The Guest

by Skye Windbinder

Artaris, the last known Dragonborn and infamous leader of Skyrim's Thieves Guild, has invited a reluctant special guest to his hideout to have a "friendly chat". The guest is stubborn and almost as arrogant as Artaris himself, but the larcenous high elf is determined to get his point across to the posturing self-important man before their exchange is through. (One-shot)

"Here he is, lad. The special guest you requested."

Artaris looked up from the documents he had been reading and saw Brynjolf and Rune striding towards his desk. Between them walked another person; the "guest" he had ordered his subordinates to collect and bring to him. Although it was clear to everyone present that the Nord was hardly there of his own volition. His hands were bound tightly with rope behind his back. A cloth blindfold was tied around the top half of his head while another cloth was tied around the bottom half, effectively gagging him. Brynjolf and Rune each held one of his arms in a secure grip with one of their hands while firmly grasping the hair on the back of his head with their other. Artaris took an instant to look away from the captive and briefly scan the cistern, taking in the surprised expressions of all his other subordinates at the hideout. They were all silent as they watched two of their comrades half walk, half drag the unfortunate prisoner across the floor to meet their boss. Even Cynric, who was usually and often the biggest loudmouth in the gang, was silent as a statue. Artaris allowed himself a small smile, understanding the astonished air being given off by his henchmen. After all, this was a special guest indeed.

"Well done, Brynjolf," Artaris addressed his second-in-command as he gestured to a wooden chair in front of his desk. "Seat him here, please." Artaris watched as his men promptly and roughly ushered the reluctant visitor over to the seat and sat him down. The Nord grunted and mumbled something illegible though his gag that sounded like it might have been a rude curse at his captors. Artaris smiled again. As a high elf, he had been many times on the receiving end of the scorn of the natives of Skyrim. Nords were a proud and highly nationalistic (even borderline racist) people. They didn't much care for anyone who wasn't a human, or even humans who weren't Nords, and they had no problem letting foreigners visiting their homeland know that on a daily basis. They especially held a huge grudge against elves, whom they often battled with since the days of distant past. And Artaris was pretty sure that the Aldmeri Dominion's forced treaty with the Empire making it a crime to worship their patron deity Talos wasn't doing much to soften the Nords' attitudes towards elves, especially Altmer like himself. So he had become quite used to suffering their scornful looks and backhanded insults. In fact, so familiar was he with the belligerence of Nords that he knew an angry gibe from one when he heard it, even if the words themselves were being effectively obscured by a gag. Artaris also knew this specific Nord to be notorious for his barely respectful treatment of non-Nords in his hometown, and he was eager to see the look on his visitor's face when he discovered his kidnapper was an elf.

"Rune," Artaris said, his grin widening, "remove his blindfold and gag."

Rune seemed alarmed at the request. "You sure? I mean, suppose he..."

"Don't worry," Artaris replied with a wave of his hand. "I'm sure this man knows what sort of situation he's in. I doubt even he would be that stupid." Without another word, Rune walked over and complied with his request. Artaris sat there and drank in the baleful expression of the Nord prisoner for a few seconds as they stared silently at each other. Finally, in a polite voice he spoke.

"Greetings, Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, and welcome to the Thieves Guild."

The Nord didn't respond to Artaris' greeting and for a few more seconds man and mer eyed each other across the desk, both studying each other's expressions and trying not to give away too much with their own. Finally, Artaris spoke again. "Well, I wish I could say it was an honor to meet you, but you know that would be a lie, and I know you know that would be a lie, so let's skip the pointless posturing and get straight to the point." The smile suddenly left Artaris' face and he leaned forward with his hands folded on his desk. "Why did you have your men attack me?"

