Summary: Valerica's free, but their efforts have not gone unnoticed and there's one more jailer yet to fight. Things take an intriguing turn, however, when said jailer has a proposition of his own for Cicero in particular, making an offer that Cicero's hard pressed to refuse.
A/N: So this is the Durnehviir bit, which I've... amended a bit. Seeing as there's no Dragonborn in the party, I've decided to take a different track, played a bit fast and loose with the lore, and this is the result.
Valerica was waiting for them as they ran up the steps to her former prison, the barrier now gone… but while Valerica looked pleased, she still seemed worried.
"Serana, you did it," Valerica gasped, holding out her arms to welcome her daughter and the two shared a quick embrace in the citadel entrance. "Quickly now, the Scroll's this way, but I'm sure I heard Durnehviir in the distance. We may have to contend with him."
Sure enough, as Valerica led them into the courtyard behind, a dragon soared overhead and crashed onto the far wall, glaring balefully at them all.
"Damn," Valerica said quietly. "Well, all right, we can at least try and fight him. Careful, he can summon undead!"
And so the fight was on, an intense fight involving Durnehviir summoning undead minions to fight them on the ground, only occasionally fighting alongside them, a move that annoyed Cicero no end.
"FIGHT ME WITH SOME HONOUR, FIEND!" Cicero shrieked, forced to give up on shooting at the dragon as three skeletons converged on him at once.
The skeletons collapsed, but not from Cicero's shouting. Athis had dropped back and spun in with swords outstretched, drawing attention off Cicero and downing his opponents in short order.
"They're weak," Athis noted. "Far easier than opponents with flesh. I'll hold them off you – you focus on that dragon."
So Cicero did, firing off arrows while the vampires attracted the undead, and eventually the dragon was forced to land. Right next to Athis. This hadn't been part of the plan, but Athis had been one of House Redoran's finest back in the day. He wasn't going to back down from a dragon. And so the dance started, with Athis darting from Durnerviir's teeth, then back in, blades flicking out to do damage, not doing much at a time, but slowly wearing the dragon down, with vampiric drain and ice spikes from the other two vampires also helping. Athis had no idea where Cicero had got to. At least not until Cicero appeared on top of Durnehviir's head, dagger in hand, the sharp pointy one with the Oblivion gate on it, blade gleaming red as Cicero gleefully went for all the weak spots on a dragon's skull – hard to spot from the ground, but very very obvious from on top of a dragon's head.
Durnehviir groaned his last, collapsed, and began to dematerialise as Cicero jumped down, cackling away to himself and scampering over to Athis.
"Well done, brother, you were very distracting!" Cicero squealed. "Cicero was very impressed. Cicero almost forgot to do any stabbing of his own! Where did you say you learned to fight?"
"Morrowind," Athis said shortly, because buggered if he was mentioning his own family in all this. Not that they were bad people, of course not. He'd had a comfortable, cared-for childhood. It was just the politics of adulthood that had sent him running to Skyrim instead. House Redoran was not, as Dunmer Great Houses went, evil – in fact, Athis had the highest respect for House Redoran and its signature values of gravity, duty and piety, and thought they were the model of Dunmeri leadership. He just didn't really want to be involved.
Cicero just raised an eyebrow.
"All right, brother, keep your secrets," Cicero sighed. "You know, one day you will have to tell us what you were back in Morrowind. Morag Tong assassin – no, no, you were far too pleased to help Cicero deal with that cell in Solstheim for that. Illegitimate son of the leader of a Great House? The defeated leader of an Ashlander tribe forced into exile after a power struggle? A netch herder's son in search of a more interesting life?"
"I'm not assassin-trained, I'm perfectly legitimate, no Ashlander and I'm allergic to netch," Athis said as he led Cicero over to where Valerica was waiting in a nearby alcove. "Keep speculating, Cicero."
Cicero muttered under his breath and began considering everything Athis had ever said about his life in Morrowind, which was not a lot. Athis was not by nature either loose-lipped or a fool, in fact he was a very cautious introvert who liked to think before he spoke. This was not going to be easy. But Cicero was nothing if not patient.
Valerica meanwhile was watching Durnehviir's remains dissolve, amazed if a little sceptical.
"Well now," she said. "I never thought I'd ever see the death of that dragon."
