are its guardians."

 

While his brother had turned and walked away before she finished speaking, he watched her the entire way out.

 

"Come along now, Farengar. Our honorable Jarl wouldn't want us keeping our defenders from their duties."

 

 

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Catching up to his brother, Jon could survey the entirety of the Great Hall of Dragonsreach from atop the steps.

 

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To the right, Jon saw the Battle-Born assembly - and his father. Olfrid Battle-Born was, if nothing else, an eternally busy man. Whenever he would be out, wherever he would be, one petitioner or another would be right along with some suggestion or plea for him to hear out.

 

A vassal with a grievance, a peasant from one of his fiefs with a bandit problem - it would never end and it had been this way for as long as Jon had memories. Even as the proceedings were about to start, Olfrid was surrounded by people with problems. Problems they expected answers to. It was a small wonder the man was only as ill-tempered as he was.

 

Behind them, Harald watched quietly. Nothing ever seemed to escape the eyes of Olfrid's bodyguard. Even unarmed - as was the custom in the Jarl's halls - he was an intimidating figure. Anyone thinking to so much as raise their voice at Olfrid would best think twice.

 

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Behind them, on hastily assembled benches, sat the rest of the Battle-Born audience. Men of all stripes who had sworn fealty to House Battle-Born were in attendance: Aldermen, soldiers, the larger farmers - anyone who Jon's father deemed important enough for the honor was here.

 

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Jon was unfamiliar with most of these men. It was Idolaf that seemed to know everyone - his elder brother was the one who would always accompany his father on all his trips, taking care of family business.

 

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On the other side of the aisle, Jon could see what at first appeared to be a fairly similar group of men.

 

But these men were not similar. Not at all. They were the hated Grey-Manes. Traitorous, serpent-like men who stood at the root of all that was wrong in Whiterun Hold. Devilish creatures that barely rose above the Thalmor themselves. Men so deceitful that Mephala herself would blush. Or, at least, that's how his father would describe them.

 

Jon recognized Avulstein, the tall, silver-haired scion of House Greymane. The seated man, the balding one, was Rorik of Rorikstead fame, a name that would send Olfrid into a near-delirious diatribe about duty and honor, seeing as how Rorik's father was originally sworn to House Battle-Born.

 

Newly wealthy and somewhat haughty, Rorik staked everything on the Grey-Mane's success, and much to the Battle-Born's chagrin, it seemed to be paying off.

 

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And in the middle of it all, sat lazily upon the throne of Whiterun, stood Jarl Balgruuf - "The Greater". As disinterested in the proceedings as he had been the previous year, Jon and Baalgruuf definitely shared one thing today: They both wanted the whole affair to end as quickly as possible.

 

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Before Jon could even reach his seat, he heard the voice of the Steward - Proventus Avenicci - echo throughout the hall.

 

"My lords! The 998th Council of Whiterun has begun! On this day, the court shall hear all men of Whiterun - high or low - as is tradition."

 

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Proventus cleared his voice, before dramatically raising his hands again.

 

"To open today's affairs, it pleases The Court to invite The Honorable Lord Vignar Grey-Mane to speak, so that all may hear his piece."

 

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Old Vignar Grey-Mane was already making his way to the pulpit before the steward even spoke his name. As had become tradition in these meetings, the Great Houses would take turns in speaking first.

 

Olfrid had opened the previous Council with a long speech exulting the virtues of the Imperial Legion and the pivotal role they played in one of the final battles against Alduin's brood. The actual details of that encounter remain murky to this day, but such a trifling thing would never stand in the way of a good story.

 

Despite his advanced age, Lord Grey-Mane was a legend - a veteran of the Great War thirty years prior, before Jon was even born, and a hero of the Battle of the Red Ring.   

 

A raucous round of applause from the Grey-Mane side of the assembly followed Vignar every step of the way as he ponderously strode to the speakers' pulpit.

 

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Jon, as any other Nord child, had learned of the titanic struggle at the end of the war. It was held up as the high watermark of the modern Imperial Legion and a masterstroke by the late Titus Mede II and his generals - an entire Thalmor army, encircled and destroyed in the blazing ruins of the Imperial City, mere days before what the Elves expected would be a capitulation. Everything changed that day, it was the stuff of legends.

 

The tale had been told over and over again, whole volumes had been written by both military analysts and bards alike, and Jon felt like he had read them all. "The Day the Eagle Drowned" - one bard had titled his work, referencing the infamous Aldmeri symbol and the great lake surrounding the city. "Fire on the Rumare" - another author mused of the naval battles on the great lake. Or perhaps.. "Man's Final Gambit", as one analyst more gravely described it. Olfrid insisted that Jon read all about it.

 

Poetic licenses aside, the battle -did- play a pivotal role in shaping Jon's world as he knew it. If not for the Red Ring, the war would likely not have ended in an armistice, but an annexation.

 

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Jon's father had missed this battle on account of an injury suffered in a skirmish mere days before the clash properly began. Olfrid missing the attack was never spoken of out loud, but Jon felt his father had never forgiven himself for not participating in what was the greatest battle of his generation.

 

Humble as Vignar may have been about his role, Olfrid remained as envious as ever, even twenty-seven years later.

 

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Lord Grey-Mane solemnly touched the ceremonial swords' hilt upon reaching the podium. The twin blades allegedly belonged to Olaf One-Eye, Jarl of Whiterun, and later High King of Skyrim.

 

Olaf reigned during the First Era, a period of history so shrouded in myth and legend that Jon was unsure quite how real the man was, and even more skeptical about the swords. The swords -had- been in Dragonsreach since at least Jon's fathers' fathers' time as far as he could tell, but in the hands of a four-thousand-year-old dragon slayer? That seemed unlikely.

 

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Separating truth from legend could often be difficult in Skyrim. No more than a year had passed since the Dragon Crisis and the bards seemed to be in a race to out-do themselves with songs of the Dragonborn's prowess, with tales of ever more heroic and unlikely feats. Jon had seen the man once and - though impressive - he was definitely still just a man.

 

How would future generations see him? Perhaps in a thousand years, some Jarl would claim he owns the Dragonborn's' axe. At the rate the bards were going, even the man's left boot would be a relic.

 

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But as long as men -believed- the swords belonged to King Olaf... they did.

 

And what of Vignar's own legacy?

 

Vignar grasped the hilt firmly, his eyes closed, muttering something under his breath. It was tradition to take solace in the prowess of past heroes, especially in a moment of crisis.

 

Judging by the length of his pause and the furrow of his brow, Vignar seemed convinced that this was such a moment. Perhaps he saw himself as some kind of saviour, an old and wise warrior, fighting his last war, sacrificing what should be his peaceful twilight years to secure the future of his city. That would definitely be one for the bards.

 

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Though the Grey-Mane assembly may have been waiting with bated breath, the Battle-Born side of the aisle started to grow restless. Jon could hear the grumbles behind him, none of them louder than his father's:

 

"Hah! Look at him, hamming it up for the crowd. He spat on all of Whiterun the moment he sided with that fool in Windhelm, and now he fawns over that sword like he's some... bah! Piss on that!"

 

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Olfrid rose from his chair and shouted across the hall.

 

"Hey Vignar! Save it for Fralia! Stupid cow's the only one who'd buy any of your rubbish! Not that you lot have two coins to rub between you, ha!"

 

His father's low opinion seemed to extend to Vignar's wife, as well. This was unbecoming. Jon could see even Idolaf look away from their father uncomfortably. Olfrid was very pleased with himself.

 

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Vignar Grey-Mane ignored his erstwhile comrade's taunt. As he cleared his voice, the whispers, the murmurs - all ground to a halt. Even Olfrid settled down.

 

Lord Grey-Mane stared grimly into the fire separating his speaker's podium and the throne. 499 years had passed since this tradition was first established and many a time did the fate of Whiterun - or indeed the whole of Skyrim - turn on the words of the men speaking here.

 

Today, his words might be the ones shaping the future. As Grey-Mane cleared his voice, Jon could feel an almost palpable tension in the room.

 

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"MY LORDS!"

 

Lord Grey-Mane exclaimed, his arms spread open, as if offering his audience an embrace.

 

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"I have come here, on this blessed day, to ask you a question. A question all true Nords should know the answer to!"

 

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"Our country stands on the precipice! Our land suffers more today than it did in the shadow of the World Eater! HOW is this possible, I ask you?"

 

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"How can it be that the once-proud sons of Skyrim would be so unmanned that they would prostrate themselves before Elves? That they would shackle themselves to a moribund Cyrodil?!"

 

Lord Grey-Mane yelled at the ceiling as if the question was for the gods themselves. He was livid, his voice, sharp and pointed, quivered with rage.

 

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Jon could hear the wooden chair scraping the floor to his right, and then, his brother's voice:

 

"TRAITOR!"

 

Idolaf's shout echoed throughout the otherwise silent hall. It was all it took for the Battle-Born audience to rise to its feet, jeering and booing the speaker.

 

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For some, it was the first time they would hear Vignar speak so openly against the Empire, they could scarcely believe their ears.

 

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In the Grey-Mane line, Rorik sensed the mood of the hall shift - he sprung to his feet and started applauding. The rest of the crowd followed behind him, clapping and cheering, trying to drown their opponents out.

 

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"Enough! These are my halls, not some cheap mead den, damn it!"

 

The Jarl's voice rang out across the hall as he raised an open hand. It was enough to quiet both sides and allow Vignar to continue.

 

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"I will tell you how - Weakness. Weakness and fear!"

 

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"The fear of a dying empire!"

 

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"Such fear that many in these very halls spit in the face of their ancestors - they abandoned our faith and our ancient way of life - all in the vain hope that maybe, just maybe..."

 

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Vignar paused. Dragonsreach stood silent as the Halls of the Dead. It was obvious to Jon that the man had prepared and practiced his speech. Grey-Mane was as good an orator today as he had been a warrior in his prime. Jon's father, on the other hand, seemed to prefer practicing his mead drinking.

 

He had the audience - or his side, at least - in the palm of his hands.

 

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Vignar clenched his fists and shook them as he spoke again, filled with indignation.

 

"...the perennial foe would be so merciful as to grant them one more day, one more day of life - a life in shackles.."

 

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Grey-Mane briefly paused again, drawing his breath.

 

"My Lords, as a True Nord, I say to you - such a life is not a life worth living!"

 

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He stepped out from behind his podium, hands clasped as if in prayer, but despite his humble attitude, this was no mere plea - the implications of refusing his call were obvious.

 

"To this end, I call to our honourable Jarl, and to all true Nords - our great city stood by the sidelines for far too long. Jarl Balgruuf..."

 

Those who would not step forward were not only cravens hiding behind neutrality, but their very honor and status as true sons of Skyrim would be in question. Or, so Grey-Mane loyalists would think, at least.

 

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Balgruuf seemed most displeased. He did not meet VIgnar's gaze.

 

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"Put an end to our shameful neutrality. Do not wait for the foe to reach our doorstep... "

 

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"Honour our ancestors - stand proud, stand with Windhelm!"

 

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As the Grey-Mane crowd burst into raucous applause, two of Vignar's supporters unfurled the Windhelm banner to even more cheers. This was a bold move to say the least, and serving little more than to inflame sentiments on the other side.

 

Jon felt Rorik's hand in this - the man grinned smugly across the hall - this was surely one of his stunts.

 

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The Battle-Born line was in shock, their gasps drowned out by the standing ovation Vignar received as he returned to his seat. Grey-Mane's loyalties were well known, but never before had there been an open call for rebellion in Dragonsreach.  

 

"Unacceptable!" Idolaf raised to his feet, shouting. "You speak of tradition?! We used to behead traitors - today they speak in Dragonsreach!"

 

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The rest of the crowd joined him in voicing their concerns.

 

"Grey-Mane seeks to lead us astray! What did Ulfric promise you, traitor?! Did he promise you the city?!"

 

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"The Empire is the bulwark that guards our realm from the Mer! Grey-Mane's lust for power would tear it all down!"

 

"Booo!", the throng of men behind him shouted in agreement. The Battle-Born loyalists were eager to show their disapproval, especially with Olfrid being within earshot.

 

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Jarl Balgruuf rose to his feet. He was positively fuming.

 

"I said.. ENOUGH! Get that damn flag out of my hall!" He pointed towards the Grey-Mane assembly, frowning.

 

"The nerve of you men, bringing Ulfric's banner into my home... and to think ANY of you know what's best for Whiterun.."

 

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He paused, then looked towards Jon's father.

 

"BATTLE-BORN! Come say your piece, then I'm done with the lot of you - if you're not all out within the hour I swear bolts will fly from the rafters!"

 

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Jarl Balgruuf had lost his nerve. Jon could appreciate his position. The quarreling families made him look weak. More and more the people of Whiterun would seek either Vignar or Olfrid's guidance - depending on their stance in the Civil War - rather than the leadership of their great Jarl.

 

In the ever more polarized city, Balgruuf's neutral stance was seen as a weakness, both men were slowly but surely edging him out of leadership - when the two families would clash, Balgruuf would be seen as feckless and indecisive, a figurehead at best. It clearly weighed on the man.

 

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His threat - though unlikely - was made all the more poignant by the Palace Guard stepping forward. They had been watching from above this whole time. It was more than enough to make everyone quiet down.

 

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As Olfrid began his walk to the speaker's lectern, the cheers were deafening, the men pushing each other to out-do Vignar Grey-Mane's own entrance.

 

Jon and his brother watched in silence. Jon did not hate his father, despite their constant clashes and his chronically poor disposition. He often wondered if he was a bad son, if his father was right, and if there would ever be a time of lasting peace within his lifetime.

 

So far, everything seemed to point towards Olfrid being right, it had brought Jon no shortage of sleepless nights.

 

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"Here's to the one true defender of Whiterun - Lord Olfrid Battle-Born!" One man shouted among the applause, no doubt confirming the Jarl's fears.

 

There were a lot of things Jon could fault his father with, but cultivating the strength of their family was definitely not one of them. The Battle-Born may have been prominent for generations, but it was not until Olfrid that half the hold looked to them first and to Dragonsreach second. The same could be said of Vignar - both were ambitious men and the Civil War brought them more influence than their families had seen in generations.

 

Balgruuf, on the other hand, despite his obviously high opinion of himself, never struck Jon as particularly ambitious. Ironically, the man would have likely made for a fine ruler in peacetime, but such times seemed elusive in the last few decades.

 

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Olfrid Battle-Born leaned into the lectern. His eyes shifted around the hall, Vignar's speech having left him in what looked like an even more foul mood than usual.

 

"My lords..." Lord Battle-Born wrinkled his nose as he looked in Grey-Mane's direction.

 

"I wish to start by reminding everyone, that House Battle-Born does not recognize separatists as their equals. Thus, I have very little to say to such... men."

 

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The Battle-Borns had booed VIgnar when he spoke. The Grey-Manes, on the other hand, seemed to take none of this seriously.  

 

"Oh aye! Battle-Borns wouldn't know a true man if he punched them in the face!", one man snorted to another.

 

"Too true! That's why them red-cloaks wear those little skirts!"

 

The crowd roared with laughter, pointing at Olfrid and patting each other on the back.

 

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Olfrid was boiling over with indignation, the taunts were rattling him, and he was never a great speaker to begin with.

 

"I shall keep this brief, as our esteemed Jarl asked. My Lords - the fact that we have not fallen prey to Ulfric Stormcloak's honeyed words.. should be seen as a sign of WISDOM, not shame!"

 

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Lord Battle-Born crossed his arms defensively.

 

"Let us not forget where Ulfric has led others! Let us not forget, of the day Markarth was drowned in blood!"

 

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"You dare pin Markarth on Ulfric, when it was the cowardly Hrolfdir that slaughtered his own people to appease the Elves?! You don't have enough gold to rewrite history, Battle-Born!"