Although Ulfric remained silent, Artaris noticed the Jarl's eyes shift ever so slightly, betraying his nervousness to his sharp-eyed interrogator. He decided to press Ulfric, amping up his own aggressiveness in order to try and coax a reaction out of his angry captive. "What's the matter, friend? Alfiq got your tongue?" he asked with an edge of steel in his voice. "If you're trying to play dumb, which I've no doubt is an art you're remarkably skilled in, I'm afraid it won't work on me." He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "Two weeks ago, while on my way back to Riften, I was ambushed and surrounded by a troop of Stormcloak soldiers. One of them declared that if I did not surrender my weapons and go with them peacefully, they would attack me with intent to kill. I certainly had no intentions of surrendering my freedom to anyone, let alone the delusional cavemen you call your soldiers, and so I let them know that if they did attack me I would fight back, and I would spare them no quarter. Of course they weren't very pleased with my answer. They all rushed me, intending to make good on their threat, which unfortunately for them, forced me to make good on mine." Artaris held up the slip of paper in his hand. "Afterwards, while I was searching their corpses for any gold or valuables, I happened to find this note tucked away in one of their pockets. Let's read it together, shall we?" He unfolded the paper and began to read it aloud:

"Elite Stormcloak Platoon #7,

You have been issued an assignment of the highest priority. Your mission is to locate and seize the high elf Artaris, leader of Riften's infamous Thieves Guild. Please note that it is imperative this mission be conducted in secrecy. If you are caught by guards or Imperial soldiers, the Stormcloak army will disavow any knowledge of your actions. Please also note that the target is confirmed to be Dragonborn, and therefore must be approached and handled with great caution. If the target resists capture, he is to be terminated swiftly and with extreme prejudice. Your mission begins immediately. Talos guide you.

-Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm."

Artaris folded the paper back up and casually plopped it on his desk. He raised an eyebrow as he met Ulfric's vehement glare. "Now why on Nirn would the esteemed Jarl of Windhelm send his soldiers after little ol' me?" he said as he studied Ulfric's expression. "I must confess, I'm curious to know what fate would have befallen me had I acquiesced to the demands of your misguided minions. Is it too much to ask to be privy to your machinations regarding myself?"

Ulfric was silent for a few more seconds before he finally growled in a deep voice full of contempt, "You know, I could easily just shout you into Oblivion right now." At that statement, every member of the Thieves Guild that was present in the cistern drew their weapons, but Artaris merely held up a hand, silently telling them all to relax. His smile returned to his face.

"Jarl, I'm the gods-damned Dragonborn," Artaris said calmly, his voice brimming with confidence. "I've shrugged off shouts from draugr deathlords more powerful and threatening than you could ever hope to be in your wildest dreams, and even the power of their shouts are dwarfed in comparison to my own. Thinking that your pitiful, barely-trained thu'um would manage to do much more than mildly tickle me might be expecting a bit too much. At worst, you might mess up my hair. And while that would be slightly annoying, I'm one hundred percent certain you'd come out much worse in the situation." He waved his hand, gesturing to his guild-mates in the hideout. "So far I've been able to dictate calm and order from my people while I tend to matters with you. However, I can't guarantee that calm will remain if you start throwing your voice around. Especially from Vex, who I'm fairly certain can traverse this floor and slit your throat before you finish saying the words 'Ro Dah'."

"And I'd do it, too," Vex said in a dark voice as she smiled maliciously at the captive Jarl. "I don't like his face. Reminds me of an ex-boyfriend of mine."

Ulfric sneered as he continued glaring at Artaris. "You high elves love being in charge of others, don't you?" the angry Jarl said in a chilly voice. "I'll bet you squirted your milk all over your undergarments when you became the master of this den of snakes."

Artaris shrugged. "Well I won't deny, I am the leader of a rather motley crew of degenerates," he said as his grin widened. "Then again, given the fact that you're the leader of a barely-organized rebellion full of uneducated barbarians, I wouldn't say you've a lot of room to judge." Much to Artaris' delight, that enraged the already angry Jarl.

"You watch your filthy mouth, elf!" Ulfric yelled. "The men and women you speak of are the true sons and daughters of Skyrim, every one of them brave and true. And I won't have my people's honor besmirched by knife-eared garbage like you!"

"Your people?" Artaris replied with a smirk. "I wonder, would that encompass all Nords? Or just the ones who would rather kiss your ass than the Emperor's? But enough digressing. I do believe I asked you a question: Why did you order your men to attack me?"

