The Third’s story is rather unfortunate. Sold into slavery in order to settle her father’s debts, she heard she had a sister, but never met her. Her master was cruel. He forced her to walk around nude, and in doing so she gained his wife’s ire. Both master and madam would beat her for the simplest of errors. Slightly folded the shirts incorrectly? Beating. Took half a second longer than they expected to deliver something to either of them? Beating. Clothes weren’t washed the way they wanted them to be on a particular day when they didn’t tell her? Beating. Helped her master get a great deal on a cattle by correcting him when he got his quantities wrong? Beating. Didn’t pleasure the master to his standard be it too much or too little? Beating. Pleasured the master at all? Beating. Walking around naked? Beating. Being alive? Beating.

 

 

Each day was a battle. Each day she had to force herself to perfection, to read their minds, to numb herself and act dumber and dumber as to make herself beneath them. But she knew she wasn’t. She had to remember that. Once she forgot, and she couldn’t believe the things she had done… but that is for another time.

 

It was early morning, a Turdas, when everything went to Oblivion. The lady of the house had come in smelling of booze and sex. She took a look at Niyleen and turned her nose up. “You dare look me in the eye girl?”

 

Niyleen looked away immediately. “N-n-no ma’am. I-I’d never do t-that.” Niyleen could never read Lady Silvercloak, never knew how beneath her she had to act. Dialing it up usually did more harm than good, but acting too proud was always a bad idea.

 

“Did I give you permission to speak!” Not enough. Needed a little more cowardice, but too much and it’d be unnatural. Damn her. Lady Silvercloak eyed Niyleen angrily. “Have you told Olmgurd?”

 

 

 

 

 

Niyleen shook her head. She had wanted to, hundreds of times, but she knew it would only do more harm than good. Master Silvercloak wouldn’t have believed her and would have beaten her remorselessly until he was satisfied. Then the issue would simmer until Lady Silvercloak did something, anything to irk him. Master would then confront her, and of course Lady Silvercloak would deny it but that wouldn’t be the end of it. He would probably smack her a few times, and even though she deserved it, it was not worth the eventual thrashing that would fall upon Niyleen. So no, she didn’t tell Master that his benevolent, loving, faithful wife was cheating on him with his best friend Jorrr the Honest.

 

Lady Silvercloak rolled her eyes. “Play these games girl. See how much longer you’ll live in this house.”

 

It was her usual threat. Niyleen knew the Lady wanted her dead. She said it like that so people would think she meant her husband’s house rather than Tamriel itself. Niyleen opened her mouth to speak, but thought twice.

 

“Oh please, don’t hold your tongue on my account.”

 

“If I have your blessing,” Niyleen said. Lady Silvercloak nodded. “I was just wondering how you would like your morning tea? Green or perhaps black.” (What am I doing…) She knew the Lady loved white tea. She knew she was going to say white tea.

 

And she knew that it might take a second, but Lady Silvercloak would certainly understand the meaning behind Niyleen’s words. With a quickness that should have belonged to a woman half her age, Lady Silvercloak slapped Niyleen so hard that it brought her to her knees. It wasn’t actually the power behind it, but the suddenness that had stunned Niyleen and made her knees go weak. “I won’t have any back talk to me you ungrateful wretch! Now go make my tea before I give you something to cry about.” She then went about her business elsewhere in the house.

 

(What is she talking about? I’m not—) Tears fall down Niyleen’s cheeks and she couldn’t control them. She felt nothing, not the slap, not angry, sad, nothing. And yet they just kept coming. (Why is this happening to me? Why was I born? I wish… I wish…!) Master’s dog Oswin came up to her, and she wiped her eyes feeling ashamed of showing him such a sight. (I’m deferring to a dog now… I can’t keep this up.)

 

Oswin barked and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. He had bitten her when she first arrived here so long ago and since then their relationship had gotten better, but there was just something about him that just terrified her.

 

 

 

“What is it boy? Has mean old Lady Silvercloak been kicking you down too?” Oswin whimpered and Niyleen rubbed his fur. “There there. It’ll be alright. One of these days, my wish will be granted and then Oswin… me and you are going to get out of here. We’ll have a huge house, and I’ll even get you a harem. You heard me. Your own personal doggy harem. It’ll be grand… grand….” (And it’ll never happen.)

 

(What is it you desire mortal?) a voice said suddenly.

 

I want to be free. I want a higher station in life. Niyleen had desires for sure but had never vocalized them before. She felt that once they were vocalized, someone would go to no end to make sure they never blossomed. She knew that voice. It had been taunting her for years now. She thought it was just her imagination, but today she was certain that there was more than a realness in that voice. “I… I want…” She couldn’t. (What if this is all a ploy by Lady Silvercloak? I won’t allow—)

(Freedom and influence? I can make sure that happens. All you have to do is…)

 

It was simple, clever, and efficient. Even if it didn’t go just as planned, at least one of her dreams would be fulfilled, if only a little.

