[A/N] Hey, guys! Long time, no see, huh?
In any case, I'm back with another gift fic from my most recent Tumblr giveaway, for Child of Sithis. I enjoyed working with Sithia Dupre in "The Stalhrim Job" (and if you haven't read that or "Corruption of Blood", you'll probably want to read both of those before this so the events of this story make more sense), so I was pretty excited to get this prompt - in fact, I wrote so much, I've had to split it up into multiple parts!
[DISCLAIMER] I do not own The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, or anything related to it; that's Bethesda's deal, not mine (sadly). I also do not own Sithia Dupre; that grumpy little darling belongs to Child of Sithis. However, any miscellaneous OCs not found in-game belong to me.
PART I
The heels of her boots clicked on the marble floor as the elegant figure wearing the hooded black robes with gold trim that marked a Thalmor Justiciar entered the hall. The hall was beautiful — stonework so light and delicate it looked to be air, high ceilings painted with scenes from the history of the Isles and accented with gold leaf, brilliant stained-glass windows that cast the setting sun's beams over the floor — but such lavishness was expected. Nothing less would do for the audience hall of the Conclave.
Striding forward, the figure approached the dais that curved around the end of the hall and paused before it. Nine thrones stood on it, all occupied by Altmer garbed similarly to her save for the gold amulets around their necks, the pendant fashioned into a winged golden star. It matched the insignia on the black banners hanging behind them and between the windows, blocking some of the natural light from outside.
As if on a silent cue, the nine on the dais reached up and removed their hoods in unison. The figure did as well, revealing a narrow, thin-lipped face framed by pale blonde hair. The artfully applied makeup couldn't quite hide the circles under her eyes or her slightly sunken cheeks, but she stood with her back straight and shoulders thrown back, as if she were a queen.
The Altmer in the center inclined his head in respect, but his hawk-like green eyes searched her, picking out every perceived weakness. "Elenwen Saururiil. It is an honor for the Conclave to be graced with your presence once more."
Elenwen returned the gesture — one of an inferior race would fully bow, as would an Altmer of lesser status, but she was neither. "Grand Justiciar Morohtar. The honor is mine."
Morohtar smiled: but only a perfunctory, polite one.
The Altmer to his right — the Justiciar-Premier of Alinor, a thin, waspish woman with red-shadowed eyelids — did not smile. "Give us your report on the status of Operation Priesthood, Elenwen. The Conclave is eager to learn of its progress." Her tone suggested otherwise.
"Now, now, Lady Cymbaline," Morohtar chided her. "Perhaps you could summon more enthusiasm for all that Lady Elenwen has accomplished for the Dominion." He addressed Elenwen now. "Truly, Operation Priesthood is a feat of strategy."
"Will be a feat," Cymbaline said archly. "With all due respect, Grand Justiciar, what has this operation accomplished beyond draining the Dominion's coffers and depleting the ranks of our finest Justiciars?"
"For that, Lady Cymbaline, you would have to listen to the report that Lady Elenwen has brought before us," Morohtar replied coolly. "I would suggest you do so, for your own sake. Ignorance is a trait unbecoming of a superiorly bred Mer."
Cymbaline's lips tightened, but she said nothing.
Taking that as her cue to begin, Elenwen folded both of her hands behind her back. "The first phase of Operation Priesthood continues in its success. The agents planted in Anequina and Pellitine report that rumors of the return of the Void Nights are spreading, with the side benefit of increasing the loyalty of the Khajiiti in our just governance. And of course, more and more of my agents have returned to Alinor with the artifacts they were sent to recover."
"Truly?" remarked the Justiciar-Premier of Shimmerene, a dignified, older man with carefully groomed hair and a goatee as white as snow. "You are a most efficient manager, Lady Elenwen, to ensure that there were no setbacks in these recoveries."
Elenwen smiled graciously. "I thank you for your praise, Lord Ganlion, but the credit rightfully belongs to my agents. Still, there have been some stumbling points, all related to that most difficult of provinces, Skyrim."
A few of the Conclave members chuckled knowingly. Even the ends of Morohtar's mouth quirked up.
Cymbaline was not as amused as they. "More setbacks?" she exclaimed. "This Conclave was under the impression that Agent Valmir was the only casualty reported."
"There may not be, Lady Cymbaline, but I have not recently received a status update from Agent Minorne. I have every faith in her, but you understand my suspicion." Elenwen's gaze was hard. "As for the death of Agent Valmir, my contact in Daggerfall assures me that the Dark Brotherhood will hunt down his murderer soon enough."