"Well, you have now!" Serana laughed. "I told you Cicero and Athis knew what they were doing."
"Indeed," Valerica said. "Forgive my scepticism but a dragon's soul is as resilient as its scaly hide. And for its body to simply dematerialise – it's unusual. Dragon corpses usually rot like any other, unless a Dragonborn is present to absorb the soul. I have a feeling… I have a feeling his body has dematerialised in preparation for being regenerated."
"Regenerated?" Serana cried. "How long have we got?"
"Hard to tell," Valerica shrugged. "Could be years. Could be hours. Could be minutes. I suggest we not wait around to find out. Here. Your Scroll."
The Scroll turned out to be stored in a wooden box at the back of Valerica's work area, and Athis helped himself to it, before turning to see Serana and Valerica saying goodbye.
"Are you sure you won't come with us?" Serana was saying. "I don't think it's safe for you to stay here!"
"I'll be fine. It takes time to produce three more Keepers to match the ones you killed," Valerica said. "In the mean time, you need to focus on killing Harkon and securing the bow, which means leaving. Now. Yes, what is it, young man?"
"Um, excuse me, Madam Valerica, but Cicero had to be partially soul trapped to get in here, Cicero is wondering..." Cicero whispered hopefully, adopting the somewhat childlike mannerisms that usually never failed to charm older women. Alas they usually had maternal instincts, and Valerica did not.
"And you are wondering if there's any chance of getting it back," Valerica said, tutting. "Well, you may be in luck. A newly arrived soul was conducted to one of the ruins over to the right of this citadel – there's an offering altar there to the Ideal Masters. I believe it might be yours. Go there and find it – it'll be in a soul gem. When your bare skin touches the gem, the missing piece of your soul will return to you."
Cicero squeaked and scampered off to scout out this altar, although Athis lingered while Serana said goodbye to her mother.
"I don't know when we'll be able to come back," Serana said quietly. "I don't know how long this'll take, if we'll be able to come back even..."
Valerica placed a hand on Serana's shoulder, actually smiling a little.
"I have faith in you, child," Valerica said gently. "Now, off you go. Take care, and if there's any danger, let the little one in the hat run in there first. Also Athis seems sensible. Keep him nearby and you could do worse."
"I'll keep it in mind," Serana promised. Then one last hug and Serana was running off after Cicero, Athis at her back. Who knew when she'd see her again? Serana didn't know but one thing was clear. Her mother would never leave her prison until her father was dead.
Serana and Athis raced out of the citadel to find Cicero there, standing very still in the entranceway. Standing very still, because perched on top of the plinth before him was the reconstituted form of a dragon they'd just seen die.
Durnehviir was sitting there, watching Cicero with no small interest.
"Brother," Cicero hissed between gritted teeth. "Brother, help."
Athis would love to, but the fact remained he wasn't Dragonborn, none of them were, and dragons were not his area of expertise. In fact, even Elisif would likely struggle with this one.
But the dragon wasn't attacking. Which meant maybe it – he – would be willing to negotiate.
"Durnehviir," Athis called, coming to stand by Cicero's side, Serana standing on Cicero's other side in case the dragon got any ideas. "You're supposed to be dead."
"Supposed to be," the dragon agreed, sounding surprisingly calm for a newly-resurrected servant of the Ideal Masters. "But I am of the Dov, Qahnaarin-Fahliiluv. I am not so easy to kill. And after so many long years here, I am… bound to this realm. It will not easily let me go, not now. That is why I wished tinvaak with you, Qahnaarinne."
"OK, certain key words of that were in too much Dovah for me," Serana said, narrowing her eyes. "Tinvaak and Qahnaarinne?"
"Tinvaak means he wants to talk with us, not fight," Athis said, knowing that much from Eola's admittedly second-hand stories. "I think. Don't know what Qahnaarinne is, though."
"Vanquishers," Durnehviir confirmed. "It means vanquishers in your tongue. I have felled many on the field of battle, but never before have I lost in honourable battle. And so I honour you, Qahnaarin-Fahliiluv, Qahnaarin-Meyus and Qahnaarin-Sosnaak. The elf, the fool and the one who consumes blood."
"Wait, so we killed you and you're… pleased?" Serana said, now completely confused. "You know, most people don't want to die."