 

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Jon shifted in his chair. The so-called 'Markarth Incident' had taken place 26 years ago, not long before his birth. It remained unclear to the day who was responsible for the massacre of the native Breton population, after their revolution had failed.

 

Ulfric Stormcloak was present and likely had a role to play, but the man Avulstein mentioned - Jarl Hrolfdir - was still nominally the one in charge. Most likely, everyone's hands were covered in their own share of blood.

 

Markarth was an Imperial aligned city, and a troubled one, at that. Less than a year ago the assassination of a Thalmor Commander had led to another purge and to the city almost falling to the Stormcloaks as a result. That would have likely been the end of the Civil War right then. Perhaps it would have been better that way, but Jon would keep such thoughts to himself.

 

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Jon's father ignored the shouts, he grabbed both sides of the speaker's lectern tightly. His shivering hands were noticeable even from Jon's seat. Jon had not seen him prepare or practice for this moment, and it showed.

 

"I congratulate our Jarl on his wise and patient rule, and hope that we will continue to conserve our strength, until a time when it can best be deployed to serve Skyrim, and the Empire - our Empire - that which guards us all."

 

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"Jarl Balgruuf - when that time comes, when we will be called to defend our Empire in the field, as our forefathers have so many countless times, know that House Battle-Born and all other true sons of Skyrim will stand with you. Thank you."

 

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Lord Battle-Born stepped from behind the lectern and bowed towards the throne in the midst of applause.

 

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Jarl Balgruuf stood up, visibly angered by the way today's events had been going. Traditionally, the Jarl would speak after the heads of the Great Houses, but he seemed in no mood to do so.

 

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Balgruuf began to walk away, much to the displeasure of the crowd and the surprise of his Steward.

 

"My lords! As Jarl Balgruuf's representative, I will continue to oversee any... lesser... petitions you wish to bring before the throne. But it would please The Court if this particular session were to be cut short. To.. give his grace time to ponder on all of your words.."

 

Proventus Avenicci was a graduate from one of the Imperial City's finest schools of diplomacy. Jon was not impressed - and by the looks of it neither was anyone else, as much of the crowd began to slowly disperse.

 

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A few petitioners would walk up to the lectern, but in truth, the 998th Council of Whiterun was over, the shortest Jon had ever seen. Another troubling sign of the times.

 

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Not everyone left Dragonsreach in a sour mood, though.

 

Jon watched as his father walked away, smugly grinning as one vassal after another would rush to congratulate him on his powerful speech, and his explicit dismissal of the separatist traitors. They would push themselves out of the way, shouting over each other, all to make sure Lord Olfrid would hear them. He loved it.

 

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"Come on, Jon. There's nothing left for us here."

 

Idolaf was a lot less impressed. Although his brother was second only to his father in his hatred for the Grey-Mane foe, he evidently shared Jon's feelings about today's proceedings.

 

VIgnar had been the better speaker. But did it matter? The city may have been neutral, but none of its citizens were, at least none but the Jarl. The two leaders may as well had been speaking privately to their supporters. The divide between them seemed wider than ever and growing still.

 

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Outside, Jon and Idolaf walked past Avulstein, who had lagged behind his group.

 

"Heh. Watch out, Asgeir, here comes the Empire's finest."

 

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"Watch your back, Grey-Mane. The city's been getting dangerous at night."

 

Idolaf growled as they walked by. Jon had been too young to truly befriend Avulstein, but just as their fathers, Idolaf and Avulstein had been friends and comrades. That fact had made the split all the more bitter. For Idolaf, the perceived betrayal was personal.

 

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"Oh aye! You should too Idolaf! Watch out for the battlements especially! Red cloaks been tripping and falling over them!"

 

Avulstein shouted from the top of the stairs. The veiled threat unsettled Jon. Everyone knew what he was referring to. Just a few months ago, an Imperial man had been stabbed to death, his body tossed into the gutter beneath the city walls. His wife and young daughter were also killed - it was a heinous murder, worse than Whiterun had seen in many years. The Grey-Manes were suspected, but no evidence was found. Jon still doubted it was them, but, nowadays.. who knows?

 

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At the bottom of the stairs, overlooking the still-standing statue of Talos, Idolaf turned to his brother.

 

"Listen, Jon, I have to meet a few people - family business. You should head on home. This city isn't safe anymore, you can thank -them- for that."

 

He sighed. It was true. Whiterun was no longer what it used to be. In his youth, Jon could wander the streets in the dark with no fear for his well-being. Baalgruuf's predecessor had so thoroughly wiped out the city's criminal elements that Whiterun was famous for its empty, near-abandoned prison cells.

 

Today, although one could still walk the streets fully expecting to keep their purse, it was not the pickpockets or murderers one had to fear, but ones' own neighbours.

 

"Aye. I suppose I will. See you home, Idolaf."

 

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But Jon had no intention of just slinking back to his room quite yet. As he parted ways with his brother, he took a right out of the Winds District and away from home, towards the eastern part of the city.

 

Towards their usual meeting spot...

 

Today had been draining, he had spent much of it in a daze, thinking of little other than when he could see her again. Olfina.

 

They had not met in days, should he even trouble her with his nonsense? That's not how she would see it, in fact, she would probably love nothing more than to hear every sordid detail about today's events. Olfina had many words to say about the traditions keeping women out of the council, and none of them were good.

 

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Jon Battle-Born closed his eyes and sighed. As long as they were together, everything would be alright, even if the city were to burn around them.

 

It would work out, somehow.

 

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]]>11294Sun, 07 Jun 2020 19:56:00 +0000A Symphony of Frost and Flame - Jon I (Part I)https://www.loverslab.com/blogs/entry/10891-a-symphony-of-frost-and-flame-jon-i-part-i/ Surprise! I'm still here okay?!

 

Contents

Prologue

Rianne I

Lilith I  

Faielle I

Jon I (You are here!)

 

Due to my long absence, I've decided to upload the first half of this next chapter right now, and I will be working on the next half right away (promise!) but it will probably take a little bit, just, you know, less.

 

If you are new to this, I do recommend starting from the beginning, however, this chapter can also be read without the others, as it deals with new characters in a different location. So if you want to just start here, you can! It will still make sense, this time!

 

The header for this entry gave me a lot of headaches cos I'm bad at this, so here is what it was actually supposed to look like originally:

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So now you know! Anyway on with the rest \o/

 

 

Spoiler

4E 202 22nd of Rain's Hand - WHITERUN HOLD, WHITERUN, HOUSE OF CLAN BATTLE-BORN

 

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Jon Battle-Born sighed. His eyes closed, for a moment, everything seemed so tranquil. As it used to be.

 

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As he opened his eyes, he looked himself over in the reflection of his window.

 

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Jon was not particularly fond of his new look, but had been left little choice.

 

Today, all the men of note in Whiterun would be in Dragonsreach for the bi-annual Council of the Lords. Although important families - such as his own - would have the Jarl's ear year long, these meetings at the beginning of winter and in the middle of spring served an important purpose: Landed men, big and small, would ostensibly have a word in the future of the hold.

 

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Jon sighed again as he adjusted his tunic. This spring gathering would be much more contentious than most. While the harsh winter had put a halt to hostilities across Skyrim, the thawing of the snows would see a return to open warfare - and Whiterun, at the center of everything, was still neutral. A position that pleased no one, and was unlikely to last.

 

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War was coming to Whiterun. Only one question remained: What banners would the city fly?

 

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A voice rang out through the hall.  

 

"Jon! Breakfast is ready, come on out now, dear!"

 

His mother's voice woke Jon from his contemplation.

 

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He made his way down to the dining hall, where the rest of his family was already seated.

 

 

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"Ah! The wayward son returns..." His father exclaimed, gesturing towards him with a cup of mead.

 

 

 

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Olfrid sized Jon up and down with his usual disapproving look, but nodded in the end.

 

 

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"Looking much better, brooding aside... now sit down, I won't have you looking starved at the council."

 

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Some may think of Olfrid's care as fatherly concern, but Jon knew better: He would not have one of his sons look starved, least people may think the Battle-Borns were poor. Poverty was evidently a fate worse than death.

 

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"Uncle! Will I be coming to Dragonsreach too?"  

 

Lars seemed excited. His father and grandfather had always filled his mind with tales of the legendary origins of House Battle-Born and the prominent place they had within the city. The latter was true, though Jon had some doubts about the former, every other family of means seemed to claim lineage to one mythical figure or another.

 

The Battle-Born and their Grey-Mane quarries both claimed they could trace their lineage to Ysgramor's five hundred - the original human colonists from Atmora, the first men in Tamriel. Jon was... doubtful.

 

 

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"Heh, maybe next year, lad."  

 

Jon patted Lars on the head. The young Battle-Born pouted at the answer.

 

 

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"I promise to tell you all about it, though. And maybe we can practice some more, hmm?"  

 

Lars' smile returned and he nodded his head. Despite everything happening all around him, he was quite a happy child. Olfrid eyed them disapprovingly from his chair. He was not as pleased.

 

 

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"He should be practicing the sword, not the lute. He's nearly a man grown. One family "MINSTREL" is quite enough, I would think..."

 

 

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Olfrid pronounced the word with about as much disdain as he could muster this early in the day. His fathers' disapproval was an old wound by now for Jon. In truth, his hopes for the Bards' College had already been dashed by the war. One day, perhaps.

 

And just like that, the dinner's mood was soured. Olfrid had a particular knack for this.

 

 

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"Help yourself, dear. You barely ate at breakfast."

 

His mother broke the awkward silence, gesturing towards the platter. She was more keen on actually seeing him fed, than on others -not- seeing him hungry.

 

 

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Olfrid's words roused the boy's father from his cup.

 

"Harald has been teaching him. He says he's doing well."

 

Idolaf did not smile. In fact, Jon could not quite remember the last time he saw him do so. Lars shivered at the name. The Captain of the Battle-Born House Guard was a rather grim man and of few words, but Jon could not contest his prowess as a warrior.

 

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"Harald is a good man and a true Nord, but the boy needs his father to teach him honor. Don't you forget that."  

 

Olfrid's statement sounded quite final, Idolaf could only nod.

 

 

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As the Battle-Born patriarch quieted down and focused on his cup again, the family continued to eat in silence.

 

 

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It was a fairly typical Battle-Born dinner.

 

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As they were finishing, Jon could feel his fathers' eyes on him, and raised to meet them.

 

 

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"Hmh. You at least look the part of a Battle-Born now. Divines will it, you may even actually start to play it." His father bellowed as he put his cup down again.

 

Olfrid had 'compelled' Jon to adopt a look more similar to his older brother. Gone were the long, flowing locks, replaced instead with a cut popular among Imperial Legion officers. Gone too were the colourful clothes popular in musicians' circles, he would now wear tight fitting, expensive tunics, meant to show off his status, or rather, House Battle-Born's status.

 

 

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He frowned. Alfhrid and Bergritte quietly started cleaning the table, before long, the three men were alone. Even Lars had skulked away to his room.

 

 

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"And I hope you haven't been seeing that Grey-Mane WHORE any more." Olfrid briefly rose from his chair, pointing at Jon accusingly.

 

 

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Jon clenched his fists. There were not many words that would hurt, but the ones about Olfina would work every time. He knew better than to answer, but it did not stop his father from noticing.

 

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Olfrid turned to Idolaf with a cruel grin.

 

"Haah! Look at him! He'd punch his own father square in the jaw! If only he would feel so strongly for the family name!"

 

 

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Olfrid's grin quickly vanished.

 

"Do you truly think Eorlund Grey-Mane's girl cares for you, boy? Bah! You probably do, foolish boy.." For a moment, Olfrid's tone was full of pity.

 

 

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It did not last. The Battle-Born patriarch then threw up his arms in dramatic fashion.

 

"Surrounded by fools! Everywhere I look, they stare back at me, with their long, loutish faces."

 

The old man put on a voice. Was this supposed to be him? Jon did not think he sounded that way.

 

"Olfrid!, they say, why are you so cruel, so demanding?! Why can't we just do whatever strikes our fancy? It's not like the old days anymore, Olfrid!"

 

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"I've led men into war, boy. Real men! Not what passes for today... many of them are still my men to this day, I love them like brothers! Do you know what my bannermen would do if they were to learn my own son was chasing Grey-Mane skirts?"

 

Olfrid was really getting into it. Jon had heard this story before. It was a family favorite.

 

 

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"They would slit my throat and hang me upside down - me and the whole lot of you right next to me. They would! Gods know it's not how I raised you, but they would."

 

Olfrid ran his thumb over his neck. Jon doubted this story, the lesser families that had pledged to the Battle-Borns were staunchly loyal, some of their patriarchs, as his father had so eloquently put it, had fought alongside him in the Great War, such bonds were not so easily broken.

 

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Idolaf raised his head and spoke up, least Olfrid seemed prepared to carry on in his tirade.

 

"We should prepare for Dragonsreach, father."

 

Jon's brother had always been better at 'managing' their father. The old man stopped, nodded his head a few times, and got up from his chair.

 

"Yes, yes, that we should.."

 

 

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"I will be going ahead to meet with Yngvar and the others, to discuss our plans."

 

Olfrid peered towards Jon, before shaking his head and looking to Idolaf again.

 

"Just make sure your brother doesn't get 'lost' on the way.."  

 

He sighed and walked away without expecting an answer.

 

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Idolaf looked to Jon. He seemed... apologetic.  

 

"I'll see you outside. Don't take too long, we have to drop by Adrianne's before Dragonsreach."

 

Jon knew his brother was involved in all manner of schemes to advance the Battle-Born cause as well as aid the Legion. Adrianne Avenicci's smithy was one such service, and it made her quite unpopular in some circles.

 

 

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Jon eyed Alfhrid curiously as she approached him. She looked him up and down silently for a few moments, then tilted her head and shrugged one shoulder.  

 

" ... It's not so bad. You look very... martial."

 

Jon smiled. His sister had always been diplomatic.

 

 

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"Hah. I look like a less gloomy version of Idolaf. I'm afraid you can't spin this one into a positive.."  

 

Alfhrid tilted her head to the other side, she thought on his words for a few moments.

 

 

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"Sooo... a better version of our sweet brother, then?"

 

She always did have a way with words and would wield them as sharply as any sword. It was not a fitting trait for a Lady of House Battle-Born, father would say. A number of suitors had already been dissuaded by her wit. 'Big mouth, unbecoming of a proper wife", he could hear him even now.

 

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"Some would say I already filled that role before the haircut and coat."

 

Jon adjusted his collar again as he reached for his sword. It was never quite comfortable, he wondered if this was intentional - Jon had always been told that the clothes don't make the man, but this was not true.

 

 

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He closed his eyes. The outfit was tight, stifling. It set Jon on edge, made him feel more aggressive, less reasonable, more willing to fight, more like... more like his father.

 

 

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Jon thought his father was many things, but a fool was not one of them. If he could make him look the part, then he would play it, almost unwittingly, his near outburst at the dinner table was proof of that, Olfrid was right. He did want to punch someone. Anyone. And he hated that.

 

His sisters' voice roused him from his thoughts.

 

 

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"Ouh, speaking of, I should warn Olfina if I see her, lest she may mistake you for Idolaf and then you'd find yourself with a dagger 'tween the ribs next time you give her a hug."  

 

"She'll be terrified. I'm sure." He grinned. Despite the importance of today's meeting, she was all he could really think about. His new look would certainly be met with some disapproval.

 

"Shall we?" Jon walked towards the door. It would be best not to keep his brother waiting too long.

 

 

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It was a surprisingly sunny day outside, summer had truly come early - such as it was here in the plains. Jon had always enjoyed this time of year, but now it only brought new worries.  

 

"Hmh. She's tougher than that. I have to go attend to the farm though, Jon. Don't have too much fun in Dragonsreach!"

 

 

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"I'll do my best to restrain my excitement."