The Justiciar-Premier of Dusk, an Altmer with narrowed eyes and skin more brown than yellow, cleared his throat. "While this meeting is turned to the subject of the Dark Brotherhood… may I express my condolences on the untimely death of your uncle, Lady Elenwen. If you desire a detachment of my personal guard to protect you, you have only to ask."
"Thank you for your generous offer, Lord Iomil, but Operation Priesthood is my main concern at the moment, not my uncle's assassin," Elenwen said stiffly.
"Well, I believe your priorities should shift," Cymbaline retorted before Iomil even opened his mouth. "In fact, I believe all of ours should. If an assassin, let alone the last Silencer of the Dark Brotherhood, has managed to infiltrate our cities and kill some of our most respected Justiciars, should that not be a cause for concern?"
There was complete silence in the chamber as all eyes turned from Elenwen to the Grand Justiciar, and then back to Elenwen: watching, waiting for the first move.
Morohtar spoke then. "Operation Priesthood is of primary importance, but the reappearance of Sithia Dupre is indeed troubling. However, I hardly believe one woman can undo all that we have accomplished here and in the rest of Tamriel overnight."
"And what if she's not alone?" challenged Cymbaline. "We know the Dark Brotherhood to be still alive. Skyrim no longer belongs to us, Hammerfell is its ally, and the other human nations may join them if we are not careful. If Sithia Dupre has the backing of any —"
"With all due respect, Lady Cymbaline," Elenwen cut in, "Sithia has a habit of working alone, and her solitude is both her strength and her vulnerability. If she should dare to make an attempt on any of our lives, there will be no one to help her. And if that time comes…" She smiled, cold enough to freeze flame. "Our problem should be solved quickly enough."
The sunset over Alinor was nothing short of spectacular. The sinking sun's last rays made the city's impossibly high towers gleam with golden and scarlet light that danced over the shining walls and ramparts, almost blindingly so, and the waters of the Abecean Sea shimmered with the dying light and the beginnings of stars in the darkening sky above. The breaktaking tableau was accentuated by the near-silence: the gentle lapping of waves against the ship's hull, the grunts of the sailors hoisting the rigging up above the deck, the cries of seabirds circling over the long docks jutting out from the harbor.
Sithia hated it.
Beside her, Finverior inhaled deeply and sighed wistfully. "Ah, that intoxicating aroma of sea salt and fish shit," he remarked wryly. "I'd missed it so."
Sithia looked at him dubiously. "Are you serious?"
The other shrugged. "I grew up in Woodhearth, right on the coast. Yeah, the smell's foul, but it smells like home."
"Alinor is no one's home," the Imperial retorted. "No one except the Thalmor's."
"Well, someone's in a chipper mood tonight," Finverior muttered, leaning back against the railing; the wind caught his hair and blew it into his face, and he brushed it away.
"Decades-behind security and retired Justiciars are one thing, but infiltrating Alinor is another entirely," she snapped. "So forgive me if I'm not as thrilled as you are about this job."
"Only thing I'm thrilled about is that it's our last one." The wind whipped his hair into his eyes again, and the Bosmer finally tugged it together into a messy bun at the nape of his neck. "One more high-stakes break-in, one more assassination, and then we're done. Hopefully not dead 'done,'" he added hastily.
Sithia arched a brow. "So much for your optimism."
Finverior chuckled. "I'm a pragmatist, darling. There's a big difference." He straightened up. "We'll be docking soon. Time to go below and prepare."
The other nodded, her narrowed eyes fixed on the glittering city beyond the ship's prow. By now, the sun had almost fully vanished behind Alinor's spires, its brilliant rays replaced with artificial, magical mockeries: all of the light with none of the warmth.
One more. Just one more. Her lips twitched, then tightened into a thin, grim line.
Either way... it'll all be over soon.
Daerwen watched with a critical eye as the sailors of the Gem of Greenheart unloaded the cargo from the ship's hold, hefting the wooden crates up and over the railing and down the ramp to the docks as if they were made of air. Most of the crew were Bosmer, with a handful of Khajiit and a single Orc; fortunately, according to the manifest he held in his hand, the captain was an Altmer, but Daerwen had yet to see him - despite the fact that he should be out here on the dock with his ship records, as protocol dictates.