"Most," Durnehviir agreed. "But I believe in civility among seasoned warriors and can appreciate the artistry in a kill well-executed."
Athis had no idea what to think of that, although predictably, Cicero was already preening and squealing his thanks.
"We did what we had to," Athis said, that at least being true. "So, other than acknowledging each other as honourable warriors, did you have a reason for seeking us out?"
Given that acknowledging someone as a fellow honourable warrior didn't mean you weren't going to kill them, now or later, Athis wasn't reassured by any of this, but fortunately Durnehviir just laughed.
"Geh, Qahnaarin. As you know, I made a bargain with the Ideal Masters once. Many among the Dov warred for power among ourselves. I was one, but where others used fire or claws or proxy battles with their joor underlings, I turned to the arts of Alok-Dilon – what you call necromancy."
"I didn't know dragons could do magic," Athis said, surprised by that at least. "Especially not death magic – you're immortal, aren't you?"
"We can do many things," Durnehviir said, smirking. "But it is true most Dov have little interest in death and its trappings. That is precisely why I researched the matter. I sought an edge, a weapon they would not know how to counter."
"Did that work out well for you?" Athis asked, unable to quite keep the sarcasm out of his voice. Durnehviir's disgruntled expression was all the answer any of them needed.
"I discovered too late that the Ideal Masters favoured deception over honour and had no intention of releasing me from this bargain," Durnehviir growled. "They granted me power at the price of servitude until the death of the one they call Valerica."
"But Mother's a vampire, she can only die if someone kills her – oh," Serana said, realising the Ideal Masters had known that all along. "They never told you that."
"No," Durnehviir growled. "The bindings did not break until you killed me, Sosnaakin. At which point, I was able to reconstitute my form elsewhere. I am free of my service at least."
"But not free of something else?" Athis asked, not missing the resignation in the dragon's voice.
"You learn well," Durnehviir noted. "I have been here too long to be truly free. I could return to Tamriel, but not remain there. Not forever. Not without help."
"Which we're supposed to give you?" Serana sighed, seeing where this was going. "Just like that?"
Durnehviir laughed, settling on his perch, relaxed and seemingly at ease with being caught out.
"Geh, Sosnaakin. But this help will be rewarded, have no fear. None of you are Dovahkiin, alas. Were it so, perhaps one of you could Shout my name, speak it to the skies of Keizaal, allowing me precious moments of time there. Alas, it is not so. The only way to truly return is to die in truth and hope Akatosh or Kaan can find me here. But..." and here he lowered his head to stare Cicero straight in the eye, those big teeth barely a foot from the little jester. "There may be another way."
Cicero whimpered a bit, reaching for Athis's hands, not liking where this was going.
"You are not Dovahkiin, but you have Dovah Sos in your veins," Durnehviir said, eyes not leaving Cicero. "Also you have a gap in your soul. A space. A space where a Ziil-se-Dovah, a dragon's soul, might hide."
"Cicero isn't..." Cicero whispered. "I mean, Cicero is not Dragonborn… Cicero isn't sure he wants a dragon's soul in his head."
"It would not be permanent," Durnehviir murmured. "It would not harm you. And you are not Dovahkiin, no… but you could have been. You have the, hmm, meyriid but not the kogaan. You could have been… but the gods chose another."
Both Serana and Athis were staring at Cicero who had gone a bit pink and was looking very nervous, muttering something incoherent about 'better at it' and 'much prettier than me'.
"You were nearly Dragonborn?" Athis said, surprised. "You've got dragon blood?"
Cicero just shrugged and Athis now had to wonder where he'd inherited it from. Kodlak? His Imperial mother? Athis didn't know, but part of him liked to think old Kodlak had Dovah Sos in his bloodline somewhere.
"So wait," Serana said, frowning. "Cicero's got dragon blood… so you want him to ferry your soul out of the Soul Cairn? But… won't that kill you?"
"Vo dilon, vo alok-yun. You cannot be reborn until you have died," Durnehviir said, apparently unbothered by the prospect of death. "My body would cease to be. My soul would travel with you as you returned to Keizaal. Then it would depart, perhaps to be reborn in time. As my father Akatosh wills it."
"Wait," Athis interrupted. "You're willing to die, possibly forever, just to get out of here? Have you thought this through?"