Ulfric's lip curled in scorn. "I don't recall saying I'd answer any of your questions, elf," he said.

"Well you might consider doing so," Artaris countered in a calm voice. "Unless you think General Tullius would make a better conversationalist."

"Oh, so that's your game, is it?" Ulfric said with understanding. "Answer your questions and do as you say, or else you'll turn me over to the Legion? Hmph, figures. It's not like I expected honorable tactics coming from the likes of you. Fine, then. I'll answer your question, elf." He drew a sharp breath before continuing on, speaking through his teeth. "The reason I had my men approach you, was because I was trying to offer you a job. Perhaps I'm an utter fool for even thinking so, but I figured you might want to join my cause and play a part in the liberation of Skyrim from the tyranny of the Empire. After all, as you've already said, you are the gods-damned Dragonborn, so I thought you might consider using your Talos-given gift for something a bit more noble than picking pockets and snatching coin purses from old women."

Artaris sat silently for a few seconds with his elbows on his desk and his fingers laced together under his chin as he considered Ulfric's words. Suddenly his lips began to stretch into a smug grin. "Ah, yes. I think I fully understand what this is all about," he said knowingly. "You're afraid of me. How quaint."

Ulfric narrowed his eyes. "What are you on about, elf?" he snapped angrily. "I don't know what delusions you have cooking between those pointy ears of yours, but I assure you that you do not have the honor of being on the very small list of things I happen to be afraid of."

"Oh, I beg to differ Jarl," Artaris countered, his amber colored eyes gleaming with a mischievous light. "Contrary to your prideful words, I believe my very presence in Skyrim has you shaking in your little rebel boots. And since your tongue is no doubt ready to loose yet another volley of denials and insults, allow me to save you the trouble and explain to you, and everyone else here, why I know you fear me." Artaris leaned back in his seat and propped his legs up on top of his desk, casually crossing one leg over the other. "The band of ignorant rabble that you call your army, Jarl Ulfric, is barely managing to survive on the edge of a very sharp blade. You are outmanned, outmatched, and, when compared to your enemy, hopelessly underpowered. The Imperials you face in Skyrim are but a tiny branch of the massive powerhouse that is the Legion, and even so, even with the home advantage, your men are still struggling against them like a fly caught in a frostbite spider's web. To say that your cause is hopeless would be a vast understatement. Yet whatever the reason, your fledgling insurgency manages to defy all odds and continue to stand, like a house of cards built on the seat of a rocking chair."

Artaris casually cocked his head to one side as he eyed Ulfric merrily. He was clearly enjoying himself. "Now, just imagine how tragic it would be for a sudden gust of wind to blow that house of cards over. Like, oh say, the appearance of a rogue entity powerful enough to tip the scales in favor of either side of your little civil war. It must have been quite a shock to you when you found out that an honest to goodness Dragonborn had appeared in this day and age, the first known to exist since your precious so-called 'god' Talos roamed the lands of Tamriel as Tiber Septim. It was probably an even bigger shock finding out that this new Dragonborn happened to be an Altmer, of all races." Artaris sat up to his desk and laced his fingers under his chin again, grinning from pointy ear to pointy ear. "But what must have truly worried you was the notion of a Dovahkiin existing somewhere in Skyrim that wasn't under your direct control. After all, anyone who doesn't work for you today could quite possibly become someone who works for the Empire tomorrow. And the last thing you'd want to hear is that the latest incarnation of Ysmir himself had joined forces with your sworn enemies. Why, just think what a terrible blow that would be to the morale of your men! Not to mention it would add a powerful trump card to General Tullius' arsenal. One that you could ill-afford him to have." Artaris' mischievous smile quickly vanished and the aggressive steely edge crept back into his voice as he continued to speak. "That is why you sent your men after me, isn't it? Because if I'm not a member of your idiotic rebellion, you see me as a possible threat to it. So you sent your thugs to either kill me or kidnap me and bring me before you so you can... convince me to join your ranks. Or, if I insist on refusing, make sure that I never saw the light of another day. Because if you can't have me as your pawn, you mean to make damn well sure the Empire won't either."

