Nelkir spent a lot of time in the cellar with his ear pressed against the whispering door for the next two years. In exchange for spreading lies and unearthing secrets, the Lady gave him whispers. And with every revealed lie, with each sweet susurration, he felt his world slowly unraveling before him. Frothar and Dagny no longer bothered him anymore, irked by the change in his character. The beating and the taunting lost their appeal when pleading whimpers were replaced with silence and haunted eyes. He kept the burning rage within himself well, for he had the knowledge that he would soon unleash it, turning all those he once trusted to ash.
He did not visit the cellar anymore. The Lady filled his thoughts now, no longer contained within the bowels of Dragonsreach. Her strength increased with each new plot, with every believed lie, and her whispers grew until Nelkir forgot what silence sounded like. He barely spoke anymore, choosing instead to listen from within the shadows, picking up the sibilants of Whiterun's deepest secrets. Hrongar's yearning to ascend the throne. The great Companions plagued by a lycanthropic curse. Proventus lining his personal coffers with taxpayer gold.
He became adept at picking locks and picking pockets, never stealing, only misplacing, replacing. An amulet of Talos left out on a bedside table. A visiting noblewoman's ring in Dagny's pocket. Well placed hairs shining coppery red on the Jarl's pillow, identical in color to the Dragonborn's fiery mane. He reveled in their dismay, their slow descent into chaos and confusion. But it did nothing to quench the fires of rage that burned within him.
He began to read books about magic and potions, assassins and thieves, just to pass the time. He practiced alchemy at the dusty lab in the corner of his bedroom, stealing ingredients from Farengar's stores and brewing more poison than he could ever use. He studied magic for the sole reason that his race feared it, enjoying the feel of power that sizzled from his palms. He stole swords and bows and arrows from the armory and disappeared into the woods for days at a time, fighting trees instead of dummies. No one ever noticed he was gone. And so more years passed by Nelkir as he stalked in the shadows, advancing his skills but never growing adept. His books would never replace a true teacher.
The Lady waited a long time before leading him to the truth about his mother. He hid in a closet within the Jarl's chambers, listening to Irileth's rage about the rumors concerning who lay in the Jarl's bed. "I do not need another pregnant whore on my hands!" she screamed at him, frantically pacing the room. "I will not kill another innocent woman to protect the legitimacy of your child and your gods-damned pride!" Nelkir watched Balgruuf through the crack in the closet door with darkened eyes. He sat on his chair with a look of defeat and murmured "I'm sorry Irileth. The child wasn't even worth it anyways."
"I need to kill him" he thought with intent, knowing that she would hear.
"It is time. To open the door." came the reply.
Nelkir stole into Farengar's chambers in the night, dagger ready in his hand. He woke the wizard up, just so he could watch the light fade from his eyes as he twisted it in his throat, his mouth paralyzed with a spell so he couldn't scream. He took the key from his pocket and walked down the stairs to that cellar where it all began six years ago. He would finally get to open the door and discover the secrets it held within.
Nelkir caught himself in that cracked mirror he had looked into all those years ago. His form had filled out considerably over the years, and although he was small for a Nord, he still put the other human races in the shade. His limbs did not carry much muscle yet, but it was obvious to anyone who looked upon him that the potential was there. Auburn hair fell down to just above his shoulders framing his now rough and chiseled face. He stared back at himself with those intense grey eyes, then moved to open the door.
The lock clicked and Nelkir pushed the door with hesitation and peered inside. A table stood before him, a long elegant blade laid upon its surface. He picked up the journal next to it with curiosity, so was his love for books, and began to skim the lines.
"...It has corrupted and perverted the desires of great men and women...only a Daedra most foul could have concocted such a malevolent and twisted weapon...end up with the crazed eyes of those wild men...we cannot destroy it... woe be to any who choose to take it."
Nelkir almost laughed at how ridiculous it sounded. No sword could pervert the desires of humanity any more than it already was. Whoever wrote this was a fool to think that men needed Daedra to resort to madness. He set the journal down and tuned in to the whispers within his mind.
"You have been so good to me these past years Nelkir. It is time that I repaid you with a gift of my own- one that you can use to reap your own destruction. Thanks to your father, the Ebony Blade has languished for too long outside the winds of alliance and betrayal. Return the blade to its past glory, let it drink the blood of deceit so it will nourish you, its master. Use this weapon to rip through the walls of your world so seeped in lies and fabrications. You know who to seek out- the final pluck of their misguided heartstrings will accompany the blade in the song of your grandeur. Go forth my child, and paint your sweet revenge."
Nelkir reached out and picked up the blade, balancing its weight in his hands. It was long but slim and deceivingly light, pulsing with magical energy. When he gripped the blade in his hands it blazed alight with intention, matching the fire in his silver eyes. It was time for vengeance.