"I have done little but think!" Durnehviir snarled. "Ages upon ages, I have been here, bound to service, a prisoner in my own mind, the slave of the Ideal Masters! Now I am free of that, but trapped in another way. Yes, Fahliil, I would rather die and take the chance of never being reborn than spend another moment in this hell! Qahnaarin. Ziizahro. Do this for me, and I will leave a gift. The Thu'um of your choice, yours to keep."
Cicero gasped in amazement and then grinned, delighted.
"Any Thu'um? All three words?" Cicero asked, always being one to spot the loophole in anything.
"All three words. If it is one I know," Durnehviir confirmed and Cicero clasped his hands together, eyes lighting up.
"Fire," Cicero said instantly. "Cicero wants to breathe fire."
"Fire," Durnehviir said, fixing Cicero very carefully with his gaze. "Are you sure. There are many other Thu'ums – slowing time, making your enemies fear you, leeching their strength, calling storms, ripping their souls from their bodies..."
That last one did give Cicero pause, but then he shook his head.
"No. Fire. Cicero wants to breathe fire."
"Yol," Durnehviir muttered to himself. "Druv yol alun? Pah Rotmulaagge nuz yol alun… Ugh. Fine, Ziizahro. We have a bargain. Prepare yourself."
Cicero promised he was ready, he was, and Durnehviir closed his eyes before lying down as if for a long sleep… and then he started to glow, and then his body started to burn, and then his soul swirled up before firing straight at Cicero, as if a glowing golden dragon was coming for him… and then it smacked into him, sending him flying, shrieking in pain as he was flung back across stone floor, screaming as light surrounded him, heedless of Athis and Serana crying his name… and then it was done. Cicero was lying on the floor, twitching and whimpering, but alive.
Athis helped him sit up, worried about the way he was swaying, and even more worried at the way Cicero's eyes looked reptilian now
"Brother," Cicero whispered, giggling to himself. "Brother, this feels most uncomfortable."
"Of course it feels uncomfortable, you just said yes to a dangerous bargain involving having a dragon's soul in your head!" Athis cried. "Mephala's sake, Cicero, are you all right?"
"Not really," Cicero whispered, conjuring Arvak. "I don't think I should stay in the Soul Cairn..." Cicero staggered to his feet and let Serana help him on to Arvak's back.
"Get back to Eola," Serana told him. "Maybe when you do, Durnehviir will leave you alone. Take the Scroll as well, we'll follow when we can."
Cicero nodded and, spurring Arvak into gear, rode off back to the portal.
"Meanwhile I suppose we'd better get his soul and meet him," Athis sighed. "Come on. Let's rob the Ideal Masters, no way that'll go wrong."
Stealing Cicero's soul piece, an Elder Scroll, Valerica Volkihar, all those summoning tomes Cicero had been swiping as they'd hunted the Keepers, and now smuggling Durnehviir out too. Serana decided she was never doing any serious necromancy again.
Eola looked up as the portal flared, and immediately went cold as her matrimony bond kicked in again. Cicero was back – yes, there he was, bouncing up the stairs, Elder Scroll at his back, manic grin on his face and… glowing eyes. He never had glowing lizard eyes before, and he felt wrong. Screaming, panicky, terrified, giggling hysterically, mind full of fire… something had gone very wrong.
"Cicero," Eola whispered as Cicero collapsed to his knees. "Namira, Cicero! What happened?"
"Help me," Cicero whispered. "Eola, he's not leaving like he promised, Eola!"
"Who's not leaving? Cicero?" Eola cried. And then something which Eola swore was a bit like a dragon soul boiled out of Cicero, all light and fire, and it dived straight for Eola's belly.
"What – no!" Eola cried, before crying out in pain as she clutched her stomach, the agony almost overwhelming… and then it was gone and Eola was lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling while Cicero got to his feet.
"Sweetling?" Cicero whispered, panic in his voice. "Pretty Eola? What – are you all right?"
No she fucking well wasn't.
"What did you just do?" Eola shouted at him. "Where the FUCK are Athis and Serana?"
"Still in the Soul Cairn," Cicero whispered. "They were fetching the rest of Cicero's soul. Sweetling. Pretty wife. Lovely wife! Please don't look at poor Cicero like that. He always worries you are about to turn Hag on him."