A few seconds of silence that seemed to last an eternity fell over the cistern like a shroud as Artaris and Jarl Ulfric glared at each other, the expressions of pure disdain on the faces of the man and the mer mirroring each other. The other members of the Thieves Guild watched them both silently, observing the tension between their leader and the Jarl crackling like bolts of electricity. They knew that soon enough one of them would break the silence.

They were right.

"Fus Ro DAH!" Ulfric suddenly bellowed, yelling out the words for the deadly Unrelenting Force shout. The magical power behind the verbal assault in the ancient language of dragons slammed directly into Artaris and the area around him. The raw power of the shout knocked everything backwards off of Artaris' desk and slammed the wooden shelf behind Artaris into the stone wall behind it. The highly valuable stolen treasures that were on the shelf were knocked off and widely scattered on the floor while the shelf itself shattered in half and fell to the ground. Even the wall itself was affected; small cracks appeared in the stone where it had been most exposed to Ulfric's shout. Only one thing appeared to have not been phased by being in the path of the onslaught of Ulfric's thu'um.

Artaris sat there behind his desk with his fingers still laced under his chin, looking at Ulfric with an expression that was a mixture between smug amusement and boredom. The power of Ulfric's shout hadn't affected him at all. Not even a strand of his dark shoulder-length hair was out of place. He was unharmed, unmoved, and, much to Ulfric's chagrin, completely unimpressed. He raised an eyebrow, clearly stating without words how futile it was for Ulfric to even try harming him with his thu'um. Despite his aloofness at Ulfric's display, he did cherish the look of poorly-concealed surprise and fury on Ulfric's face that some lowly Altmer thief could shrug off his shout as if it were nothing. To rub it in further, Artaris turned away from Ulfric and casually started brushing off his shoulders, as if a sudden small gust of wind had blown pollen or dandruff onto his clothes. Clearly the ignorant Nord had no idea who he was dealing with. Artaris swore that after today he would, and that he'd never forget. Suddenly, he caught a fast streak of movement out of the corner of his eye.

"Vex, hold," Artaris commanded. Just in time. He looked up and saw Vex had grabbed Ulfric by his hair and was pulling his head back, exposing his throat. A tiny stream of blood was trickling down Ulfric's neck, originating from the sharp edge of the ebony dagger Vex was holding against his Adam's apple. "There are more words I would yet share with our esteemed guest. Relax, I have things under control. The Jarl hasn't done anything that I didn't already know he was going to do."

Vex seemed to consider her boss' words for a couple of seconds before she roughly released the back of Ulfric's head and stalked away. "Fine, your call," she grumbled. "But if he tries anymore shit like that again, I'm gonna cut a smile across his filthy neck." Artaris had to make a conscious effort not to smile. As members of the Thieves Guild, he and his comrades fully embraced the strict 'no-kill' policy their operation lived by. Even during the days when the guild was presided over by its ruthless and treacherous former guild master Mercer Frey, who had relegated the rule from a policy to a mere option, most of the guild members still stuck with the all-important non-written rule of never shedding blood unless in self-defense. Which suited Artaris just fine. Since his childhood days as a budding thief, he himself had always had a strict personal policy against killing people. As far as he was concerned, no trinket or bauble, regardless of how valuable, was worth someone's life. Only bandits and assassins put monetary value on a person's life, and Artaris was determined to be nothing like either one. He may be a criminal, but he is not a murderer. Thankfully, his guild mates felt the same way. It would take a lot to get them to even agree with the idea of killing someone. Which made it all the more gratifying to see Vex so ready and willing to make Ulfric's blood spray. Indeed, there were very few things that a true member of the Thieves Guild was willing to kill somebody over. Threatening their leader was apparently one of those things. In fact, Artaris quickly noticed that all his subordinates were angrily brandishing their weapons at that point, ready to mete out some deadly justice on the Jarl that had just tried to hurt their guild master.

"You... knew he was going to do that all along?" Niruin asked nervously as he eyed Ulfric sharply from across the room. He was holding his Elven bow at his waist with a steel arrow nocked and ready in its string.