Later that evening, the master of the house came back, sweaty, tired, and aggravated. He slamed the door and shouted angrily, “Niyleen! Sonari! Are neither of you going to greet me? Ungrateful wenc—”

Niyleen came flying down the stairs out of breath. She had dine her best to hide her scars as requested she do by Lord Silvercloak, but looked haggardly and was trembling furiously. She knelt before him, as trained. “Lady… L-L-Lady…. LADY!”

 

“Speak girl! What happened to my wife?”

 

Niyleen grabbed his hand and ushered him up the stairs and into his bedroom. There they saw what made Niyleen act like this. Lady Silvercloak and Jorrr the Honest were in his bed, blood splattered everywhere. Niyleen handed her Master a note and when he read it, his knees buckled and he wept. Niyleen may have acted dumb, but that didn’t mean she was illiterate. She had read the letter:

 

I am sorry husband. Overcome with grief at my own weakness, I couldn’t help myself. I was jealous of your whore, of your slave. You seemed happy with her, and offered me none of it. You spent more time with her than you did me, your wife! It corrupted me, angered me, changed me. And eventually it tainted me. I needed love, caring, I needed someone to need me, to want for me, and so I looked outward of this house that brought me only pain. I looked to Jorrr. At first he refused. If he hadn’t this may have never happened, but eventually he gave in. Men can only deny women for so long. I am so sorry Olmgurd, my love. I couldn’t continue to shame you this way. I couldn’t bear the pain any longer. So farewell Olmgurd. As I am with Jorrr, may you be with your whore. In life, and the after.

 

~Sonari

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“S-she would never… Jorrr wouldn’t…” Olmgurd looked up at Niyleen. His eyes pleading with her to tell him it was a lie.

 

But she could only look away.

 

A giant sob overcame Olmgurd and it took him quite a while to get himself together. When he finally did, he went over to his dresser, pulled out some papers, signed them. He then went over to another drawer, pulled out a sizable pouch that jingled. He gave them both to Niyleen. “Get out of my house. I don’t care where you go, what you do, but get out of my house now! If you don’t,” he clenched his fists tightly. “I don’t know what I may do to you… NOW GO! Before I change my mind!”

Niyleen had exited the house by the time he said house the second time. She walked far and fast, scared that Olmgurd would have a change of heart and try to murder her, but after half an hour of running with no signs of pursuit, Niyleen stopped. She took a deep breath, fell to her knees and laughed. It worked. She was free. That voice, whether or not it was real, had granted her the freedom she had always wanted. Now it was up to her what she was going to make of it. Once she got her wits about her again, she stood, bowed in the direction of the house and said, “Thanks for everything Uncle Vile.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

“Clavicus Vile? She made a deal with him?!” Niyleen couldn’t believe it. She may have been a loose follower of Julianos and even she could see how much that offer might have been tempting, but there had to be a catch. Nothing could ever go that well.

 

“She did. And she never had to face the consequences of that act until… I’ll just explain it to you.”

The Civil War had been quite profitable for Niyleen. Due to a few chance interactions with Ulfric, and some careful dealings with improbable odds, Niyleen came away with being the Jarl of Markarth, Falkreath, and Riften. Rich, powerful influential, she reigned over three holds with an iron fist and absolute authority. Sure she answered to Ulfric, the High King of Skyrim, but he could no more interfere with how she ruled her Holds as long as she paid him sizable taxes.

 

 

There was a meeting with all of the Jarls in Windhelm that day, and although she hated the cold, she wouldn’t ignore a summons from anyone with more power than she, a habit from her time enslaved. When she made it to the Palace of the Kings everyone was waiting for her and looked at her as if she had done some inconceivable feat.

“Glad you could finally make it,” Jarl Korir said. “Finally blessing us Nords with your presence.”

“My men fought for a Skyrim where Nords reigned supreme Ulfric,” Jarl Skald the Elder said. “And yet, not only have you made a Redguard—”

 

“Halfling,” Ulfric and Niyleen said simultaneously.

 

“Same wavelength,” Jarl Sorli the Builder said. “Astonishing.”

 

“Regardless,” Skald said trying to get back on topic. “I just want to know, why is that sitting at the table with us and why does it reign over more land than any of us, yourself included High-King?”

“It was war,” Niyleen said making herself feel more relaxed. “I did more for the war than any of your armies. I personally saw to it that Talius’s head was severed from his head. My troops under my command were integral and almost completely responsible for the victories at Whiterun, Markarth, and Falkreath. We took to the vanguard. Did all the hard fighting, weakened the enemies forces so that you, Skald, or that Silver-Blood the double dealing bastard could get the credit.”