"Leave my family out of this," Eola hissed. Cicero's eyes were back to normal, that was something. But what had happened to her? "Just tell me what you just did!"
Cicero laughed nervously and then abruptly stopped as the bond transmitted Eola's wrath back to him.
"Cicero made a deal with a dragon in the Soul Cairn so he could learn how to breathe fire," Cicero whispered. "The nice dragon wanted to escape the Soul Cairn. So Cicero ferried him out. Only now the soul has escaped and… er. Cicero is sorry?"
"Sorry?" Eola cried. "You made a deal with a dragon whose soul has just attacked our babies and you're sorry?"
"Um," was all Cicero could say, before seeing the genuine grief in her eyes and having an attack of conscience. "Eola? Eola, please… Cicero did not know! Cicero is sorry!"
"YOU VOLUNTEERED TO FERRY A DRAGON'S SOUL OUT OF THE SOUL CAIRN AND DIDN'T THINK IT WOULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG?" Eola shouted.
Cicero fell back, whimpering piteously.
"Cicero is sorry!" Cicero wailed. "Cicero didn't know! Well, how was Cicero supposed to know one of the children is Dragonborn?"
Dragonborn… what? Eola sank down again, about ready to cry. A baby Dragonborn? Her baby, a Dragonborn.
Eola was not ready. Not remotely ready. She needed help, encouragement, a shoulder to cry on, someone to tell her everything was going to be all right.
I need my da. Except he'd probably throttle Cicero on hearing about the Soul Cairn business with a bloody dragon.
She needed Athis. He'd understand. Or at least explain. And on cue, the man himself arrived with Serana in tow.
"Got it," Athis said, tossing a black soul gem at Cicero who caught it expertly, pressed it to his cheek and squeaked as it flared purple and then clattered to the floor, now empty, leaving Cicero's soul whole once more, for some value of whole anyway. Then Athis turned to Eola, alarmed at the panic in her eyes.
"Eola?" Athis gasped, kneeling at her side and holding her. "Eola, what's wrong? We got the Scroll, Serana found her mother… Eola?"
"Serana," Eola whispered. "Check the souls. Check my babies!"
Serana cast the spell, nodding as it revealed two immature souls still in place… then frowning at one of them which seemed… different. Brighter somehow. Curling protectively around its twin.
"What happened to that one?" Serana whispered.
"A bloody dragon soul happened to that one!" Eola cried and then she burst into tears.
"Dragon soul?" Serana gasped, then she folded her arms and stared furiously at Cicero. "So, let me guess. You made a bargain with an entity from the Soul Cairn and it's gone wrong."
"Cicero didn't… Cicero is sorry!" Cicero wailed, reaching out to Eola… but she wasn't even looking at him. She was curled up in Athis' arms and Athis was glaring furiously at Cicero.
"You stupid bastard, Cicero," Athis swore at him. "Learning to breathe fire – was it worth putting our kids in danger?"
"I DIDN'T KNOW!" Cicero howled, tears in his eyes. "I DIDN'T KNOW OUR BABY WAS DRAGONBORN!"
"YOU KNEW YOU WERE DRAGON-BLOODED, DURNEHVIIR TOLD YOU!" Athis shouted back, and Eola finally broke, clinging on to Athis like a little girl.
"Can someone please tell me what happened in there?" Eola whispered, and at length Cicero was forced to explain how they'd killed an immortal dragon, an immortal necromancer dragon who'd been a slave of the Ideal Masters, except he'd reconstituted himself and made Cicero a deal – breathing fire if he used the gap in his soul to ferry the dragon's soul out of the Soul Cairn. Except when Cicero finished, he was acutely aware that it sounded a lot less impressive than he'd thought at the time.
Eola however seemed to have pulled herself together somewhat. She was stroking her belly and looking very very thoughtful.
"So," Eola said. "I'm pregnant with twins, one of whom just absorbed the soul of a necromancer dragon who was trying to escape the Soul Cairn. Which means that if one of my kids wasn't Dragonborn before… they are now."
Cicero made a tiny little noise at the back of his throat and nodded. Eola tutted at him and shook her head, before making Athis help her up.