He went to his room first, picking out various poisons gleaming blood red in their small glass bottles. He entered their chambers silently one by one. Proventus' Blackbriar Reserve. Dagny's glass of Alto wine. Frothar and Hrongar's mead. The pop of a cork. Red clouds billowing in liquid, slowly dissipating back to the contents' natural color. He watched them prepare for sleep, pause to drink, and slowly get into bed. He had followed their actions, watched them from the shadows for so long that there was no doubt they would die. Their corpses looked so peaceful lying amongst the sheets, with their eyes wide open staring at the ceiling.
Nelkir finally stood on the threshold of his room. He paused breathing slowly, gripping the Ebony Blade in his hands. He could feel its thirst for blood in his palms, pulsing through his arms. He entered the room silently.
"Balgruuf."
The old man was sitting in his chair with shoulders slumped, his back facing Nelkir. "Hrongar I've already told you, we cannot send any more guards to the legion. If we lose half our men, the Dark Brotherhood and the Thieves' Guild will have run of the city. The answer is no, so stop pestering me with your war-mongering and leave me be."
"Hrongar is dead."
The Jarl whipped around standing up quickly to see Nelkir standing in the doorway. "N-Nelkir?" he gasped astounded. "What.. what are you talking about...why" his breath hitched suddenly when he saw the familiar shape of the sword in his son's hands. "Nelkir. Where did you get that weapon."
"You know where I got it Balgruuf."
The Jarl seemed glued to the spot, his eyes widened staring at the sword. "Only Farengar and I had the key..."
"Farengar is dead."
Balgruuf's eyes rushed to meet his. "Wh-what?"
"I killed them," Nelkir said. "All of them." He continued to look into his father's watery blue eyes. The pathetic man was actually returning his gaze for the first time he could remember. "Now I'm going to kill you too."
Before Balgruuf could speak, green tendrils erupted from Nelkir's palm, stiffening the Jarl's body in paralysis as he crashed to the floor. Nelkir walked over to him slowly and looked over his face. The Jarl's eyes were terrified, darting all over the place with the realization that he couldn't move.
Nelkir sank to the ground balancing on the balls of his feet and brought his face closer to the Jarl. The man fixed his eyes on those of his son's, his expression pleading. "So tell me Balgruuf," Nelkir whispered. "Do I have her eyes?"
The Jarl's eyes grew even larger and if it weren't for the burning anger overwhelming Nelkir in that moment, he may have laughed. "I guess I'll never know," Nelkir murmured, "because you had to go and kill her, then lie to me about my ENTIRE LIFE!" he screamed, his words reaching a rattling crescendo. Spittle rained down on the Jarl's face, Nelkir's face turning red with ire.
The paralysis was wearing off the Jarl and he began to speak, finding feeling in his tongue "N-nelkir, my son p-please, I love you," he began. His scream filled the room before he could finish, sparks flying out of Nelkir's hand making the Jarl's every muscle twitch in pain,
"LIAR!" Nelkir yelled the blue magic still rushing from his palms in fury. When he stopped, the Jarl was motionless on the floor. Nelkir rushed over and yanked the man upward on his knees, grabbing a fistful of his hair so he could look upon his face.
"All you have ever given me Balgruuf," Nelkir seethed between clenched teeth, "is lies. Do you have any idea what it feels like to be a child whose own father won't look him in the eye? Do you realize that this is the first time I can physically remember that you have even returned my gaze?"
"You will never even begin to be able to understand," Nelkir raged, "how much I despise you. For so long I wished that maybe I wasn't your son at all. But to gain the knowledge that you, filthy, cowardly, lying, scum of the earth," he spat, "are indeed my father, makes my blood boil with a rage that I have never known."
He leaned in closer to to Balgruuf's face, absorbing the horror and terror in his eyes. He felt powerful in this moment, finally able to make those who hurt him hurt in return. He wanted to remember it. Then he wanted to end it forever.
"The time has come for you to pay for all that you have done Balgruuf," Nelkir began, the revulsion dripping from his voice. "If I could erase every memory of you from my existence, pathetic father, I would." Utter wrath blazed in his eyes. "Killing you is the best I can do." With a sharp movement, Nelkir plunged the Ebony Blade deep into his fathers gut, wrenching it out with a twist after it went all the way through. He watched the blood gurgle up from his mouth and spill to the floor as the light slowly faded from his eyes.
Nelkir stared at the scene before him, the Jarl's head still held up by the hair in his fist. The Ebony Blade in his other hand was pulsing with a red glow and dripping with blood. This wasn't how he was supposed to feel he realized, his breathing growing faster and more shallow. Revenge was supposed to be his release, the ultimate catharsis, the final climax of his blistering rage. But the fire within him still remained, barely sated and threatening to consume hime whole. An emptiness stole into his heart as he understood that peace would never find him and that fury would forever be part of his soul.
"Excellent work, child." the Lady whispered to him. "The blade grows stronger..."
Nelkir snapped his head up, attention fading from the voice inside his head. He had heard a footstep. There was someone behind him.