 

Jon dreaded the proceedings. Last years' winter gathering was a celebration more than anything else, considering the Dragon Crisis had just ended, the still on-going civil war seemed like a distant concern.

 

Not so this year. There was nothing else to fight but each other, Jon thought. He wondered what was to happen if the Jarl would declare for one side or the other. Would there be violence? A riot? Despite appearances, the city was on a knifes' edge. Jon was unsure what to make of Baalgruuf as a leader, but he could appreciate the tough position he was in.

 

As his sister left, his eyes wondered to his brother and to Harald - Captain of the Battle-Born Household Guard and his fathers' right hand.

 

 

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Harald was a mountain of a man, in the service of House Battle-Born for well over a decade. Rather gruff and of few words, Jon never quite knew what to make of him. His loyalty, however, could not be questioned.

 

 

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And neither could his skill in battle. Harald had personally trained Jon and Idolaf both. He was without a doubt the finest warrior outside of Jorrvaskr.

 

 

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"... and the men for today's Council? Are they ready?" Idolaf inquired.

 

"They are. Five dozen lads in total, spread through the city. Grey-Manes try anything, we break their bones. For good." Harald answered in his typically monotone, matter-of-fact tone.

 

Was the situation truly that dire? Jon shuddered at the thought as he approached them. To think that this time last year the city was still in the middle of celebrations following the dragons' defeat, and now, it could be hours away from being awash in blood. How could everything go so wrong?

 

"Very good. My brother and I will be paying Warmaidens a visit first - more trouble." Idolaf sighed. "You will be needed at Dragonsreach, with Lord Battle-Born."

 

 

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Harald turned and left without a word. He merely glared at Jon as he passed by. His face seemed to be permanently set in something between a frown and a menacing scowl, the same face he would show both friend and foe. Still, Jon was glad he was not the latter.

 

"Ah! There you are!" Idolaf exclaimed to his crestfallen brother. "We don't have much time to waste - I promised Adrianne we would stop by her shop, and then, it's off to Dragonsreach."

 

 

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Idolaf did not wait for a reply.

 

"Shall we be on our way?" His brother seemed far more energetic than he had been indoors. This was not unusual. The one thing that always seemed to bring Idolaf to life was taking care of family business. He relished the competition with the Grey-Manes and took great pride in the family name.

 

 

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As they quietly walked away from Battle-Born Manor, Idolaf spoke up. "Jon, listen.. despite his ways, father does care, I hope you haven't forgotten that. This war wounded him more deeply than he'd care to say, the Grey-Manes were our friends, after all.."

 

Jon remained silent, he was not quite so sure of his fathers intentions. "... If it were any other time... " Idolaf sighed. ".. well, we all wish things would've been different."

 

Was that regret in his brothers voice? That was surprising to Jon, never before did he seem open to reconciliation.

 

 

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Jon was not the only one on edge. The whole city was ill at ease, passer-bys more hurried, the Jarl's men more vigilant. All of Whiterun - no - all of Skyrim was holding its collective breath for Baalgruuf's decree.

 

Today would be the last chance for both sides to plead their case for the future of Whiterun Hold.

 

"We do, don't we?" Jon empathized. His brother was a widower. He never spoke of her, but it visibly weighed on him, every day. Compared to that, Jon's troubles seemed trivial, childish, even. It made Jon feel guilty for even dwelling on them as much as he did.

 

 

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The two made their way down into the Plains District, before them lay "Warmaiden's", Adrianne Avenicci's smithy and shop, and in front of it, the woman herself, visibly upset.

 

Adrianne was the daughter of Proventus Avenicci, steward to Jarl Baalgruuf himself. She had been providing swords and armor to Battle-Born men and their Imperial Legion contacts for over a year. Jon knew this had caused her no small amount of trouble before, but it was unusual for her to call for Idolaf himself.

 

 

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Adrianne crossed her arms and frowned as they approached.

 

"Well, I see you finally deemed fit to come down here. When did I ask for you? Two days ago? Perhaps that latest order isn't quite so urgent anymore?"

 

Adrianne had no qualms about expressing her displeasure - nor using her leverage as the only competent smith in the city who would work for them. It was not the kind of tone his brother was used to.

 

 

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"Bah! Calm yourself, woman! You ought to know better than anyone what day it is! We've been preparing for this for well ov -"

 

"Calm myself? Are you hearing your brother, Jon?" Adrianne interrupted him, then lowered her voice, almost to a whisper.

 

"How calm do you think Ulfberth would be if he was the one who found the words "TRAITOR" painted onto our door, and not I? This has to stop, Idolaf."

 

She was right, Jon thought. "Warmaiden's" had been receiving more and more threats for months now, but nothing quite as daring as this. As for Adrianne's husband... Jon was convinced that had Ulfberth 'War-Bear' seen the message, his wife's swords would no longer be decorating Battle-Born sheaths, but Grey-Mane entrails. It was the kind of incident that would hurt their standing with the Jarl.

 

"We can spare a few men, can't we, Idolaf?" Jon spoke up as his brother seethed at the news.

 

 

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"They did what?!" Idolaf's face contorted into a frown. This was clearly more serious than he expected.

 

"The gall of these people! Did you see who?! We ought to find them and string them up! Then they'll -" Idolaf caught his breath, then sighed. ".. No, of course. I'll have Harald send three lads, they'll watch the smithy, discreetly."

 

 

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"No, Idolaf. I've had enough "discreet" protection. They'll have to sit out front and let those thugs know you mean business, or we're done, it's too much of a risk for me. I won't have it any other way."

 

Adrianne's statement seemed quite final. Jon knew his brother could not refuse, her assistance was just too valuable, especially at this critical moment.

 

 

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"Fine, fine, as you say. They'll be there." Idolaf waved dismissively as they turned. He was not one to back down, but this was one concession he would have to make.

 

"Today, Idolaf. I mean it." She called out, frowning as the brothers walked away. Adrianne was not the first nor the last to be caught in the middle of this feud, Jon thought.

 

 

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As they made their way through the market, Jon could not help but notice how sparse it was.

 

Spring would always bring all the merchants and farmers around the Hold to the city - Rorikstead, Riverwood, the outlaying farms, everyone would sell their goods in Whiterun. This year, most of the farmers were stockpiling for themselves.

 

 

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"They grow bolder by the day.." Idolaf broke the silence. ".. I hope for all our sake you can see it."

 

His brother was not wrong, no matter how much Jon would wish to deny it. It wasn't -her- fault though, he'd want to say. Alas, it would fall on deaf ears.

 

 

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Having made their way through the Wind District, the two brothers began their ascent up to Dragonsreach Keep. The seat of the Jarl towered over the entire city, there was no point in Whiterun from which one could not see it.

 

Its symbolism was not lost on Jon. To speak to the Jarl, one would first have to climb well over one hundred rough and uneven steps, by the time any would-be petitioner reached Baalgruf's halls, they would be tired, weary - and all the more open to negotiation. The seat of Whiterun was highly coveted even in times of peace, and only a cunning man would hold onto it for long.

 

 

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The summit was, unsurprisingly, empty, the rest of the lords had already assembled inside. Their detour had made them late, Idolaf seemed irritated as he hurried towards the doors.

 

"I'll see you inside. Father won't like us being late."

 

 

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Jon Battle-Born stood in front of the ancient, imposing gates of Dragonsreach. He breathed in deeply, then sighed. The fate of thousands would be decided within these halls.

 

It would be a long day.

 

 

]]>10891Sun, 05 Apr 2020 03:14:00 +0000A Symphony of Frost and Flame - Faielle Ihttps://www.loverslab.com/blogs/entry/9861-a-symphony-of-frost-and-flame-faielle-i/ Contents

Prologue

Rianne I

Lilith I  

Faielle I (You are here!)

Jon I

 

I'm baaaack \o/

 

So after a long, loooong break, I've actually finished my next Chapter. I am hoping to carry on with the one after that in much (relatively) shorter order, but for now, here we are!

 

Note: This Chapter is long. It is longer than the other things I've uploaded so far put together, with a total of 192 images and probably way too many words.

 

So to make it easier to read I split it into five chapters of varying sizes, wherever it makes sense to split.

 

If you've never seen any of this series before, I do recommend you at very least go look at Rianne I for context, but everything is (or will be) relevant in some way. Anyhows, without further ado:

 

PS:

This was meant to be my header, but it's too tall and it would cut off their heads, uuurgh. I'll make a new one later \o/

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PART I

Spoiler

4E 202 21st of Rain's Hand - SOLITUDE, HAAFINGAR HOLD

 

The next morning, the sky was grey. Sleep had failed to clear Faielle’s head of the horrors she witnessed in that dungeon. Since the Dragon Crisis, she had done little but chase hoodlums and Talos worshipers – occasionally, the Stormcloak rebels would be involved – but necromancy? That was unheard of in Solitude.

 

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The Magister had been screaming for blood up and down the Blue Palace ever since their discovery. Faielle could barely sleep last night thinking of what he would do.

 

She still remembered the previous Thalmor Commander, Ondolemar, who had been assassinated by a Stormcloak cell in Markarth last year. The reprisals that followed had been brutal – The Reach remains a rebel stronghold to this day in part because of them.

 

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As Faielle walked into the courtyard of Castle Dour, she was right there.

 

Radiant as ever – and this time, properly uniformed. She truly did not know what she would do if she were still alone in this place.

 

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“You don’t look so good.”

 

 

Ria spoke in her typically confident and matter-of-fact tone, but Faielle could see the concern underlying it all too easily. It bothered her to worry Ria. The last thing she wanted was to be a burden.

 

 

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“I’m.. it’s fine.” Faielle shook her head, essentially denying her own words. She shifted on the spot as Rianne placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.  

 

 

“I know it was awful. I promise we’ll catch the one responsible. Together, alright?”

 

 

Rianne gave her shoulder a light squeeze. Why couldn’t she be as strong? The scene seemed to have barely phased her Ria, and now the Justicar stood determined to catch the one responsible. All Faielle wanted to do was curl up in bed and try to forget about it.

 

 

 

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"Im sorry. Yes, of course.” She murmured. “Do we have our orders yet?”

 

 

She had been anxious to know what their next move would be – it would doubtlessly be ugly, but the waiting was worse.

 

 

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Rianne sighed and glared at the door to the keep. 

 

 

“No. We do not. Talendil has been shouting at Varus for the better part of the morning. They should come to an agreement soon enough. In fact… now that you’re here, we can make our way inside."

 

 

"After you..”

 

 


Rianne gestured towards the door all too daintily for someone clad in plate. The two proceeded into the Legion Headquarters.

 

 

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Their footsteps echoed through Castle Dour’s dusty halls. Not even a whole legion of caretakers could keep the fortress clean – and the actual Legion was always chronically understaffed.

 

 

“Don’t brood. Talendil hates it.” Rianne smiled - it was not her real smile. She was trying to encourage her. She always did think of everything.

 

 

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Talendil's personal guards flanked the entrance. Always unmoving, always unnerving. Their presence signaled that he would be on the other side of the door - assuming Faielle hadn't already heard his shouting.

 

 

"A NECROMANCER, VARUS! IN -MY- CITY!" The thud of a fist against a table could be heard.

 

 

"Hey.. come on.." Rianne arched an eyebrow at her. She didn't seem particularly fond of the guards either.

 

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The door creaked as Rianne pushed it open. The thunderous voice continued.

 

 

"This will NOT go unpunished. YOU - You will speak with the Queen and get us what I requested!"

 

 

The Magister seemed just as apoplectic as he had been yesterday afternoon. Faielle had some doubt whether he actually cared for the lost soldiers, but the manner in which they died was certainly a stain on his command. This embarrassed him, especially back home. Rumours travel fast, even from desolate backwaters such as Skyrim.

 

 

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"Looks like they've been at it for a while." Rianne whispered. "Come on. Best not get in their way."

 

"What IS your sage advice then?! What does the Great Varus Laecinnius counsel we should do? Forgive and forget as our enemies grow ever bolder? Wake up, boy. You're not in the Imperial City..."

 

 

Faielle had not seen the General very often - she was most surprised when he replied in what could only be described as a near-perfect Alinor dialect. She had not even heard a human speak Elven before.

 

 

"Need I remind you, Magister - far more of my men fell victim to this woman than your own." Varus seemed like the complete opposite of Talendil. Calm, collected - disinterested sounding, almost. This no doubt aggravated the Magister even more.

 

 

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"What do you want? What would you have me do? String up all the peasants remotely related to the Proudspire name? Would that satisfy you? Is that what you want?"

 

 

 

The General droned on in an almost mocking tone, the argument clearly boring him. He stared the Magister and his right hand down from across the table, no doubt making his own officer quite uncomfortable, as she did not seem to understand their conversation.

 

 

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"We want JUSTICE." the Junior Magister cut him off with what sounded more like a snarl than the typically melodious Elven tongue. ".. A concept that you're not all that familiar with, Shemlen."

 

 

She frowned and shook her fist at him in indignation. Faielle widened her eyes as Celendys uttered the racial slur. Varus, however, did not seem particularly phased.

 

 

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Faielle turned her gaze to Ria and Tauron. While she felt like she could barely breathe, the two did not seem particularly perturbed by the argument - even slightly amused, perhaps.

 

 

Rianne tilted her head at the Sergeant as she whispered.

 

 

"Any progress yet, Tauron? Do we have a conclusion?"

 

 

 

"Not quite yet. But.." The elf pointed his chin towards the General across the room. ".. I believe the esteemed General is about to reach a compromise."

 

 

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Varus Laecinnius stroked his chin and rolled his eyes. With a heavy sigh, he nodded his head.

 

 

"You want Dragon's Bridge? Fine. You will have it. If that's what will satisfy you.." Varus sounded more like a parent giving in to his child's demand than a negotiator.

 

 

The Magister still fumed, but he remained silent, perhaps surprised that the General relented so quickly.

 

 

"... I will make all necessary arrangements with the Queen, You can expect a letter of approval from the Blue Palace this afternoon."

 

 

 

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Faielle watched them intently. She did feel Ria's gaze on her though, and before long, heard her voice as well.

 

 

"We have a destination. That hamlet is not far from the capital... an odd choice."

 

 

 

Faielle shuddered at the thought. Dozens of people had just been sentenced, and they didn't even know it yet.

 

 

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Varus casually turned around and began to stroll away without waiting for a reply from his peers.

 

 

"Come Rikke. We have a war to win... I'm sure our Elven allies can achieve 'justice' in our name too."

 

 

He dryly drolled on while the two Elven leaders glared at him. His callous disregard for life aside, Faielle had a newfound respect for the man. She knew of no one else who could leave the Magister pair speechless, and get away with it.

 

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The two Magisters turned to their subordinates. Talendil was still seething as he looked at Tauron - General Varus had gotten the last word, and the Magister was not pleased.

 

 

"Tauron. Inform our new Bosmer Rangers that they are to track down this woman. This farce ends. Now."

 

 

 

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"My Lord." The Sergeant straightened his back and nodded, then proceeded to leave the room. Faielle had not met the new arrivals from Valenwood yet, but she did hear that they were some of the best trackers and archers in Tamriel - as well as being fanatically loyal to the Dominion.

 

 

The latter was seldom good news.

 

 

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"The two of you..." Talendil turned to the elf pair. ".. Will be going to Dragon's Bridge. The village and surrounding lands were administered by the Proudspire family. Interrogate the villagers, then let everyone know what happens when you invoke the wrath of the Thalmor."

 

 

 

Faielle felt a lump in her throat at that last part, despite the Magisters' deadpan delivery. Both her and Ria acknowledged the order regardless. "Yes, Magister." They said in unison. Their hands are just as dirty, she thought.

 

 

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"Celendys will be leading this operation. Pick the ones you trust most from the rank and file - and be discreet."

 

 

 

"I am honored, Magister." Celendys smiled. Not as a courtesy - her smile seemed genuine. The Junior Magister seemed to almost revel in this kind of thing. Why was she so cruel?