"Can you actually breathe fire or did Durnehviir truly fuck you over?" Eola sighed, and as Serana helped Cicero up, Cicero realised that in all the excitement, Cicero hadn't actually thought to test it. He did however feel different, and there were words in his head, words that hadn't been there earlier. Fire Inferno Sun, three words of power gleaming in his mind. Turning to face out over the portal, Cicero took a deep breath before Shouting.
"YOL TOOR SHUL!" Cicero shouted, and a jet of fire billowed out across the room, the heat causing Serana to yelp and jump back, and scorchmarks being left on the far wall. Cicero could only stare as he realised Durnehviir hadn't lied about that at least. Slowly, he turned around, face aglow with unholy glee as he realised something had come out of this.
"Cicero can breathe fire!" he whispered and Athis could be heard audibly muttering 'Reclamations save us all' on seeing this. Eola ignored him, instead focusing on Serana's reaction. Predictably, Serana was also appalled.
"I'm… not seeing any good outcome from this one," Serana admitted. "Kind of on a par with giving a child a knife and some poison and seeing what happens."
Eola recalled her mother leaving dangerous reagents and sharp cutting implements within child's reach all the time, and nothing too bad had ever happened, although that was mostly down to Amaleen's vigilance.
"Well, Durnehviir didn't lie," Eola said thoughtfully. "He kept his side of things. And you kept yours – you took him back to Tamriel. Of course, he never said what would happen on his return. Maybe he didn't know. He knew you were dragon-blooded, he may even have heard you mention you were going to be a father. But he couldn't have risked everything on a Dragonborn embryo… dammit, I need to talk to people who know the Soul Cairn and their dragonlore, and ideally someone who knew Durnehviir. That means Hag's End and a chat with my aunt, and then I think I need a word with Mr. Esbern, and hopefully Paarthurnax too. Elisif's told us things but not everything, and I need to know what we're dealing with. Also, I need an answer from Mr. Fool of Hearts here on whether he's actually sticking around and being any kind of father, because, you know, your earlier reaction didn't exactly fill me with confidence."
Cicero's excitement over being able to breathe fire subsided as adult responsibility slammed back in with some force, and it dawned on him that anything up to nine months from now, he'd have two tiny children dependent on him for everything, and one of them was Dragonborn. Frankly, the thought was terrifying… but Cicero had tended to the Night Mother for years, giving up everything for very little reward. He wasn't about to abandon his children. Reaching for Kodlak's journal to give him the moral support, Cicero shuffled forward, looking a little embarrassed before holding the journal out.
"Cicero told Athis and Serana," Cicero said quietly. "Cicero is thinking he will tell Farkas too when he next sees him, and Jorrvaskr once this is done. Papa might be watching from Sovngarde, and although he knows his son is a fool, Cicero will not have him think Cicero is a dishonourable fool. Papa would have loved grandchildren..." Cicero could feel tears welling up in his eyes, brushing one away, and then Eola was there, taking his hands in hers, finally smiling at him the way she always used to.
"Is that a yes?" Eola asked gently and Cicero nodded.
"Jorrvaskr grieves Kodlak still," Cicero said softly. "Cicero thinks it would comfort them all to know they will soon have his grandchildren in the hall. And Cicero can hardly tell them that then abandon the little ones, can he? So… so he will tend to them. And to you. If – if Eola will still have me?"
"Yes," Eola breathed, and then she was kissing him, and Cicero sighed happily as he kissed her back, finally forgiven. Of course, they still had the Dragonborn twin to worry about, but that was a long-term problem. For now, all seemed well.
"So," Matriarch Keirine said, talons clacking against the mug of ale she was holding as she digested all Eola had told her. "Not only do you appear to definitely be pregnant with twins – twins fathered by a human at that, so they're not Athis's – you're now telling me one is Dragonborn, and possibly is now the reincarnation of a necromancer dragon by the name of Durnehviir."
"Yeah," Eola admitted. "Durnehviir claims we broke his service to the Ideal Masters when Cicero, Athis and Serana defeated him, but he couldn't permanently leave the Soul Cairn. So he said he was going to dissolve his body permanently and asked if Cicero could give him a ride back into Tamriel. Because Cicero is apparently dragon-blooded although not a full Dragonborn, and what with part of his soul having been offered to the Ideal Masters as a bribe, that meant he had space in his skull for a passenger. Except what none of us knew was that when that soul left Cicero, it'd head straight for my unborn kids." Eola growled, fingers in her hair as she sat in the one chair in the room. Keirine was curled up in a nest of straw, feathers fluttering as one hand petted her pet frostbite spider Madoc, while the other held her ale tankard. Not a side of the First Matriarch many people saw, but Eola was hardly most people.
