Grey Dawn
The Prince had no name. His people had lost their names sometime during the War of the Crag. They were united in their cause; they all simply became Falmer. But there had always been princes, and they had not yet lost their power.
He sat on an ancient Dwemer chair that overlooked Blackreach. He had never seen his capitol, as he and his brothers and sisters where blind. But he could hear almost everything that went on around him, and smell just as much. Right now, he heard the wheezy voice of his most-trusted aid as he climbed up the stairs.
"My Prince, we await your command. We stand ready." The Prince turned towards the voice of the aid (a reaction they maintained from the days of sight).
"Remember my provisions on the mages of the frozen town. Keep as many alive as you can, and bring them to me."
"Of course, my Prince. I only live to serve your will." The Prince heard the aid scramble down the stairs, and smiled (another reaction from the days of sight). This plan had been revised and rewritten for… centuries. It was a master plan. The reclamation of the Falmer inheritance from the interlopers. They could not stop it.
The Prince frowned in thought. No, perhaps one could stop it… that blasted surface dweller who had careened through his lands like a Dwemer machine, killing all who stood in his way. The Prince had never fought him, but he had heard his voice… the sound of doom…
The Prince shook that thought away. This plan was so water-tight, not even the Shouter could stop it from succeeding. He would fall as well, and the Prince would feast on his flesh. The Prince relished that day.
Calcelmo was writing a letter to his colleague in Winterhold. The two had held a friendly rivalry over the years about Dwemer culture and excavations, but now, Calcelmo was certain that he had one-upped that Bosmer.
"In response to your declaration that the Falmer are incapable of launching anything more than a simple raid, I would like to point out to you some elements of Falmer culture that was recently uncovered by the Dragonborn on his expeditions two years ago.
The Falmer in Blackreach seemed to be friendly, or at the very-least neutral, towards their fellows in Afltland, Mzinchaleft, and Raldbthar, seeming to indicate that they are all in some kind of association, disproving your false claim that they are divided into a series of tribes.
The Falmer appear to have the ability to manufacture crude, yet effective, weapons on a very large, uniform basis. This also contradicts the idea you put forth in your letter that the Falmer are divided into several 'sub-cultures', which is laughable.
The Falmer
He heard Faleen shouting to him from below. He stood up, stretched, and walked down to where his wife of a year was yelling from.
"What is going on, my dear?" The Redguard was pulling on her armor. Now, Calcelmo could hear the sound of fighting echoing from the keep.
"Are the Forsworn attacking?" She shook her head.
"No, Cal, I wish it was the Forsworn. The Falmer you wrote about seem to be more than children's stories and the subject of academics. They swarmed out of the ruins, and are pressing us hard. The Jarl is calling upon us all to defend the city." Calcelmo blinked.
"My dearest Faleen, the city is lost. I have to get these documents out of the city…"
"What documents? What are you talking about?"
"I was actually writing a letter to a colleague when you called about how the Falmer are capable of launching a full invasion, which is happening now. As we debated via courier, I came up with a contingency plan if the unthinkable happened, and they actually attacked. And as such, I have to get the documents out…" Aicantor came from his room.
"Uncle, Faleen, what is going on?"
"The Falmer are invading, and we have to leave. Now." Calcelmo moved to gather his papers, but Faleen grabbed his arm.
"Cal, you are the Court Wizard of Markarth. You pledged to fight for the Jarl with your last breath."
"Well, yes, but…"
"At the altar of Mara, you pledged that you would be with me through eternity. If you break your pledge to the Jarl, would you break your pledge to me?"
"Well, I, uh, er, you see… damn it! Aicantor, I need you to gather my Falmer Invasion file and notes, and then run. Get the Oblivion out of here, go wherever is safe. These documents will save us all. Hurry, boy!" Aicantor opened his mouth, but the look on his uncle's face made his questions vanish. He hugged his uncle, and rushed to do his bidding.
"Now, my dear, er, shall we…" Faleen nodded, and drew her sword. Calcelmo felt the tingle of fire on his palms. It had been a while since he had used his skills in combat. The two walked calmly, side by side, to the door. Faleen opened it, and a vista of confusion unfolded before them.
Guards were struggling against a horde of pale-skinned goblins. While the guards seemed to be holding their own, more and more of the Falmer poured from the ruins. The Jarl was preparing to jump into the fray himself, leading a small band of guards to reinforce the defenders. Faleen and Calcelmo looked at each other. Calcelmo nodded, and Faleen smiled.
The two then ran into the fray.
Together.