 

 

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"And Celendys..." Talendil called from across the room. "Ten for every one of ours. See to it that it is done."

 

 

 

The Junior Magister looked downright delighted. "With pleasure." "Come along now, -Dawnstrider-, we need to be ready when that little worm comes through with the 'Queen's' approval."

 

 

 

As usual, Celendys didn't so much as acknowledge Faielle's presence, but she always took pleasure in mocking Ria. It was a petty matter, the two Magisters were not of noble blood, whereas Ria was. Nobility, however, was not quite as in vogue since the Thalmor takeover. Only Talendil was old enough to have known a time before the Thalmor were in power, but such rivalries ran deep.

 

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Ria glared at the elf. Cold and icy. It was not a look Faielle saw often, though it seems the locale - and the company - brought it out in her more often than not.

 

 

"Of course, Junior Magister." Ria answered tersely, giving Faielle only a brief, softer glance before walking out.

 

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Once outside, Celendys sized the two up. She always did somehow manage to look down at them, despite not actually being any taller. She spoke in her rather bored, languid tone. The tone she had when there was no one to torment - Faielle thought.

 

 

"I will be handpicking a number of Mer for our operation. I expect to see both of you outside the gates by late afternoon. We will arrive in Dragon's Bridge with the dusk - that way, most of the villagers will be home to greet us." She grinned sadistically, then turned to leave without waiting for a reply.

 

 

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Ria sighed heavily as soon as Celendys was out of earshot. "Worse than I expected. I hope you're ready for today."

 

 

 

She was not ready. How could she be? Faielle did not consider herself a coward - she was no stranger to battle, but this... it was not right.

 

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"The human general... he just gave his people away.. how could he do that?"

 

 

 

As much of an impression as Varus may have made, Fae could not comprehend his callousness.

 

 

"They're not his. He doesn't see them that way. He's only here for the war. Would probably trade the whole province for his own personal gain." Ria shook her head as they climbed up the battlements.

 

 

 

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This was an alien concept to Faielle. Selling your own kin like this? Not even the likes of Celendys would do that, or so she hoped.

 

 

"Why are we wasting our time in this village? What could they know about the goings-on in Solitude? This sounds like nothing more than revenge..."

 

 

 

Ria stared at the sky, she took a few moments to reply.

 

 

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"Yes. That's exactly what it is. I will speak with Celendys. She may yet listen to reason..." Ria did not seem so sure.

 

 

"If she decides just to make a few arrests, scare a few peasants - Talendil may be angry, but he will accept it, coming from her."

 

 

 

Knowing Celendys, Faielle had some doubts that such a plan would work.

 

 

"I don't know if I can go through another massacre..." She hated burdening Ria with such nonsense - she sounded pathetic, she thought. This was not how an Altmer soldier should behave...

 

 

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Ria grabbed her right wrist and placed her left hand on her shoulder, giving both a soft squeeze. She smiled reassuringly and tilted her head as she spoke.

 

 

"Before summer comes around again, we will be back in Alinor, mhmm?"

 

 

 

Faielle wished she could have the same confidence. Ria seemed to sense this, per usual.

 

 

"What is the first place you'd want to visit, hmm? Considering we'll be.." Ria raised an eyebrow, her voice turning droll " .. proud heroes of the Dominion... I would expect we can go anywhere."

 

 

 

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Fae shifted on the spot uncomfortably. She dared not consider an end to her assignment for fear of disappointment. After all, both the previous Magister and Human General had also proclaimed that this would only be a months long affair.

 

 

The former had been assassinated, and the latter recalled after near going mad, and that was a year ago.

 

 

Her voice barely a whisper, she answered: "I.. have some relatives in Skywatch I haven't seen in a long time.. and the beaches are nice.." Fae managed the smallest smile. She was startled as Ria patted her shoulder and nodded, before breaking away.

 

 

"Skywatch, hmm? Think on that instead. Alright?"

 

 

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"I have a few things to attend to before we leave. I'll see you at the gates.."

 

 

Faielle found it difficult not to follow her as she walked away. It made her feel needy. Ria would do perfectly fine on her own, she thought. But her? She would be useless.

 

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"Try not to be late. I would rather not give Celendys any reason to rant."

 

 

Ria seemed to regard the Junior Magister more as an annoyance than a true threat. The truth was Celendys scared Faielle. She was perhaps the second or third most powerful sorceress currently in the province, and by far one of the most fanatical Thalmor advocates.

 

 

"Of course." She remembered to nod. "I.. I'll see you there."

 

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Faielle sighed. Her eyes followed Ria as she stepped down from the battlements, all the way until she disappeared around a corner. Being alone gave her time to think about what would happen. Too much time.

 

 

This would be a long day.

 

 

 

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5

 

PART II

Spoiler

Evening began to settle over Solitude - the streets seemed eerily quiet.

 

 

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They were not any more quiet than on any other given day, but the lack of distractions only further soured Faielle's mood.

 

 

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As she made her way through the front gates, she could see them. Ria and Celendys inspected a squad of Thalmor soldiers. Handpicked by Celendys herself, Faielle could count twelve. An unusually high number for the task - but the Magister had always enjoyed displays of force.

 

 

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Ria glanced in her direction and nodded her head. Celendys, on the other hand, ignored her - as usual.

 

 

She also seemed angry about something - as usual.

 

 

 

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The Thalmor soldiers stood at attention, proudly holding their gleaming black shields against their chests, the banner of Solitude fluttering above their heads.

 

 

When Fae arrived before the Dragon Crisis with the original expeditionary force, they worked largely in secrecy - such a display would be unheard of. Today the holds loyal to the Empire would openly work with Thalmor agents - much to the outrage of the others.

 

 

Summer was nearly here, and with it, the unofficial truce between the loyalists and Stormcloak rebels would end. It had occured to Faielle that today's actions were more than just revenge - or about Talendil's reputation. Tensions were at a fever pitch, and the Magister intended to push the humans right over the edge.

 

 

 

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"And the household staff we arrested yesterday? Did we learn anything?" Faielle overheard Ria speak as she approached.

 

"I personally saw to that. They did not appear to know much - one of them did point us to the village, but we already knew of it." Celendys paused for a few seconds, before shrugging one shoulder.

 

 

"The subjects did not survive interrogation." She said with a satisfied smirk, it made Faielle feel sick.

 

 

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"Ah, of course not. Another grand conspiracy against the Dominion - snuffed out." Ria frowned at the Magister.

 

 

Celendys nearly bristled with indignation, but it would be improper of her to act out in front of all the soldiers - Talendil preached temperance to all of his officers, even if he did not practice it himself.

 

 

"I will permit you that bit of sarcasm this time, Dawnstrider. We have more important matters to attend to, now that we are all here."

 

 

 

 

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"Indeed, we do. Shall we, then?" Rianne delicately gestured down the road. Faielle had always found her effortlessly authoritative attitude attractive - that it made Celendys fume was even better.

 

 

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The Junior Magister did not answer. She glared at her troops. Before long, they would be underway

 

 

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Their unit would have been quite a sight as they marched down from the capital, but nary a soul was actually there to meet them. The war had taken its toll on the province - as did the dragons, and those who did survive faced famine.

 

 

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Faielle felt a familiar hand on her shoulder.

 

 

 

 

"Feeling better?"

 

 

 

 

 

She heard Ria's voice as she turned her head. Faielle nodded her head. She did not feel any better, but did not want to burden Ria with such nonsense. Her answer seemed to mostly satisfy her.

 

 

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She dared not look in her direction, but she could feel Celendys' disapproving gaze as Ria tried to reassure her.

 

 

 

 

The Magister did not abide weakness. In fact, Faielle was somewhat surprised she had kept her position when the leadership changed.

 

 

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Celendys seemed to glow with pride as the village came into view. Everyone dropped what they were doing and stared as they marched into view. Most of the villagers here had not even seen many Altmer, much less the black-clad soldiers of the Thalmor.

 

 

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"Look, grandmother! The black ones are coming!"

 

 

 

 

 

Faielle was surprised. The boy sounded excited - his grandmother was not as pleased.

 

 

 

 

"Hush, dear. Go inside with your sister. Don't come out until I return, do you understand?"

 

 

 

 

 

"O-oh.. yes, grandmother.."

 

 

 

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The Imperial garrison scrambled into position. Their arrival was unexpected and the soldiers seemed intent on blocking their way.

 

 

Curious villagers began to gather behind the makeshift shield wall - this was likely the most commotion the sleepy village had seen in months.

 

 

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As many other units of the Imperial Legion, the garrison at Dragon's Bridge had seen better days, to Faielle they looked only a few steps above the bands of highwaymen that roamed the countryside.

 

 

 

 

Such was the state of all outlaying Imperial garrisons. Faielle had heard that Laecinnius' strategy involved pooling his best troops in the capital, ready to march to a decisive, war-winning battle for Whiterun come summer.

 

 

 

 

She shuddered at the thought. This summer would be as bloody as the last, even without the dragons.

 

 

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Against them, though, these humans were hopelessly outmatched. The officer seemed to signal to his soldiers to stop and then began to cautiously approach.

 

 

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"State your business, Mer." He said curtly, much to Celendys' indignation.

 

 

 

 

"We are here to interrogate the villagers. They have been tied to a series of murders in the capital." Celendys stated coldly, barely masking her disdain.

 

 

 

 

"What?! That's preposterous! Most of the folk here haven't even BEEN to the capital, how could they possibly be involved in an-"

 

 

 

 

"That is none of your concern." Celendys cut him off and produced a parchment - the seal of the Blue Palace prominently displayed on it.

 

 

 

 

"These are your new orders. You have been reassigned to Solitude." She explained matter-of-factly as his eyes glazed over the letter in disbelief.

 

 

 

 

"I believe congratulations are in order. You and your men may finally leave this pigsty behind. Solitude will surely be an improvement for the likes of you.." Celendys grinned as she mocked him.

 

 

The legionnaire tore up the parchment and threw it to the ground. The two glared at each other in silence.

 

 

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it seemed like an eternity, but a mere few seconds later, the man spoke up:

 

 

 

 

"Varus has lost his mind. I will NOT leave this village to your 'mercy'."

 

 

 

 

Faielle's eyes widened as he reached for his sword. He was unaware that he was standing before the second or third most powerful sorceress in the province. Celendys raised her hands, clenching her fingers as her hands turned ablaze. The soldiers reached for their swords in unison - they were moments away from a massacre. Her hand shakily reached for her own sword.

 

 

 

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Before she could grip her hilt, she felt that reassuring touch on her shoulder again. Ria had no intention to unsheathe her sword - she nodded at Faielle, then stepped forward.

 

 

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"I believe that's quite enough.." Rianne's voice rang out. With just a few words, everyone's attention was on her - authority seemed to come naturally to her - she did not need to frown or threaten. Even Celendys seemed surprised.

 

 

"Your orders come from High Queen Elisif herself. You would do well to obey them" She paused for a few moments, as the man seemed unconvinced.

 

 

 

 

"Do you understand why we are here? We are tracking a dangerous necromancer - who murdered and defiled our comrades as well as yours. She may have even been here.."

 

 

 

 

 

Ria tilted her head. “We are only an advance force. Two dozen more Mer are marching from the south. Captain Irorlian's contingent has been continuously engaged with the enemy – YOUR enemy – for the last month. He will be most displeased to find even more Men defying us and I assure you, he is far less amiable than I."

 

 

 

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She paused for a moment, nodding her head. “Do not throw the lives of your men away today. Return to Solitude. You are being reassigned.”

 

 

 

 

This was a lie. Faielle knew of no Captain Irorlian and there were definitely no southern reinforcements. Ria smiled ever so sweetly – as if she had just invited the man to tea rather than threatened his life. He seemed quite convinced that she was telling the truth.

 

 

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Silently, the legionnaire turned around and walked back to his men with a plodding, defeated pace.

 

 

 Celendys scoffed. "Hmph. Deceit? From the honorable noble blood of Old Alinor? Colour me surprised."

 

 

 

 

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"Do you truly wish to cause a diplomatic incident? I don't think Talendil would approve."

 

 

 

 

 

"What would you know of what Talendil wants? It would be better if you just did your duty.." Celendys scowled.

 

 

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Shortly thereafter, the Legion soldiers began to depart. Simple folk though they may be, they were no fools. Everyone knew what would happen here - the Markarth Massacre was still fresh in all of their minds. Faielle thought it was a small miracle that the pact with the Imperials still held after that.

 

 

 

 

 

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The Imperial turned his head towards the elves as they marched by.

 

 

 

 

"Skyrim will remember whatever happens here. Watch yourselves."

 

 

 

 

 

Celendys stared incredulously at the man for a few moments - she did not expect a threat, even a rather subtle one. She then scowled, clenching her fist.

 

 

 

 

“Good. Let them remember what happens when they defy the Thalmor.”

 

 

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The soldiers' eyes were firmly planted in the ground as they left. Faielle thought there was no more shameful defeat for a soldier than failing those you were sworn to protect - and yet, they had little choice.

 

 

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Their path now cleared, Celendys ordered her soldiers to proceed with but a nod of her head. The Mer promptly marched down the sides of the street in single file, surrounding the crowd that had gathered in the village centre.

 

 

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They were scared, their only protectors - such as they were - had just vanished over the horizon. They stood alone as the soldiers began to surround them.

 

 

 

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Everyone was silent. Faielle felt anxious - would Celendys truly go through with the Magisters' orders? It was clear that Lady Proudspire had ridden east instead - no one here was likely to know anything of her activities, much less to be involved.

 

 

 

After a few moments that seemed like an eternity, the crowd made way for an old man and his caretaker...

 

 

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The pair slowly shuffled towards them, despite his advanced age and hunched, frail posture, there was a certain clarity in his eyes.

 

 

 

 

Both he and his caretaker - who guided him very carefully - were surprisingly well-groomed for peasants.

 

 

 

 

Faielle had heard of this. Human villages often had an 'Elder' as a representative. Respected and wise, they would negotiate with any outsiders, as well as offer advice and mediate any issues within the village itself.

 

 

 

 

Some of them even had some skill in the Restoration school of magic - the smallfolk were generally suspicious of such things, but Elders were implicitly trusted.

 

 

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"That's far enough, Hrodgæir. I can still walk on my own, you know."

 

 

 

 

 

The Elder spoke in a somewhat raspy but otherwise clear voice. As soon as he finished, the other man bowed deeply, clasping his hands together, then silently joined the others.

 

 

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The Elder cleared his voice and began greeting his 'guests'.

"Welcome to Dragon's Br - "

 

 

 

 

 

"Where is Proudspire, shemlen?" Celendys impatiently snapped at him. She never was one for courtesies, even less so towards humans.

 

 

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The man seemed taken aback. He was not used to such treatment - behind him, the soldiers had encircled the crowd.  He tried his best not to seem concerned, but Faielle could see it - he was scared too.

 

 

 

 

"Ah.. it is Mistress Proudspire that you seek? I'm afraid she never actually graces us with a visit. We were most happy to hear of her safe return last year. It truly is a tragedy, what happened to her family.." The man shook his head, he seemed sincere.

 

 

 

 

 

"The last time she visited us was many years ago as a girl. She was with her father - gods rest his soul - he was the most magnanimous ruler this region had seen in generations, but none of his children seemed interested in ruling... a pity."

 

 

 

 

 

The more the Elder droned on, the more incensed Celendys seemed to become.

 

 

"Mistress Proudspire has been very hands-off with her rule, even the tax collectors are late sometimes. The lords and ladies in Solitude are rarely interested in what happ-"

 

 

 

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Celendys frowned. She turned to the two. Faielle avoided eye contact.

 

 

 

 

“Useless, as expected."

 

 

 

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The Junior Magister turned around, she seemed to be considering what to do next.

 

 

 

 

"I.. I apologize we could not be of more help. You are welcome to stay for however long you wish - the Four Shields Tavern is large enough to accommodate your group."