"Of course," Artaris replied to the Bosmer calmly. "Why do you think I had him seated so he was facing me alone?" He then turned to face Ulfric again. There was no longer even a hint of his mischievous demeanor from earlier. His face was now a menacing mask of intimidation. His eyes were focused, sharp and cold and his mouth was set in a small, straight line. His very facial expression had become a wordless threat. A weighty silence filled the cistern. Everyone's eyes were on Artaris, while his eyes were on Ulfric. And Ulfric, despite his best efforts, looked nervous. Although he continued to glare back at Artaris with a proud and defiant expression on his face, his shoulders did seem to ever-so-slightly shrink back into his chair. Probably wondering if he'd finally pressed his luck too far, Artaris thought as he suppressed another grin. Time to have a little fun. Artaris stood up behind his desk as he continued to look down at Ulfric, like a hungry falcon eyeing a plump rabbit. He slowly bent over and placed his palms on the face of his desk and leaned forward slightly as if he were about to say something to the angry Jarl. A couple of more seconds went by before he parted his lips and gently whispered a single word.

"Fus."

Before the word had fully escaped Artaris' lips, Ulfric's head jerked forward as he was suddenly and violently thrown back by the unseen force of Artaris' quiet thu'um. With the velocity of one who had been backhanded by an angry giant, he and the chair he was sitting on flew backwards and slammed hard into the stone wall on the other side of the cistern. The chair splintered into pieces and Ulfric fell to the ground, the side of his face slamming so hard against the stone floor that he actually slightly bounced once. For a few seconds Ulfric lay still on the floor and Artaris wondered if he was still conscious. He then heard Ulfric groan loudly as he began to stir. The corner of Artaris' lips lifted marginally as he watched the Jarl gingerly trying to pull his knees up under himself so he could raise his body to a kneeling position. It was gratifying to see the haughty Nord's pride taken down a peg. Even more gratifying than that was the sound of laughter that echoed throughout the cistern as his comrades took merriment in the marring of Ulfric's dignity. But as satisfying as it was, Artaris still had a point to get across to Ulfric and he was determined to make sure the prideful Jarl understood it. With a small wave of his hand he quieted the room as he casually strode across the floor to where Ulfric was kneeling. When he reached Ulfric he squatted down right in front of him and looked him square in the eyes.

"Jarl," Artaris began in a voice that was chillingly quiet, "listen and listen well. I fully understand that you think yourself to be the most important man on Nirn. I know that you fancy yourself the only one worthy of being High King of Skyrim. And I'm also aware that your followers believe you to be their last hope for winning their independence from the Empire and restoring the patronage of their god. However, what you must understand is this: I honestly don't give a shit. I don't give a shit about which side wins or loses this little 'war of brothers' that you've started, I don't give a shit whether or not you are free to worship Talos, I don't give a shit who becomes the next High King, and I don't give a shit how many of your people you're willing to strong-arm and butcher in order to realize your ambitions. None of that is my concern. My interests in Skyrim begin and end with how much money I can con and steal from her people. I'm not a soldier, a patriot, or a freedom fighter. I'm a thief, plain and simple. I'd sooner rob you of all you own than bend my knee to you or anyone else's cause."

Ulfric sneered. "That's not surprising," he said with contempt, still looking slightly dazed from hitting his head on the floor. "I don't know why I thought someone like you might want to be anything more than a low-life sewer pirate."

Artaris nodded. "I'm glad we understand each other," he said, his voice still polite yet retaining its cold edge. "With that said, I must make something else clear to you. If you ever again make a move against me or anyone else in my guild, I may have to rethink my no-kill policy. And trust me Jarl, you don't want that. I've had to rescind that policy only one since I've been in the guild, and that was when I had to deal with our former guild master. No one will ever find his body, and I guarantee that if I have to deal with you in a similar fashion, no one will ever find yours either. I do hope I've made myself clear, because you'll not receive the courtesy of a second warning."