“As you said, it was war,” Skald said. “The higher ups always take responsibility, good or bad of the actions of those beneath them.”

“That sure sounds good,” Niyleen said. “But the only reason the Battle of Whiterun was even close was because your men on your order didn’t deem it necessary to join up with the rest of the army until the battle was three-fourths done. I lost almost two companies worth of men due to that order, but did you ever have to claim responsibility for that call?”

 

Everyone went silent. Niyleen wasn’t the same little slave that was going to be intimidated by any of these men. She was more powerful, physically and in influence than any of these old farts and she wasn’t about to be denied what was hers.

“Jarls,” Ulfric said, his voice chilling everyone to the core. It was what attracted Niyleen to him initially. That air about him… powerful, overwhelming, and alluring. “It seems that one of us has been Touched. As I have been by Talos, one of us here has been as well.”

That was the only thing she hated about him. It was always Talos this, Talos that. The man really believed that he was blessed by Tiber Septim himself. “And you know this how,” Niyleen asked. Eyes turned to her like she had just committed some sort of blasphemy. “What? I was just saying what everyone was thinking.”

“Fair enough,” Ulfric said. “I had a vision. A dream. Talos spoke to me. Told me that someone here was given a gift by one of the Daedric Princes.

 

Niyleen’s heart tightened. She might not have known it then, but she wasn’t too ignorant now to know what had happened all those years ago. Clavicus Vile, Daedric Prince of Wishes and Bargains. He told her she would have her freedom, and she did. He said she would be richer than her wildest dream, and she was. But he never said exactly what price she would have to pay only the he would collect at a later date. Niyleen looked at her personal guard consisting of Hielda, Sevetia, and Lucari and frown. “Do you think he knows,” she whispered.

“Of course not,” the three of them said in unison.

Niyleen tilted her head to the side and they dispersed.

“What grounds do you have for this?” yelled an unlikely source… Skald the Elder.

 

“The guilty party speaks,” Jarl Vignar Gray-Mane said a smile cracking his lips.

 

“You dare?” All eyes locked onto Skald. “Y-you all can’t believe—”

“Why not,” Niyleen said. She stood unafraid of her own dealings. “You come at me, like I’m some sort of evil, when you yourself have been sleeping with the enemy. Pathetic.” She laughed haughtily and covered her mouth, something she picked up from Sonari that showed she had the upper hand.

However, it backfired. “Pathetic? Me? Then what does that say about you, trash of Molag Bal!”

 

The room fell silent. It was a baseless claim, but with how she had been treating her people…

 

“Guards,” Vignar Gray-Mane shouted. They surrounded Niyleen in an instant.

“H-High-King! You don’t believe them do you?” She was scared. Everyone started to surround her and give her sideways looks. It made no sense. Niyleen knew she had no affiliation with the Lord of Domination, but she did share ties with Clavicus Vile. Maybe this was his doing. Maybe this was the price of her freedom.

 

“I don’t know who you are,” Ulfric said. Niyleen looked into his eyes and saw that not only were his words the truth. But she could see what he meant. She was covered from head to toe in armor that wasn’t her normal Stormcloak Officer garb. There was more metal, and she no longer saw herself in his eyes either.

“NO!” she said but the voice was not hers. It was deeper, masculine, otherworldly, and filled with malice. “Damn you Clavicus Vile. She Hadn’t Matured just yet.” She looked around unsteadily as former friend and foe came to arms against her, and laughed. “So be it mortals. Let me show you why they call me the Enslaver of Mortals.”

 

* * *

 

That headache struck Niyleen again. But this time images flashed before her eyes. Heilda, the Jarls, Ulfric, Lucari… all of them dominated by her strength alone. She stood bathed in their blood and only one person filled her head: Sorerica. Niyleen gasped and the image went away. She couldn’t catch her breath, but she wanted to know, she had to know… what was that?

 

 

 

 

“Am I still telling you lies,” the Second said to Niyleen. She looked more irritated than anything.

 

After what she had just seen, Niyleen knew she wasn’t, but she still couldn’t talk. It was less that she couldn’t breathe, and more that the words wouldn’t form in her head. She didn’t know whether to ask what happened to Molag Bal, or what had happened to Niyleen herself. Why had she become Molag Bal? Was it some deal between the two Daedric Princes? It wasn’t as though Molag Bal was surprised to be there, rather he was irritated at the timing of it all.

 

“I cannot wait for you,” the Second said. “This final story may deplete the rest of the time we have, but know this, once I tell you this, you’ll see the world in a different view.”

Niyleen paused. (What did she mean by a different view?) She had questions. A multitude of them, but time was not her friend. Sucking it up so that she could hopefully gain some further insight into what is going on, Niyleen simply nodded her head.

 

“Good. Now then the First…”