 

 

 

 

 

"Celendys! We don't need to do this - arrest some of them if we must, but just leave the rest. That legionnaire was right - the humans will remember. We do not need a diplomatic incident, least of all just before the summer offensive."

 

 

Rianne was trying to appeal to Celendys' logic, as any other argument would be a waste of time. Her words seemed to fall on deaf ears though, as Celendys did not reply.

 

 

 

 

"Talendil may be displeased, but he will respect your judgment. Are you hearing me?"

 

 

 

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The Junior Magister whirled around - before anyone else could react, flames erupted from her hands and flew towards the Elder at a frightening pace. He did not even have time to scream before being turned into a human torch - a second sun, turning dusk into day.

 

 

 

 

Faielle covered her mouth, or she would have likely screamed. Even Ria recoiled in horror.

 

 

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"Enough! We've made our point - Proudspire will get the message, if she even cares, which I doubt.."

 

 

 

 

 

 Ria tried to appeal to Celendys once more. Faielle loved her for doing so, but the smirk on Celendys' lips told her it was futile.

 

 

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"You never did have the stomach for our work." Celendys snorted dismissively. "One wonders how you even got your position - even the rank and file have more guts than you. Tell me, Dawnstrider - why are you even here, if not to enforce the will of the Thalmor?"

 

 

 

 

Celendys did not seem to expect an answer. Her flames were snuffed out as quickly as they ignited, and she began to walk towards Faielle..

 

 

 

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The crowd was stunned. Not only had most of them never seen a sorceress before, but the most respected man in the village lay a smoldering husk at their feet. Women grabbed their heads and screamed, men recoiled in terror...

 

 

 

 

 

 

Faielle's eyes would dart around the crowd as it was quickly getting out of control. The black-clad Thalmor soldiers had unsheathed their blades and slowly began to tighten their encirclement.

 

 

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"NO!" The Elder's caretaker tried to rush to him, only to be stopped by the Elf in front of him. He could only reach out for his mentor in vain.

 

 

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"Please! Let us go! We're not from this village! We don't know anyone here!" One woman banged fruitlessly on the Mer's shield as her mother tried to pull her back to 'safety'.

 

 

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"You will pay for this, knife-ears! The GODS are WATCHING! TALOS will BURN you ALL!" One particularly animated man could be heard to shout. An older woman was trying to calm him - even now, she still hoped submission would lead to leniency.

 

 

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Some were in shock, others began to pray for deliverance. Real though the Aedra are, interference in mortal affairs was rare. There would be no divine intervention today..

 

 

 

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Others accepted their fate. Preferring to look upon those they love one more time - to hold them - rather than struggle hopelessly.

 

 

 

 

Faielle wondered what she and Ria would do in their place. Ria would fight - she had no doubt, but she was unsure about herself.

 

 

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Not everyone was willing to beg for their life or just lay down, though. Scared as they may be, some were even willing to fight, even bare handed. Faielle had never seen a man take a swing at an armed Thalmor soldier - until today.

 

 

 

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"How many Mer were found dead at Proudspire Manor?" Celendys spoke in the Human tongue, loud enough for the crowd behind them to hear her.

 

"Three, Magister. Three elves." Faielle was confused. Celendys surely knew the number already.

 

 

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The Magister turned, her eyes slowly scanning the crowd. She was counting...

 

 

 

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Once she was done, she closed her eyes and sighed with disappointment.

 

"It's enough, Celendys. Just look at these people - they're terrified. Your message will be far more effective if they're alive to spread it." Ria would interject in Elven. The crowd did not know it, but she was negotiating for their lives.

 

 

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"Talendil's orders were clear." Celendys looked to her soldiers.

 

 

 

"This is barely half of what we're here for. Kill them, then search the houses. If you don't produce thirty bodies, I will make you scour the countryside the whole night until we achieve our quota." Celendys spoke slowly and clearly, making sure the humans could hear and understand her as well.

 

 

 

Faielle was stunned that Celendys could issue such orders so callously. She did not sound angry, disdainful, even amused. Her orders were given in the same disinterested tone one would use to discuss the weather. She would then merely fold her arms and watch.

 

 

 

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42

 

 

PART III

Spoiler

The soldiers wasted no time following Celendys' orders. Faielle could only watch as the villagers were massacred. This was Markarth in everything but scale -she only hoped that the repercussions would not be as dire.

 

 

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No longer. No one would be spared. Faielle knew it did not matter whether they were innocent or otherwise.

 

 

 

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Their fates had already been decided in that chamber in Castle Dour. Her own blade still sheathed, she still felt just as responsible as the others.

 

 

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Most of the humans could not believe their eyes, even with Thalmor blades pointed right at them. As harsh as Skyrim was, such brutality was rare, and by the looks of them, this village had largely been spared, given its proximity to the capital...

 

 

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"Wait, friend! Take me, and just spare her - she doesn't know anything about the Lady - I worked for her father! Just take me!"

 

 

 

 

The man attempted to negotiate with the advancing soldier even as the blade was mere inches away from him - but Faielle knew he would not be heard. Thalmor Instructors drilled soldiers to follow orders without question, as well as about the superiority of Mer over Man. He might as well had been speaking a language the soldier did not understand.

 

 

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Faielle watched as one man grappled with a soldier's helmet, even as he was being run through. He would not stop pulling and screaming at her until he fell.

 

 

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The soldiers were methodical and disciplined. A Human force may have allowed the action to devolve into chaos - not so for the Thalmor, they continued their "work" calmly even among screams and pleas. The soldiers did not seem to delight in their job nor be disgusted with it - it all seemed very mechanical.

 

 

 

 

Faielle was rather proud of Elven discipline - today, she was not so sure anymore.

 

 

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Faielle watched the man as he hurled obscenities at the soldier even as the sword pierced his chest - he would likely try to climb right over his shield if he could.

 

 

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Another soldier slashed right across a man's stomach as he tried to defend his wife. He clutched his side, and would soon fall over.

 

 

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The man's right hook took the elf by surprise - his satisfaction would be short-lived though. Even as his fist connected with her jaw, two blades pierced both of his sides.

 

 

 

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She would suffer from a bruised ego at most.

 

 

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Villagers began falling on top of each other as they pushed and shoved to save themselves from Thalmor blades - Faielle willed herself to stand still. To not close her eyes or show other signs of weakness. The Magister would notice.

 

 

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The ones in the middle were slowly pushed together. It was the worst place to be, Faielle thought. Seeing all of their friends being slaughtered, knowing they would be next - most of these people had likely known each other their entire lives.

 

 

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Celendys watched intently, a smile on her lips. Faielle wondered if the Magister enjoyed violence for its own sake or was instead enamoured with the power to enact it at will. It made little difference in the end.

 

 

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"You see, Dawnstrider? THIS is how you send a message. The next time one human seeks to defy us, two will run to grovel at our feet and denounce him." Celendys declared with amusement. She seemed most pleased with herself.

 

 

Faielle glanced at Ria, it was rare to see her surprised. Ria had yet to arrive when Markarth was sacked following Ondolemar's assassination. Faielle had not participated in the reprisals themselves, but she had been deployed to the city after the fact - it was an all too familiar sight.

 

 

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Celendys lazily gestured across the road.

 

 

"They were right about one thing - Skyrim will remember this. Let them. From Haafingar to The Rift, they will all know - and they will all submit."

 

 

 

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Celendys continued to drone on as the soldiers finished the rest of the villagers off - but Faielle could no longer hear her. Her mind had gone blank - she stared at the scene, trying her best not to process any of it. It was all too much.

 

 

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The Elven blades turned crimson. It was more blood than she had seen in a long time.

 

 

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Soldiers would start stepping over their wailing victims - with the sole intent of reaching even more.

 

 

 

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And throughout all of it, Celendys soaked in the chaos. She reveled in it.

 

 

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Faielle’s sword had never left its sheath, but she felt no less guilty.

 

 

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For the longest time, Faielle had held onto the romantic version of the soldier, it had been ingrained into her from a young age.

 

 

Using swords to cut your opponent was not brutal work - it was an art form, they would call it 'swordplay'.

 

 

Soldiers were not enforcers of their superiors' will, they were defending their nation and through their sacrifices, they would gain honor and glory on the battlefield.

 

 

Innocents would always be spared and treated well - even their foes would be shown mercy, should they yield.

 

 

It was all fiction. A fiction she indulged in all too easily. All she saw today was butchery.

 

 

 

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In fact, it was all upside down. There were no elegant duels - the soldiers would just wildly swing and stab at the unarmed peasants, something that any brute could do.

 

 

There was no threat to the Dominion here - but there certainly was a threat to the ambitions of those in command.

 

 

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As their bloody work was nearly complete, the soldiers began to spread out. Faielle snapped out of it as she saw most of them hurrying in various directions.

 

 

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Every building would be searched.

 

 

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Every alley scoured.

 

 

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By the time they were done, Dragon's Bridge would exist in name only.

 

 

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Celendys turned her attention to the two. "It is time for the two of you to do your job as well. You should thank me for sparing you from the bloodiest part."

 

 

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"Well? What are you waiting for? Did you not hear your orders? Should I tell the Magister you stood like statues and did nothing the whole time?"

 

 

 Celendys -seemed- angry, but Faielle knew her well enough by now to know she delighted in tormenting her subordinates. She would soon enough turn around, preferring to survey the chaos.

 

 

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"I will see you back here soon. Anyone left ought to know what we're doing by now - they may have armed themselves, so take care." Ria squeezed her shoulder. She sounded a little colder than usual, the day's events clearly weighing on her.

 

 

Faielle's lips did part to speak - but no actual words came out.

 

 

 

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"I should get going before she gets impatient." She whispered to her softly, giving her another squeeze while glaring at the Magister. Before Faielle knew it, Ria was hurrying down the road, following a trio of soldiers.

 

 

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She would have wanted nothing more but to follow - one glare from Celendys, however, and she understood that the Magister wanted her to go elsewhere.

 

 

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Faielle approached the door of one of the huts that the soldiers had not yet breached. She took a deep breath as she climbed up the stairs, then stepped inside.

 

 

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18

 

 

 

PART IV

Spoiler

Faielle's eyes darted about the hovel. Judging by the way the table was set, someone had been preparing dinner - but were they outside.. or still here?

 

 

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She had heard them. There were definitely people under her feet. They were trying to be quiet, but they did not know just how sensitive an elf's hearing can be.

 

 

"Why couldn't you just be quieter, damn you!" Faielle thought to herself. She would have no choice but to expose them now. If she lied, Celendys would know. She always did.

 

 

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She couldn't quite tell how many there were. Two? Maybe three? Were they armed? Faielle remembered that all proper steel weapons had been requisitioned by the Imperial Legion months ago - villages would have a garrison if they were lucky, and defend themselves with simple tools if not.

 

 

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She heard them - the stairs only creaked subtly, but someone was climbing them...

 

 

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Whoever that was, they seemed intent on facing her. Faielle gripped the hilt of her blade tightly. Following one false step, the old wooden stairs groaned loudly - no doubt startling the climber, who then decided it would be best to just rush at her.

 

 

 

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She soon found herself face to face with a man gripping what looked like a wood chopping axe. His clothes were ragged, the axe seemed rather blunt and he was holding it wrong...

 

 

 

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... But he seemed determined to stop her from going any further.

 

 

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Suddenly, the man screamed and lunged at her, wildly swinging his dull axe in a downward slash.

 

 

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She stared calmly at the weapon as it came down. The human evidently had no training, but seemed desperate to stop her from going downstairs.

 

 

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She readied her blade...

 

 

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... And easily parried the blow.

 

 

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The edge lightly embedded itself into the haft.

 

 

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A split second later, the sword began to slide up the wooden haft, connecting with the axe head as surely as her knee connected with his groin.

 

 

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Faielle pushed her blade upwards and forward, along with the pain, it forced her opponent to drop his weapon.

 

 

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She took one step back, pulling her sword with her and gripping it with both hands.

 

 

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And after less than a second's hesitation...

 

 

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... She lunged forward, driving it into his abdomen.

 

 

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The blade cleanly came out through his back, dripping with blood.

 

 

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They stared at each other for a moment. She had been quicker. Much quicker. He never had a chance in the first place.

 

 

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The human then fell to his knees - he tried to raise his left hand - possibly to plead for a reprieve - but he seemed unable.

 

 

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She had broken into a man's house and killed him. Faielle wondered what those back home would think - Alinor itself had not known violence since the Oblivion Crisis, long before she had been born. Such a murder would have been the scandal of the year, if not worse. Yet, for these people, it was more or less routine.

 

 

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The man folded onto the floor, clutching his wound while murmuring something incoherently. He would bleed out quickly. A far cleaner death than many of the ones outside, Faielle thought. It offered little comfort.

 

 

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"I'm sorry." She whispered quietly - too quietly for him to hear, even if he would not be mortally wounded.

 

 

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Faielle stood at the top of the stairs. She knew there were more, though they had grown very quiet...

 

 

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The room at the bottom was a mess. Whoever was here rushed to hide themselves. She felt her heartbeat quicken, fearing an ambush.

 

 

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It was then that a little girl popped up from behind one of the many sturdy oak barrels stacked in the corner.

 

 

 

"Uncle! Did you get th - aah!"

 

 

 

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The girl gasped and retreated into the corner, even as Faielle instinctively tried to reach out to her. A younger boy - possibly her brother - cried on her shoulder as soon as he caught sight of the elf.

 

 

 

"I-it's okay.. no one's going to hurt you..."

 

 

 

 

That was probably a lie. While Faielle felt she would sooner fall on her own blade than hurt these children, others in her company would have no such scruples.

 

 

 

"Celendys..." She whispered to herself.

 

 

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The girl seemed very reluctant to trust her. She likely had little notion of what was actually happening outside, but her uncle seems to have told her to hide - so that is what he was doing, he was defending his niece and nephew... It made Faielle feel sick. "I-is.. is Uncle.. okay?" The girl worked up the courage to speak.

 

 

 

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Faielle wordlessly turned her back. What could she do? She had to do something! Would they believe her if she said there was only one man inside? Would anyone check this place again? Would they be safe?

 

 

She just had to do something - she had to...

 

 

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Faielle turned to the stairwell as she heard it creak once more.

 

 

Celendys... here? Now...?

 

 

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"Ah. There you are. We are soon to depart - I would hope you were not hiding down here." She raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

 

 

"The others missed this house, Magister." She was unsure of what to say, so stating the obvious would have to suffice.

 

 

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"Mmh, and what do we have here?" Celendys smirked as she spoke in the Human tongue again, having noticed the young ones.

 

 

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"Ah, right, I had almost forgotten: The man bleeding out on the floor above was your doing, yes? Nicely done." She said sarcastically.

 

 

There truly was no end to her malfeasance. Faielle now understood why Celendys spoke the human tongue again -she wanted the children to understand - and to blame her, presumably.

 

 

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"This isn't your house! Leave us alone! I won't let you hurt my brother!" The girl cradled her little brother's head. She sounded fierce - even Celendys seemed surprised. She did not know just how much danger she was in.

 

 

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Celendys raised an eyebrow, but did not reply - she turned her gaze to Faielle.

 

 

 

 

"Your job here is done, you may run along now. I believe I saw your lover waiting for you outside. She did seem ever so concerned..." Celendys rolled her eyes.

 

 

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She knew? Of course she knew. Celendys was many things, but foolish was not one of them. She was far more perceptive than Talendil, who spent so long thinking about his own advancement that he never noticed what his officers were doing right under his nose.

 

 

 

While fraternization - even same-sex fraternization - was not outright banned, it was... frowned upon, especially for officers. Faielle wondered why she had not used this against them yet.

 

 

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She dared not ask what Celendys planned to do with the children as she climbed back up the stairs and left the hut. She did not even want to know.