With that said, Artaris stood up and hovered over Ulfric, looking down at him with cold disdain. Without taking his eyes off of the Jarl he raised his right hand and signaled to Sapphire, who came sauntering over. Ulfric looked up at her with hatred as she stopped just at his flank. It was obvious that by now Ulfric had had more than his fill of the Thieves Guild. "Yet another one of the high elf's dogs," Ulfric growled in a surly voice. "What do you want, bitch?" Sapphire merely bent down and looked at Ulfric, smiling in his face. She seemed as if she was about to say something, but instead made a swift jabbing motion with her hand at Ulfric's arm. Ulfric winced with pain and looked down with alarm at his now bleeding bicep.

"What did you just stick me with, you larcenous whore?," Ulfric spat at Sapphire in an elevated voice full of wrath and devoid of any level of tolerance or patience.

"Pipe down, Chief," Sapphire countered with a smirk. "I just gave you a little something to make you relax. You can thank me later. It's also guaranteed to make you shut up for a while. Thank the Nine for that." Ulfric looked for a second like he was about to spit out an angry retort, but then fell silent as he suddenly started slightly swaying back and forth. His eyelids grew heavy and he began to nod and jerk his head up, like a drowsy toddler defiantly fighting the urge to fall asleep at nap time. After a few more seconds he could resist the effects of Sapphire's sleep dart no more, and once again he fell forward flat on his face. Artaris nodded with satisfaction when he heard the Jarl begin to snore.

"That should just about do it," Artaris said as he turned to address his henchmen. "Brynjolf, Rune, I believe Jarl Ulfric is ready to go home. Do escort him back to Windhelm for me, won't you? And don't forget to give him the honored treatment I proposed."

Brynjolf smiled. "As you say, lad," he replied. "Though I have to say, this is gonna have him pissed off for many a moon to come."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Artaris replied with a devilish grin. He watched Brynjolf and Rune drag the sleeping Jarl off to the training room, a mischievous light dancing in his eyes. As per his orders, Ulfric would be stripped of all his clothes, including even his undergarments, and then tightly bound and gagged. He would then be placed inside a large narrow rectangular crate which would be sealed, and then Brynjolf and Rune, under the guise of delivery men, would cart it to Windhelm. Once inside the city they would carry the crate to one of its narrow alleyways where, after making sure the coast was clear, they would pry it open. By Sapphire's calculations, Ulfric should be just waking up by then, so he'll be suitably livid when his bound and naked body is dumped unceremoniously on the cold and snowy ground. Artaris also ordered that his feet remain unbound so Ulfric could at least walk to a guard and receive help, as he didn't want the Nord Jarl to freeze to death. By the time Ulfric managed to make it to a guard though, Brynjolf and Rune will have easily hightailed it out of the city and beyond the reach of Ulfric's wrath. It was the perfect way to show mercy while still getting a strong message across to the prideful Jarl and his minions. Of course, it might just serve to piss Ulfric off to the point of wanting to retaliate, and have the unpleasant side effect of gaining a powerful enemy for himself and his guild that he never wanted.

After a few more seconds of mulling over this thought, Artaris shrugged his shoulders and walked off whistling a merry tune. He was hardly worried about it. Artaris was not without many plans and resources, and he knew at least a dozen ways his organization could cripple Ulfric past the point of possible recovery. If the Jarl of Windhelm and his Stormcloak stooges truly wanted to war with the Thieves Guild, then let them bring it. It would be Ulfric Stormcloak's last stupid mistake. But that was a bridge Artaris would burn when he got to it. Right now he had other things on his mind. He walked over to where the piles of papers that Ulfric's thuum had blasted off of his desk were laying on the floor and began sifting through them. After a few seconds he finally sorted out the paper he was looking for from the rest and lifted it up, examining it for the third time that day. It was the plans for his upcoming heist of the huge storage vaults that were hidden beneath the city of Solitude. All of the vaults were under heavy protection from the city's royal guard and positively brimming with gold, jewelry and other highly valuable things that made Artaris' mouth water just thinking about them. It would be a dangerous challenge getting past the armed guards patrolling the place and making off with all that loot, but for that kind of wealth, it was a hazard Artaris was more than willing to face.

A twinkle entered his eye and he began to smile.