The Justiciar huffed quietly. There are very few mariners of quality left in the world, and at least half of them have turned to smuggling. The reputation of Captain Hyvis was solid, true, but Daerwen knew as well as anyone in Alinor that even those most above reproach could be corrupted. Only the steadfast Dominion endures.
Daerwen scanned the sailors scurrying on and off the Gem, his gaze falling on a Bosmer standing barefoot on the docks, his wild gestures seemingly directing the flow of the chaos. "You there!" he barked, striding towards him. "Where might I find the first mate?"
Startled, the Bosmer whipped around at his shout. He was tall for one of his ilk and unshaven, with his head covered by a tightly woven bandana; his patched clothes reeked of dampness and fish organs, and Daerwen wrinkled his nose involuntarily.
"You're lookin' at him, sir." The Bosmer immediately straightened up and saluted. "Name's Varilen."
"I do not particularly care what your name is," the Justiciar said sharply. "Where is Captain Hyvis? If he wishes to dock in Alinor, he must personally present his ship records and logbook to the proper authority." Myself, that is.
Varilen's narrow face scrunched up in confusion. "Why's he got to do that?"
"To weed out illegal activity and ensure the safe passage of all goods onboard," Daerwen said stiffly. "Now, tell me: where is the Captain?"
The Bosmer suddenly looked distinctly uncomfortable. "The Captain is… uh, indisposed, if you know what I mean," he said slowly.
"I'm afraid I don't," the Justiciar snapped, folding his hands behind his back. "What exactly are you insinuating?"
Varilen's amber eyes darted from side to side before leaning in. "Captain picked up somethin' from a, ah, lady of ill repute when we last docked," he whispered. "No clue what, but it's got him holed up in his cabin, swearin' and itchin' his —"
"Yes, yes, I see," Daerwen said hastily, cutting him off. This is hardly the first time something like this has happened… and I am hardly fooled by it. "Take me to Captain Hyvis, please. I should like to chastise him for his poor conduct while I retrieve his records."
The Bosmer sniggered, but hid it behind a cough. "Sure thing, sir." He gestured towards the gangplank. "Right this way."
Sighing, Daerwen followed him up and onto the ship's deck, the boards creaking under his feet with every step. Even though most of the Gem's cargo had been cleared onto the docks, the smells of the sea — caked salt, tar, the waste of various animals — were stronger in their absence, and it was all the Justiciar could do to keep from covering his nose with the sleeve of his robe. An Altmer must always be composed.
Heading back towards the quarterdeck, Varilen opened the door beneath it and ushered Daerwen over the threshold and into a cramped hallway, barely high enough to accommodate his height. "Captain's quarters are at the end, there," the Bosmer said absently, closing the door behind both of them. "No screamin', so he must be sleepin'."
"I am confident that he will not mind my disturbance," Daerwen said flatly, heading for the door at the end of the hall. Seizing the doorknob, he yanked open the door and strode in.
Captain Hyvis' quarters were small, and almost unspeakably messy. The bed was unmade, the wrinkled covers drawn up to the single pillow on the bed; the other pillow was on the floor, on top of a sloppily folded blanket. The chest in the corner was open, clothing and weapons in an unorganized heap within, and the the desk was covered in papers; the maps and nautical instruments had been shoved to one corner to make way for what appeared to be a pile of blueprints and some scattered letters. The small porthole window was open, a faint breeze stirring the papers and making a slight, but persistent rustling sound.
The quarters were, however, completely devoid of life.
A muttered oath on the tip of his tongue, the Justiciar stomped to the bed and threw back the lumpy covers. There was a hollow in the thin mattress, but no sign of the captain.
Irritation now turned to alarm, Daerwen whipped around just in time to see Varilen's fist connect with his face. Reeling from the unexpected punch, he fell back onto the empty bed, his flailing limbs useless to slow his fall.
The last thing he sensed before the world went black was a new smell mixed in with the sea and the salt and the fish: the tangy, metallic scent of drying blood.
[A/N] That's a wrap on the first part - the second part will be coming soonish, senior year madness permitting. In the meantime, reviews and general feedback would be appreciated!
As a side note: I'm on Archive of Our Own as well (under the same pen name), and I've started to move my Elder Scrolls fics, including "The Bear and the Wolf", over to that site (and doing some re-writes and edits along the way). So if you feel like revisiting my old writing now that bits and pieces have been updated and rewritten (especially where "The Bear and the Wolf" is concerned), or you want to read some of the new fics I've been working on, head on over!