 

 

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Faielle sat down on the porch. She had lost track of how long she'd been here, or of how many times she wiped the blood off of her sword. It never seemed quite clean enough.

 

 

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Rianne quietly approached from the darkness - her shining light, her beacon. If only they could just leave this place - nothing good came of this expedition, and her presence here had pushed Ria to join her as well. It was all her fault, she thought.

 

 

"We.. we're getting ready to leave. Are you ready?" Even Ria seemed shaken. She wished that they had never met - No.. not really, but Rianne would be far better off without her.

 

 

"Fae?" She sounded worried.

 

 

 

"Let's leave this place." She whispered - it was the best she could muster.

 

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27

 

PART V

Spoiler

Within less than ten minutes, all of the Mer had reassembled and began their march. Celendys had exited the hut on her own, without any hint as to what she had done inside. She seemed pleased with herself, though.

 

 

Faielle had wanted to grab her by the shoulders - to shake her - to ask her how this much cruelty can be justified - but she did not. She felt like a coward.

 

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Rain slowly began to trickle down - a storm could be heard in the distance. The party hastened their march - it would not be long before they reached the safety of Solitude - though for how long the city would still be safe considering what happened today, Faielle did not know.

 

 

 

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No one said a word the whole trip back. She felt it was better that way.

 

 

 

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The group quickly dispersed after returning to Solitude - Celendys seemed giddy to report on her 'success' to the Magister - while Ria had asked Faielle to stay with her tonight.

 

 

 

She could not refuse, but she knew it was out of concern for her - it made her feel guilty.

 

 

 

"Do you think they'll send us after Proudspire as well?" Faielle asked quietly - there was little else she could think of. Did this woman even know the tragedy she had unleashed? Did she care?

 

 

 

"I believe so. If for no other reason than that Talendil likely blames me." Ria scoffed - in truth, the blame lay squarely with Talendil and Celendys, and both of the Magisters knew that it would look that way to Alinor, too.

 

 

 

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Faielle slumped over the battlements. She felt exhausted. She had been on longer marches - on more dangerous journeys - but she had never felt -this- tired.

 

 

 

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She covered her face with her hands and began to quietly sob. It was the first time she could. Ria tried to offer comfort, but was unsure of what to say - a rarity for her. She always seemed to know what to say.

 

 

Thunder raged in the distance, and Ria finally spoke up.

 

 

"Storm's coming. Let's head inside. Okay?"

 

 

 

 

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They held hands as it began to pour. It would be good to be somewhere familiar again, or at least, so she hoped.

 

 

 

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"Make yourself comfortable, please. I need to get out of this thing.." Ria dissapeared behind a corner as Faielle began to pull pieces of her armor off. She would find little comfort though, even in a place she used to enjoy.

 

 

 

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Faielle sat down at the foot of the bed, trying to make herself as small as possible. She wished she could just disappear.

 

 

 

“We killed them, Ria. Every last one. Old, young - it didn't matter.. we didn’t spare anyone! That.. that’s not what we were taught in Alinor, we- “

 

 

Faielle sniffed, she didn't want to cry again - to seem weak. She felt she had let everyone down today - her peers did their duty, gruesome as it was, while she could only stand by and cower. She felt like a disgrace.

 

 

 

Ria quietly sat down on the bed next to her, she breathed in deeply, then let out a sigh before speaking.

 

 

 

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"This is the result of Talendil's vanity, nothing more. Did you know he seeks a seat on the High Council?"

 

 

Ria scoffed. Talendil was old - and powerful. He was well connected in the capital. For most, joining the High Council would be their crowning achievement - a chance to truly shape the future of the Aldmeri Dominion - but there are rumours that his ambitions may reach even higher than that - all the way to the position of Grand Magister.

 

 

 

The illusions of a narcissist? Perhaps. But success in Skyrim would go a long way towards making it a reality. Faielle shuddered at the thought of how many bodies Talendil would be willing to step over to see his ambitions fulfilled.

 

 

"There were far better solutions to our issues - ones which the Elders would have been satisfied with as well, I'm sure.." She sighed. "Talendil is brash and arrogant, and Celendys is ambitious and ruthless - it would be difficult to find a worse pair."

 

 

 

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"We're not any less guilty.. we just stood there.. we watched them.. Ria - and then I.. I..killed a little girl's family.. and Celendys.. she.." Faielle slurred her words, she stared at her hands. Was she the only one feeling this way? Surely what they did was wrong? Why didn't anyone object? Why didn't SHE object?

 

 

Her mind cycled through the same questions over and over as she felt Ria's arms wrap around her. And then - she began to sing. She had not heard her sing since they had left home, and it sounded even more beautiful than before.

 

 

It would not truly fix anything.. but, in this very moment.. it was good.

[Click on the video to hear Rianne sing \o/]

 

 

 

 

 

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♪♪ Elgara vallas, Da'len, ♪♪ (Sun sets, little one)

 

 

 

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♪♪ Melava somniar, ♪♪ (Time to dream)

 

 

 

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♪♪ Mala tara aravas, ♪♪ (Your mind journeys)

 

 

 

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♪♪ Ara ma'desen melar ♪♪ (But I will hold you here)

 

 

 

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♪♪ Iras ma ghilas, Da'len ♪♪ (Where will you go, little one)

 

 

 

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♪♪ Ara ma'nedan ashir, ♪♪ (Lost to me in sleep?)

 

 

 

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♪♪ Dirthara lothlenan'as ♪♪ (Seek truth in a forgotten land)

 

 

 

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♪♪ Bal emma mala dir.. ♪♪ (Deep within your heart)

 

 

 

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♪♪ Tel'enfenim, Da'len ♪♪ (Never fear, little one,)

 

 

 

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♪♪ Irassal ma ghilas, ♪♪ (Wherever you shall go)

 

 

 

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♪♪ Ma garas mir renan, ♪♪ (Follow my voice,)

 

 

 

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♪♪ Ara ma'athlan vhenas.. ♪♪ (I will call you home..)

 

 

 

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♪♪ Ara ma'athlan vhenas.. ♪♪ (I will call you home..)

 

 

 

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32

 

 

 

 

Ooof. There we go! Remind me not to make anything this long for a single Chapter ever again. The formatting might be a bit wonky in a few places and I'll probably take another look at it later, but I spent way too long putting the post together now, so I'll just upload it like this - hope it was okay and thanks for reading o/

 

 

 

 

]]>9861Sat, 07 Sep 2019 04:15:00 +0000A Symphony of Frost and Flame - Lilith Ihttps://www.loverslab.com/blogs/entry/8809-a-symphony-of-frost-and-flame-lilith-i/ Contents

Prologue

Rianne I

Lilith I   (You are here!)

Faielle I

Jon I

 

If this is the first time you're seeing this, I do recommend going to previous entries too. That said this particular entry can also be taken as standalone.

 

There are some allusions to abuse in Part III of this entry.

 

 

So! I've been super lazy, but here we are! Another warning: This entry contains.. terrible blood photoshopping \o/ - still, it would have been worse without @WANOBI12's tutorial (which you can see here), so - yay! In any case, apologies for what you're about to see in that regard. I may or may not get better for future entries.

 

The next Chapter is one of the things I've thought about and wrote a few notes on before I started any of this at all and is definitely one of my favorites from the early bunch. It will probably also be the longest so far. Now whether I can actually make the game do what I want, remains to be seen.

 

Anyways, enjoy! Or be horrified, or such.

 

 

Part I

Spoiler

Tonight, Windhelm will bleed. She frowned, he had been allowed to live for far too long. No more.

 

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Lilith never feared the dark, it was comforting, quiet. Her heels clicked on the pavement as she walked. Spring had started to settle in. It really was a lovely night, for the most part...

 

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She had heard him - and moreover - smelled him, long before he staggered around the corner. The man reeked of cheap alcohol and groped at the air in front of him, evidently trying to grab her.

 

"Heyshh babbyy.. how mucshh fo' a go..?"

 

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She glared silently. He would never know quite how lucky he was that spring evening. The city was always filled with men like him this time of year - before the Nords' petty civil war would start again, come summer. No one would notice if he'd gone missing - at least not until he floated back up in the canal..

 

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She snorted and walked past him - there was no time.

 

"Baah! Dun youuh waalk awaysh! Wahtt kindsh o' decentsh wohman wondersh tha streetsh aht nightsh?!" He slurred his words as he fumbled about at the bottom of the stairwell, in no shape to actually follow.

 

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They say a drunk mind speaks a sober heart. Lilith had always thought "they" were stupid, but there was more truth to the drunkard's words than he could possibly know.

 

Decent women - and decent men, for that matter - would be in their homes, with their loved ones. A 'decent woman' was the last way Lilith would describe herself. The only thing the man really got wrong was her profession.

 

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Lilith glanced down the sidewalks as she approached the house. The city was quiet. She eyed the guard at the door up and down before approaching.

 

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She smiled at him. A smile to melt the heart.

 

"Long night?" She tilted her head, coming close, pushing her chest outwards, looking up at him playfully.

 

“Aye. But I don’t think I can aff-“

 

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Lilith gasped, she placed her hands on the man’s chest, frowning lightly and interrupting him.

 

“Mmh, now, who’s saying anything about payment? Is -that- what you think I am?" She pouted.

 

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"All you big, strong men.. you invite us Dunmer into your city, keep us safe… we should be more appreciative, don’t you think?”

 

Her words were all honey, likely the warmest thing the man had felt in months.

 

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She backed off and smiled as he started to remove his helmet. He was young, barely an adult, by her estimation - it's no wonder he was so receptive to her advances.

 

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After some hesitation, he wrapped his hands around her hips. she could feel them lightly shaking – he was nervous. It made her grin.

 

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“Aawh, so sweet … most of the men here are –so- rough, it’s no wonder they have to pay.. mmh.. -you- though.. you must get all the girls..”

 

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“Aye.. a lot of folk don’t like you elves – a shame, really. "

 

She ran her delicate hand across his cheek, nodding her head. "Do they really have you standing out here all night? How awful."

 

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"It's.. alright. Could be worse.. A-anyway.. do.. do you want to.. go somewhere else? Don't think the old goat would notice if I went missing for a bit.."

 

“What’s your name, hmm?” Her right hand left his chest and went down to her belt, rummaging for something.

 

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His cheeks turned red, he looked away from her gaze, finding himself peeking into her cleavage instead.

 

“Oh, heh.. right.. we haven’t even.. been introduced.. I.. I’m Svend. And you?”

 

She paused for a few moments, saying nothing, her crimson eyes staring at him intensely.

 

"Svend. You.. you're a good boy, Svend."

 

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While he was busy staring down at her chest, the dagger slid into his throat, opening his windpipe. As smooth as summer silk.

 

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Lilith placed her hand on his chest and gave him a light shove as she opened his throat. He looked shocked - betrayed, even.

 

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“Wahht thh ff-“

 

He choked on his words - and his blood - as he slumped against the door. Lilith slid her dagger all across his neck, leaving a wide, dark-red gash.

 

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Svend's hands desperately tried to stem the tide, blood burst from his mouth as he tried to speak again, dripping down his chin and onto the Windhelm bear on his gorget. Tonight, Windhelm will bleed.

 

She placed a hand on top of his - firm, but also gentle. She sounded different now. Cold. Every bit as cold as Svend was likely feeling.

 

"That won't help." She shook her head. "Just let go, it's better that way."

 

Lilith almost felt sorry for the man. It was merely bad luck that he happened to be guarding this particular door on this particular evening. His eyes locked with hers, he was horrified. As sweet as she must have seemed mere minutes ago, she must look like a demon now.

 

She smiled at him. A smile to gladly bleed to death for.

 

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It was not long before he would stop moving. She would have to act quickly - the uniform was not going to be a good fit for her, but it would have to do.

 

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Part II

Spoiler

“MORE WINE!”

 

She could hear his shouts as soon as she walked in.

 

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Lilith took her place as one of the guards. No one ever seemed to pay attention to guards here. Not even other guards.

 

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“M-my lord..” The servant stuttered. “Jarl Ulfric is due to arrive any minute. Are you sure y-“

 

“Sho waht?! I canne drinks in ma own house annemore cos da big jarl’s comin? Piss on that! WINE!”

 

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There he was. Chief Torgeir. He did not know it yet, but tonight - Windhelm will bleed.

 

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No more than a few minutes passed before Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak himself - Lord of Windhelm and Eastmarch Hold, opened the doors and walked right past Lilith. She had never seen him in person before. Compared to the sad, old man at the table, he looked like a giant.

 

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“ULFRY! There ye are! Come on! Siiiit! ‘ave a driink!” Torgeir flailed his arms dramatically at his Jarl as he sat down.

 

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Jarl Stormcloak sat down opposite to Torgeir. He was quiet as the Chieftain raised his tankard.

 

"Cheers! Ish lovely of you.. to pay ush a vhisit.."

 

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The Jarl stared at him in silence for a few moments - he seemed almost.. sad. Weary. Eventually, he spoke. Where Torgeir was loud and boisterous, Ulfric was quiet. Lilith strained to hear him.

 

"You know why I'm here, Torgeir." He sighed heavily. "Summer is almost upon us. We need more men from the North - the Thalmor have already arrived in force. Your bannermen have been shirking their duties.."

 

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Torgeir set his mug down and shook his head. He raised one hand and waved it left and right.

 

"Ulfry.. Ulfry.. we.. we both knowsh wut needsh to happens.. Whiterun. Yesh? Get that cowardsh Baalgruff in line.. and we win! Ees' as simple as that!"

 

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Lord Stormcloak sighed as Torgeir reached for his wine.

 

"Baalgruuf has been.. slow to respond to our messages. He's still stalling, even now. I hoped he was a true Nord, but.."

 

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“Empty! Ish goddamn empty!”

 

Torgeir shouted, tossing the flagon away as he mumbled to himself, staring at his empty cup in disbelief.

 

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Ulfric stood up suddenly. He muttered something under his breath - far too low for Lilith to hear. He then sighed and composed himself. The chieftain had obviously stretched his patience.

 

"We'll speak again tomorrow, Torgeir. Remember - I need those men. We need them, or..." He stared at the old man as he continued to nurse his empty cup, and just shook his head. "Tomorrow. Get your house in order, Torgeir."

 

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Torgeir followed them on the way out. "Lemme shee you out. You worreh too musch.. we na gonna lose to dose imperial panshies.. pssh.."

 

He checked his cup again every now and then, as if it would somehow magically refill. His disappointment seemed crushing every single time.

 

To her surprise, Ulfric stopped and looked at her. She stood at attention and held her breath.  "Hmh. What's this?"

 

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Ulfric approached Lilith and placed a hand on her shoulder. He -almost- smiled.

 

"This isn't the Imperial Legion, friend. No need to stand there like a statue, hmm?"

 

She nodded her head. "Of course, my lord." If only he knew who hid under that helmet.

 

She could feel her heartbeat quicken - Lilith considered what she would do if discovered. Would she even be able to run? If they discovered the guard's body..

 

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"Heh. You have a true shield maiden here, Torgeir."

 

Ironically, Lilith was the only thing that seemed to brighten Lord Stomcloak's day a little bit. Ulfric turned his head towards the Chieftain, looking at him with pity.

 

"Baahh.. I dun remembersh hiriingsh any wimenz.. whatevers.." He waved a hand dismissively, preferring the company of his cup.

 

Ulfric patted Lilith on the shoulder again. "He ought to be less cranky when sober. Keep up the good work." He nodded his head and glanced at his guard as they both stepped out.

 

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Torgeir stared down his cup one more time, then threw it to the ground in anger.

 

"Well?! Why ar ye allsh sthanding 'round ere?! Party ish ova! Go be usefhul outshide o' shomthing.. yor Chieftain has businessh upshtairs!"

 

He flailed his hands towards the door, the other guard nodded his head and bowed slightly before turning to leave.

 

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Lilith would be staying. She watched as Torgeir precariously climbed up the stairs - one false step and the Gods would be doing the job for her. She frowned. That wouldn't do. It would be far too quick.

 

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Part III

Spoiler

She followed him. As she stared from the door, she saw the battered Dunmer woman the bastard was standing over. She knew about this - it was part of the reason she was here, but she did not expect to see one here right now.  

 

Lilith clenched her fists, she threw her shield to the ground with a loud clang, grabbing their attention.

 

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"Eeeh?!" Torgeir groaned. They both looked at her in shock. Neither of them seemed to be expecting more company.

 

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"Waaht in da hellsh ar you doin up heresh?!" He walked towards her and pointed his finger repeatedly.

 

"Let me shee yor faacsh.. you donesh in dis city yu foolsh... you'llsh be scrapings ore in shome mine 'fore the endsh of the weeks.."

 

He needn't ask. She wanted him to see her face. Lilith was already unstrapping her helmet before he even said the words.

 

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Lilith did not say a word. She stared at him. He was likely far too drunk to understand how hateful her glare was, though the dunmer behind him knew. She was petrified, not moving an inch.

 

"Waaht th fuk? Why ar ye werin datsh uniform yu dum bint?!"

 

He seemed completely shocked, but after pondering the matter for awhile, he nodded his head.

 

"Aah, whatsheversh... I couldsh ushe a new elf whore.. shtart stripping and gets on dat bed.. hurreh up.."

 

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He fiddled with his belt, seemingly incapable of actually opening it. "I'll showsh you waht a REALSH Nord man can do.."

 

He looked back up at her - she had not moved, at all.

 

"Whatsh tha matta?!? Dint ya hearsh me?!” He raised his voice, before musing for a few moments and coming to a realization. “Ar ya softs in da ‘ead? Aaah perhapsh thatsh fo' tha bests, ye nae gonna cry sho much.. comes ‘ere, I strips ya myshelf..”

 

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He stumbled towards her. She stared, unmoving. "Thish one 'ere ish all spents.." He threw an angry glare back at the bed. "yer all quietsh.. very niceee.."

 

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A split second before his fingers would have touched her, she drew her blade and plunged it into his belly in one swift motion, and then again – and again. She wrapped an arm around his back and smiled, as if they were dancing.

 

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A loud, piercing shriek filled the room - the monster's captive covered her mouth as blood started to soak his tunic, he could only stare in disbelief. She gave him a shove, knocking him to the floor.

 

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Lilith kneeled on top of him and gripped her blade with both hands.

 

“You..” She raised her dagger. “.. are not a real man.” She plunged it into his chest, and pulled it out. “ You are a worm.”

 

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She stabbed him again. “You are nothing.” She struck him a 3rd time, twisting the blade in his flesh. “.. No one will miss you.”

 

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She glanced up at the 'man''s captive. She was wide eyed and shivering, covering her mouth - she was almost as surprised as he was.

 

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She wiped her dagger on his clothes and stood up. The man tried to speak –but he could only cough blood – he tried to breathe, but the dagger had pierced his lungs. She turned towards her instead, letting him suffer.

 

“Get dressed and leave. Go to the Cornerclub and ask for Thalsa, she will take care of you.”

 

She frowned at the utterly terrified elf. “If you stay here, they will blame you for this.” She tilted her head towards the dying man on the floor. “.. And you will hang.. if you’re lucky..”

 

Torgeir struggled to get a few words out, the stabbings seemed to have brought him out of his drunken stupor somewhat. "T-thallmor.. bitsch.."

 

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Lilith grinned. She turned back towards him and leaned down.

 

"Thalmor?" She looks back to the elf, though she didn't seem nearly as amused. "He thinks he's important enough for the Thalmor to assassinate him."

 

She glanced back to him. "What have the Thalmor ever done for me? " She looked at his victim again. "For us?"  She shook her head. No, worm. You're breathing in your own blood now because you're a monster. We don't suffer monsters to live in this city. Not anymore."

 

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Lilith's words seemed to convince the elf, who scrambled for her clothes, her hands shaking and always looking back to her “rescuer”, she never said a word.

 

She turned to leave. He would suffer. It was still too quick, but it would have to suffice.

 

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Bells tolled throughout the city as Lilith made her way onto a cramped side street. The once quiet Windhelm was suddenly alive with activity.

 

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It felt good, knowing all these men were frantically running around the place, all because of what she did. It felt like justice.

 

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Lilith entered the safehouse, smiling at Thalsa and Trevyn.

 

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"Is it done then? Is the pig dead?" Thalsa crossed her arms and looked up at Lilith. She seemed anxious to hear the news.

 

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Lilith smiled and silently sat down next to Trevyn, embracing him and giving him a long kiss. Making Thalsa wait was always entertaining. Eventually, she pulled away and smiled again.

 

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"If the Gods are just, he is still choking on his blood. It is done."

 

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]]>8809Sun, 21 Apr 2019 21:46:00 +0000A Symphony of Frost and Flame Act 1 - Rianne Ihttps://www.loverslab.com/blogs/entry/8728-a-symphony-of-frost-and-flame-act-1-rianne-i/ Contents:

ACT I

Prologue

Rianne I (You are here!)

Lilith I

Faielle I

Jon I

 

I wanted to colour code dialogue, but with the number of characters planned I realized I would soon run out of (easily readable) colours to apply to the text. Might just leave it on these two only for now.

 

I'm still bad at posing, I think the number of custom poses used between Chapter 1 and the prologue is about 40 so far, hopefully nothing stands out as too dodgy, I know some of them do to me :3. Still, if not for Collygon's tutorial, I wouldn't know how to pose at all and would be so much more limited, so, can thank him for all the weird poses you'll see me do o/

 

Spoiler

4E 202 20th of Rain's Hand - Haafingar Hold, Solitude

 

Rianne stirred in her sleep. It had been almost two months since she arrived in Skyrim, and it already felt like far too long.

 

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Rianne did not like Skyrim. The entire region was cold, drab, grey and filled with all manner of people that were - in her mind - unjustifiably unfriendly towards her.

 

The weather had been awful - there had been no sign of snow, but whenever it didn't rain, it was cloudy and windy instead - this, she had been told, is what people in the province call 'spring'. it had, at the very least, recently gotten warm enough for her to be able to sleep in her small clothes.

 

She had spent the last few weeks running errands for the Magister's office and occasionally hunting down minor dissidents or "heretics" - the winter and early spring months would always be uneventful.

 

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As a small mercy, Rianne was due to have the next few days off. She had little notion of what she would do in this city, though.

 

Perhaps, Fae would know better. She had been in Solitude for far longer and was more acquainted with the city. When the new regiment arrived, the Magister arranged for a few blocks to be sectioned off into a new "Elven District" - this came with no small amount of complaints from the local citizenry, but the Blue Palace ensured that any evictees were reasonably compensated.

 

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Rianne did wonder how elves back home would react if their own authorities would try to evict them, and concluded that it would likely be far worse. Humans were, if nothing else, more accepting of hardship.

 

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Rianne stood up on the edge of her bed - it was nothing like the one back home, but after spending the first few weeks in the barracks, she had learned to appreciate the privacy of her new apartment, no matter how humble it may have been.

 

Having already overslept, it was time to get changed and step out - find Fae - and plan for their free days.

 

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Rianne eyed the glimmering set of armor on the mannequin. Personally fitted for her and forged at no small expense by one of the premier smiths in Alinor, Rianne genuinely enjoyed wearing it. It gave her otherwise rather soft figure an imposing form and made her stand out from the others dressed in the more traditional black and gold Thalmor uniforms.

 

Still, she would have no need of it today - something more comfortable would make for a welcome change.

 

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Rianne opted for a white and blue tunic with black leggings. She had always thought that white went better with her complexion and wondered why the Thalmor uniforms were black instead.

 

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As an officer, Rianne -eventually- received personal lodgings, rather than living out of the barracks with the rank and file. She had been given the old Rookery. This was likely meant as an insult - as the Magister and his right hand did not seem to be particularly fond of her. Not wanting to give them any satisfaction, Rianne preferred to accept it gracefully and redecorated it into a rather cozy home.

 

The building was positioned rather close to the gatehouse - Rianne had always joked that she was given this location since, in the event of a siege, her apartment would be one of the first things the Stormcloaks would destroy.

 

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It did, however, have certain advantages. Perched on top of the battlements, Rianne could walk out of her room and head straight into the castle without ever stepping through the streets of Solitude and being gawked at by the nosy citizenry.

 

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Castle Dour. Rarely had Rianne seen a more appropriately named place. The entire complex was cold and grey, other than the people, the only other sign of life was the ivy slowly encroaching on its gloomy walls.

 

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The fortification served as the joint headquarters for the Imperial Legion and the Thalmor Expedition - every decision in the war against Windhelm would be taken here and with summer drawing ever closer, the weather would not be the only thing heating up.

 

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Rianne sighed. When she closed her eyes, she could still see the gilded, shining spires of Alinor. Its towers, with their swirling ramparts, would dominate the Solitude skyline, rising so high above it that one would need to crane their neck at a rather uncomfortable angle to see them in full.

 

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They would be covered not in cold, unfeeling stone - but glass - placed at such an angle that at noon, the mirrors would catch the light of the sun itself and shine it onto the glimmering, gemstone paved streets below.

 

The rubies, sapphires and emeralds would reflect the sunlight back at any pedestrians in their respective colours - a dazzling and somewhat uncomfortable display for the eyes of anyone not used to it - but certainly memorable. Everything was more beautiful back home.

 

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Rianne's daydreaming would be cut short as she heard footsteps approaching - three pairs, by her count.

 

And then, her voice.

 

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Faielle and the guards saluted in Elven fashion.

 

"Justicar." she nodded her head curtly. Always trying so hard to be official and proper in public. It was almost cute.

 

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Rianne returned the salute, she could not help but smile, though. Fae was perhaps the only reason she transferred to this distant, wild land. The only ray of light in Castle Dour. She mimicked Fae's behavior as best she could. "Captain."

 

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The guards accompanying Faielle walked off out of earshot, each securing one of the pair's flanks. Rianne eyed Faielle curiously. “You are in uniform.” She simply stated, having expected otherwise.

 

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Faielle sighed heavily. “Bad news, I’m afraid. Our leave has been postponed.” Rianne smiled – in part to hide her own disappointment, but also because she had always found Fae’s pout cute.

 

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Rianne maintained a cheery disposition as Fae approached the rampart, the scowl still present on her face.

 

“We caught a break with the disappearances. The Magister wants to see us, immediately. We’re likely to break down a few doors today..” She sighed again, the matter did not seem to interest her much.

 

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Rianne interrupted her – she placed her hand on top of hers, giving it a light squeeze. “You know I find that scowl cute, Da’len, but I would rather you smile. We’ll get our time off soon enough. Whatever this is, I doubt it will delay it for long.”

 

“You should not be calling me that in public. The very walls of Solitude have ears, you know?” Fae’s hand twitched, but Rianne noted that she did not pull it away.

 

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“Oh? Is that so? And what will happen if I don’t listen, hmmm?” Rianne grinned, clearly amused by Fae’s concern. She always did overthink things, and was perhaps a touch paranoid.

 

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Fae considered her answer for a few moments.

 

“Well, we could both be court martialled and sent back to Alinor in disgrace…” Fae mused, a smirk growing over her face as well.

 

Rianne nodded her head and considered the scenario. "Hmm.. That could happen.." It almost seemed worth it.

 

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Rianne embraced her fully and leaned in , whispering softly into her ear.

 

“Mmh, if the walls have ears, then they already got an earful two months ago when we were reunited, you remember, do you not?”

 

Rianne certainly remembered. Fae had been stationed in the province for an year longer than her. Rianne still blamed herself for not being with her during the Dragon Crisis. She had been sorely missed.

 

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She did not wait for an answer, instead closing her eyes and nuzzling her neck.

 

"We'd have been in the Magister's office within a day.." She mockingly imitated Talandil's usual tone "Unacceptable! Impardonable! You disgrace my glorious command, raargh!"

 

Fae finally did smile. "That does sound quite like him. Are you sure you didn't miss your calling as an actor?"

 

Rianne grinned and planted a small kiss on her neck, then pulled her head away.

 

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"The disappearances. What did we learn?"

 

Rianne was familiar with the matter. At first, only Imperial Legion soldiers went missing – the general consensus was that the men had deserted and joined the Stormcloak rebellion – however, when Aldmeri officers started vanishing, it became clear that there was more to the matter than mere fractured loyalties.

 

"I haven't much to tell. Only that we've received a credible tip, and the Magister will have us investigate." Fae gave her shoulder a small squeeze.

 

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Both elves looked off in opposite directions as they still cradled each other - just to check if anyone was watching.

 

Rianne nodded her head. "We shouldn't keep him waiting then."

 

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Spoiler

 Magister Talandil seemed to have half a dozen different offices across the city, by Rianne's count. Today, he would be in the Blue Palace.

 

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Ostensibly the seat of Skyrim's High Queen - granting the Thalmor Expedition even a small portion of the building for their own use was considered a grave insult by the jarls loyal to Windhelm. Rianne shook her head. It was an unnecessary provocation - but Talendil enjoyed parading around the palace with his personal guard. It made him feel even more important.

 

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Rianne could hear the shouting and screaming from above as soon as she entered the main hall. Evidently, Queen Elisif's court was in session and the courtiers carried on the same as ever.

 

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Elisif the Fair - High King Torygg's widow - had been crowned not long before Rianne's arrival. Naturally, only the jarls that had already declared for Solitude attended the Moot. This made her legitimacy.. questionable. But she had the full backing of the Empire and the approval of the Thalmor Embassy.

 

Rianne thought that Elisif meant well - but she had never expected to be High Queen. Her advisors constantly bickered between themselves and jockeyed for her favour. Elisif seemed completely overwhelmed.

 

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"Justicar. The Magister is waiting. No time to tarry." Fae called after her in that official manner again, making her snap out of her thoughts.

 

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The two approached the doors of the Magister's office. His personal guard, in their glimmering armor and with great swords that seemed far too large for any Mer to actually lift, flanked the entrance, like statues.

 

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Rianne would have greeted them, but they never answered the last few times she tried. In fact, she had never heard them speak, remove their helmets, or be anywhere other than by the Magister's side.

 

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She strode past the unusually tall elves and opened the doors. As ever, they did not turn their heads or even looked at her. Rianne always found the two unnerving. This was no doubt intended, the Magister greatly enjoyed such displays of power.

 

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“Well well, our wayward Justicar finally deems fit to honour us with her presence.”

 

Celenya frowned at Rianne as she turned towards her. Rianne tried to think of a time when she saw the elf smile – she could not remember one.

 

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Celenya walked towards the pair in that half-menacing, half-playful manner that she seemed to like so much.

 

Rianne smiled sweetly, not betraying any of her thoughts. “Pleasant as ever, Celenya.” – She may have wanted to say, but she did not.

 

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“Have fun at the mansion, Dawnstrider.” The Junior Magister accentuated the name as she walked by. Celenya always seemed to delight in referring to Rianne by her disgraced House name. Rianne was unsure of quite what she did to earn her enmity.

 

Being second only to the Magister himself in the Expedition’s hierarchy, she seemed to treat everyone else poorly – she barely even acknowledged Faielle’s presence, preferring to focus her venom on Rianne instead.

 

“Junior Magister.” Rianne merely nodded her head as she went by.

 

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“Magister Talandil.” The two elves stood at attention and saluted their Commander. He did not return the gesture, preferring to just stare at the Justicar.

 

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After wrinkling his nose at them, he turned towards the window and crossed his arms, speaking in that slightly irritated tone he always seemed to have.  

 

“I will be brief, as you are already late. We have a lead in the disappearances. Sergeant Tauron has already received his orders – you and Captain Faielle will be joining him and leading the investigation at Proudspire Manor. We have reason to believe Lady Proudspire is involved.”

 

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“Lady Proudspire, my lord? The socialite?” Rianne asked.

 

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Rianne was surprised. She was vaguely familiar with the woman in question, having seen her at court once or twice.

 

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Sylvia Proudspire seemed interested in little more than parties and court life – never getting involved in politics or anything of the sort. There were plenty Rianne might have suspected of involvement in court – but she truly was not one of them.

 

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As the only survivor of her noble family, Lady Proudspire had been missing for the better part of the last year, and was presumed dead. Indeed, her property had even been on sale until her sudden and unexpected return a few months ago… a return coinciding with the start of the disappearances.

 

Rianne raised an eyebrow – perhaps there was something to this after all.

 

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“Correct. She has not been seen at court for days, or I would have simply had her arrested. Go to her Manor – arrest her servants, search the premises for clues of her whereabouts. I want her found, Justicar.”

 

Talandil sounded particularly serious – the disappearances had been a stain on his command. Rianne did not think he seemed particularly confident in this lead, though. She nodded and bowed nonetheless.

 

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“As you wish, Magister.” Rianne and Faielle took three steps back, then turned to leave.

 

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“And Justicar…” The Magister stopped her. “… If you report to my office out of uniform again, I will have you demoted.”

 

“Apologies, Magister.” Rianne dipped her head.

 

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Spoiler

“Short march today, Tauron.” She smiled. Proudspire Manor –was- as close to the Palace as one could be – it was one of the largest and most opulent manors on Solitude’s main boulevard. This raid would be the talk of the month in the whole city, no doubt.

 

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Tauron was everything an Aldmeri Soldier should be, Rianne thought. Professional, Courteous, Brave, and Driven. He seemed well liked by his soldiers, too. She nodded at him as they assembled in the courtyard.

 

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“Lady Rianne. Lady Faielle.” The Elf nodded his head and shook both their hands. “It is indeed. We are ready to proceed, at your command.”

 

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“Keep your blades sheathed, we are guests in this city - we should not make ourselves any more unwelcome than we already are.”

 

Rianne looked down Solitude Boulevard as they made their way to the manor. She hoped to resolve the matter discreetly. Even here in Solitude, most citizens regarded the elves with suspicion.

 

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Rianne stared down the guard at the mansion’s door. “Disarm him.” She ordered two of her soldiers, then turned her head towards the other pair. “Make your way to the back door. No one leaves without talking to us first. No one.”

 

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The man guarding the gate seemed tough, but his hard demeanour all but evaporated as the two black-clad Thalmor soldiers approached. “ eey.. I.. I dun want any t-trouble..” the man stuttered as he gave up his sword.

 

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The Elves walked into the mansion. Two maids waited for them at the front door – the older one, the one with more sense, by Rianne’s estimation, immediately dropped to her knees and pleaded with them.

 

“I beg your forgiveness, My Lady, we.. we know nothing of where Mistress Proudspire has gone to – s-she left without a word to us, she didn’t even pack anything!”

 

Her hands were shaking so badly that she could not even clasp them together properly.

 

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Rianne stared at the two dispassionately. “Are there any more of you?”

 

“N-no, My lady. Mistress Proudspire was rather private.. she did not take many ser-“

 

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Rianne turned her head towards her companions, interrupting the maid. “You – watch them.” She nodded to the Thalmor soldier. “We search this place from top to bottom – leave nothing un-turned, we must find her.”

 

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The trio spread out through the manor – Rianne entered what appeared to be the study. She narrowed her eyes as she approached a strange book laid out on the lectern. The letters danced and shifted on the page, merely looking at them made Rianne feel dizzy. This was clearly illegal material – the Magister’s office would be able to decipher its contents later.

 

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Rianne made her way down into the basement – she had sensed a strange, sickly sweet smell ever since she entered the mansion. Faint, at first, but it only grew stronger as she descended. She could not quite place it yet.

 

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She entered what appeared to be a storage room – she wrinkled her nose as the miasma began to fill her nostrils.

 

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Other than the smell, nothing seemed particularly noteworthy about the room, but as she canvassed one of the walls, she found an unusually shaped chain, pulling on it made the “wall”  shift and groan, revealing a secret passage – This was.. unexpected.

 

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The smell was much stronger now – she finally recognized it: This was the smell of death. Her heartbeat quickened as she stared down the, narrow, dark tunnel. “Tauron! Faielle! Get the others – and bring torches. I found something.” She frowned, a part of her still hoped that she was wrong.

 

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The Elves descended into the tunnel. It lead surprisingly deep underground. In truth, they all knew what they would find. They could smell it.

 

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Rianne had been at war. She had seen all manner of horrors she would rather forget – but nothing could really prepare her for what she saw when her torch illuminated the chamber. All of the elves recoiled in horror at the scene.

 

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The chamber was.. a carnival of horrors. A man stood hanged from the ceiling, the slightly slanted floor made his blood pool beneath the altar in the middle.

 

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An elf was laid on the altar – Rianne recognized the patrolman, though she could not quite place his name. His corpse was carefully arranged so as to cradle what appeared to be a human skull

 

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Four more skulls were laid out along the edge of the slab with what seemed like meticulous precision.

 

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In one corner, a pile of carbonized bodies lay on top of each other indiscriminately. Rianne did not count, but they were.. numerous.

 

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Perhaps most ominous of all was the strange looking, dried up corpse neatly laid out on another slab. The matter was settled, Rianne thought. This is necromancy. Necromancy! Not more than a few blocks away from the Blue Palace itself!

 

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She looked to her companions. Fae turned and retched – seeing her Fae like that made Rianne even angrier. Tauron, ever stoic, seemed visibly disturbed.

 

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Rianne paused for a few moments. She was.. unsure of what to even say. She eventually turned to leave. “I’ve seen enough. Arrest the staff – inform the Magister. We have our culprit.”

 

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Stepping outside, Rianne breathed the fresh air in deeply. To say that the Magister was going to be livid would be putting it lightly. She looked up to the Blue Palace – this would have consequences.

 

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Rianne sighed. She knew full well what would happen next.

 

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]]>8728Sun, 07 Apr 2019 19:59:00 +0000A Symphony of Frost and Flame - Prologuehttps://www.loverslab.com/blogs/entry/8693-a-symphony-of-frost-and-flame-prologue/ Hi! I made a thing and decided to post it here too, Unfortunately since I'm also posting this on Nexus, there won't actually be any sexual content - I hope someone still finds it interesting! I may, in the future, add an entry or two exclusively here with stuff like that, but it would have to make sense in the context of the narrative first. I'm still terrible at formatting these blogs so bear with me.

 

Future entries will be following specific characters and we will only really be seeing and hearing what they do and listening to their thoughts, this will also make it more personal rather than the high-level situation presented here. For an introduction however, I felt it was necessary to set the scene. 

 

Future entries might also be a bit shorter (Edit from the future:  SHE'S A LIAR, BEWARE!), since this one quickly got out of control as far as the number of images goes. We'll see. I haven't done this before, so I'm still figuring it out \o/

 

Contents:

ACT I

Prologue (You are here!)

Rianne I

Lilith I

Faielle I

Jon I

 

PART I

Spoiler

The 201st year of the Fourth Era is drawing to a close - and the Imperial Province of Skyrim remains locked in its devastating civil war.

 

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Men? Men are violent, short-lived creatures.

 

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Ephemeral. They come and go as the seasons.

 

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They think the world revolves around their squabbles – this patch of dirt here, that feud there - children, blindly fumbling through a
world they barely understand.

 

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We are as a year to their hour, a decade to their day. We, endure.

 

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The previous winter proved difficult for the Empire.

 

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Most of the farmers of Skyrim were recruited by their respective lordlings to fight their petty civil war for them. Imperial leadership
has utterly failed to stamp out this rebellion.

 

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This year will be different.

 

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We will be taking a different approach. A change that is long overdue. One that will end the war.

 

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Of course, the ensuing famine is a separate matter, of little import to us. Between the Dragon Crisis and the Civil War, the harvest of 201 has failed.  Those who were not drafted were slaughtered by raiding parties...

 

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Or worse things...

 

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As per the White-Gold Concordat, agents of the Aldmeri Dominion have been empowered to hunt down Talos Worshipers across the Empire.

 

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Our representatives here in Skyrim have been taking this task very seriously – symbols are important, and they shall not have this one.

 

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This aspect of the faith must be stamped out, lest they end up considering themselves our equals. Preposterous.

 

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Talos is not a god.

 

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He was a human. And he is long dead.

 

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We are not "killing" him.

 

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We are merely lighting his funeral pyre.

 

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There is, however, much more to our operations than hunting down would-be heretics. Humans are nothing if not adaptable. Our mere presence alongside the Imperial Legion legitimizes us. If the humans get used to seeing  the White Eagle as a symbol of authority, they will be all the easier to control following their inevitable conquest.

 

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Moreover, Alinor is interested in a number of ruins in the province, particularly those of Dwemer origin.

 

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Any potential artifacts must be secured lest they fall into the hands of the Imperials – or even worse foes.

 

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With the winter snows thawing, the Aldmeri Dominion and their Imperial ‘allies’ are renewing their efforts to crush the Stormcloak rebellion. A new Elven regiment, a hundred strong, will be marching into the province this Spring. Perhaps most noteworthy among the newly arriving officers is Justicar Rianne.

 

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She is being transferred from Alinor itself, at her personal request, apparently.

 

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The humans have forgotten what a real army looks like – it has been thirty years since they’ve seen one, after all.

 

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We will be giving them another lesson. One that they'll remember, this time.

 

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Aldmeri Soldiers are loyal. They do not retreat - and they would sooner fall on their own swords than consider something as dishonorable as rebellion.

 

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As for the Justicar - I am vaguely familiar with her –she was one of the youngest Aldmeri soldiers to fight in the Great War, in part due to her family’s misfortunes with the new regime. Her House name remains somewhat controversial in Alinor – I suppose she is here to prove her loyalty. With this Civil War dragging on interminably due to human incompetence, there would be no shortage of opportunity.

 

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There is one other matter. The Dragonborn. Our spies have lost track of the man during the Winter - a shameful failure. From what we've managed to piece together, the confrontation with the so called "World Eater" changed him somehow, we are sorely lacking in details.

 

A number of his associates have been apprehended and interrogated by our intelligence officers. None of them were familiar with his plans or his current whereabouts. The subjects failed to survive interrogation.

 

Other known supporters, including an alleged love interest, remain at large. 

 

To the best of our knowledge, he is no longer in the province. This is ideal for us, as he was a wildcard wholly outside our control. Ideally, he will never return.

 

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Following his failure to end the Civil War before winter, General Tullius has been relieved of command this spring. Rumors have it the man suffered a mental breakdown after a second foiled attempt at Ulfric’s life - his officers have allegedly been running everything ever since. They are so fragile.

 

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His replacement, a certain Varus Laecinnius, seems more interested in political manoeuvres than military ones. And yet, he will suit our purposes just fine.

 

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Varus is the son of an elder statesman from the Imperial City. Quintus Laecinnius was one of the architects of the peace treaty 30
years prior and a known sympathizer of Alinor – apparently, some men DO know their place.

 

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A swift victory in Skyrim for young Varus would not only raise him to stardom within the Imperial Legion...

 

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But doing so alongside us would grant his father’s faction even more political clout – with his cooperation, we can further pursue the Empire’s integration into the Dominion. There will be no Second Great War – their conquest will be a peaceful one.

 

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To this end, Aldmeri and Imperial Officers will be working together, something that has not happened since the Oblivion Crisis, two centuries ago.

 

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The council of weak-kneed fools steering the Empire to its demise after the Emperor's death may not realize this, but the arrangement benefits us far more than it does them. The mere fact that the Men would accept this deal denotes their desperation. Their Empire is crumbling. We are here to help it do just that.

 

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Things will return to the way they used to be – the way they SHOULD be. One Nation. Under Mer.

 

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The White City will not tolerate another Hammerfell. Our victory will be swift. We will prove the superiority of Mer by solving the Empire’s problems for them. We will end the Civil War. We will kill Jarl Stormcloak.

 

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And then? Then we will pick their country clean of any magical artifacts of note – and leave them to squabble among themselves in these grey wastes they call home.

 

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Alinor Aeternum.

- Magister Talandil, Commander of the Thalmor Expedition in Skyrim

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PART II

Spoiler

Marcus put the journal down and sighed as he slumped back into his chair, he had spent hours translating the flowery Elven tongue and
found that most of it was just more of the Magister’s inane ramblings rather than anything relevant. The whole thing made for an exhausting read.

He made a mental note to complain to his handler about the quality of recent interceptions – this was not the first time Imperial Intelligence had acquired journal entries or missives belonging to the Thalmor Commander and as the best translator the spy network had in the province, he was saddled with all of them.

 

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And yet, he was happy enough with his assignment to Whiterun. Jarl Balgruuf has been maintaining a staunchly neutral stance throughout the war. There were few safer places for his family than within the city walls. The province was burning - but they - they were safe.

 

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“I’m going out for a walk, dear.” He embraced Aurelia as they shared a short kiss.

 

 

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She frowned lightly and shook her head “A walk? Like, a normal one?”

 

Aurelia seemed unconvinced – she was well aware of his occupation, and the dangers it entailed. In the past, her overbearing nature had been frustrating, but he’d since grown to appreciate how much she cared.

 

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“Yes, really. I just need some fresh air after all that work – dreary stuff, truly.” She accepted his explanation, but seemed worried nonetheless – as usual.

 

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He turned to Antonia and lightly ruffled her hair. "Be good for your mom, little lady."

 

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The gesture always seemed to annoy her, so he always did it - he considered it his duty as a father. "Yes father..." She replied tersely.

 

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“I shan’t be long.” He gave them one more glance before walking towards the door. "Don’t tarry, I’m preparing dinner. Besides, it’s already dark.” His wife answered, ever concerned.

 

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Marcus always seemed to enjoy walks at night - perhaps this was due to the nature of his job, or perhaps his job came as a result of his preference for the dark.

 

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He sighed as he looked over the battlements. The evening air was quite cool, though with the end of Sun’s Dawn being close, he expected the weather to turn with the coming of Spring.

 

The elves the Magister mentioned would likely be coming through within the next week or two - he may be able to catch a glimpse of them. This year, the war would surely end, he had planned to return home to Cyrodiil - perhaps even retire from active duty with Imperial Intelligence entirely. It had been an exciting tour, but worry for his family weighed too heavily on his mind these days.

 

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He felt guilty for voicing his complaints – after all, many of his friends in the service risked their lives daily spying on Elves, Stormcloaks and the like. They were in constant, mortal danger. The worst he had to deal with were Talendil's interminable rants on Elven superiority. A small burden to carry, compared to the others.

 

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Suddenly, Marcus felt a hand tightly grip his mouth, the assailant pushed him against the battlement. “Don’t steal from your betters, Spy.”, the dark voice said.

 

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The voice’s accent was queer, but he had no time to place it – he felt the dagger plunge into his side, like a piece of ice. Again. And again. And again. As his knees were starting to give in, the shadowy figure, with some difficulty, hoisted and pushed him over the edge.

 

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Marcus’ mind raced as he fell. He thought of Aurelia and Antonia and how he had endangered them. How all of this was his fault.

 

The bastard likely knew where he lived, he probably knew about all the documents stashed away in his desk. The assassin did not consider that the key was on him, or perhaps he did not care. If he dared touch them...

 

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A feeling of helplessness washed over him. He would not be there to protect them. He briefly considered the irony of the situation - he had grown so accustomed to safely moving about in the dark, either for work or pleasure, that it did not even cross his mind that someone lurking out there would seek to harm him. Aurelia was right all along, more than he cared to admit. He had let his guard down. Just once. And it was enough.

 

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Would they be safe? Perhaps the assassin only needed him... Perhaps...

 

Marcus did not have long to consider these questions. The landing would break his neck.

 

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