"And you wish me to do what?" Keirine asked, frowning. "Eola, the only safe way is to perform an abortion, and you've already turned that down."
"I know!" Eola cried. "I just… look, you know about the Soul Cairn! You've probably done the odd deal with the Ideal Masters yourself before now. I wanted to know if Durnehviir was telling the truth. Was he genuinely trying to escape or is this some plot by the Ideal Masters?"
Keirine petted Madoc, and then she actually smiled.
"Nieceling. Your friends have just carried out the first ever successful raid on the Soul Cairn, returning with three prized summoning tomes, which will be extremely useful when the other Hags want something, thank you, my dear. You've also managed to destroy their Boneyard Keepers, keep Valerica's soul from their clutches, and now you tell me you've successfully ferried Durnehviir's soul away."
"Yeah," Eola admitted. "Er. Did we piss them off?"
Keirine threw back her head and laughed, cackling away and spilling half her beer in the process, but not seeming to care.
"Did you annoy them?" Keirine finally laughed. "Did you annoy them? My dear, my contacts in Oblivion have never heard anything like it. My fellow Hags are hearing the same thing. Apparently no one has ever before heard of the Ideal Masters coming off worst in a deal before now. Never. Congratulations, cariad. You're famous."
"Are we?" Eola whispered. Keirine shrugged.
"Well, you personally, no. But I would recommend your gentleman friends do not attempt any future necromantic activities involving the Soul Cairn. Especially Cicero. They will remember him."
Eola could definitely promise Cicero wouldn't be doing anything of the sort ever again. But it hadn't answered her question about Durnehviir.
"Do you think him being in one of my kids is a plot by the Ideal Masters?" Eola whispered. "I mean, Cicero claims Durnehviir wanted to escape them, and Serana and Athis seem to think he wasn't lying, but I don't know for sure!"
"Nor will you, I think, until your child is born and raised," Keirine said, smile fading. "Either abort them both now and try again, or take the risk. Those are your options. However, I can offer some hope. The Ideal Masters would not be as furious as they are if this was a plot of theirs. I do not believe they had anything to do with this. I am familiar with the tale of Durnehviir – after all, it is not often you get a dragon practising necromancy. It's said the bargain was service until his death or that of the necromancer Valerica – of course, the sting is that both are immortal. It's a common cautionary tale we tell to young necromancers. Seeing as he was killed, that would have freed him – but all that time in the Cairn changes you, it is true. More than this, I cannot tell you – dragons are not my speciality. You want the Blades… or their dragon 'friend'."
Paarthurnax. Eola hoped he'd be able to help. Keirine at any rate didn't know any more, although she did promise to keep talking to her own contacts in Oblivion and listen for more news. She also promised not to tell Madanach just yet.
"Oh, and cariad," Keirine said idly as Eola got up to leave. "Congratulations. I'll get you some morning sickness remedies before you leave. Please don't name one after me, everyone'll expect me to take an interest in its upbringing. I presume you'll want every painkiller known to magic for the labour?"
"Yes please," Eola said, grateful for her aunt's support as always. Somehow, knowing the Ideal Masters hadn't been involved bolstered her spirits – at least she was just going to be mother to a reincarnated dragon escapee from the Soul Cairn, as opposed to a mole from the Ideal Masters. Mother to a Dragonborn! Eola couldn't even imagine. But Eola was a witch of no small talent, and used to corralling a dangerous and unpredictable force of nature. Eola still needed to talk to Paarthurnax, of course. But she had a feeling everything was going to work out just fine.
Notes on the Dovah:
Fahliil, fahliiluv - elf, elven
Meyus - foolish
Sosnaak, sosnaakin - consuming blood, one who consumes blood, i.e. vampire
Dovah Sos - dragon blood
Meyriid - bloodline
Kogaan - blessing
Vo dilon, vo alok-yun - no death, no new life
Druv yol alun? Pah Rotmulaagge nuz yol alun - why is it always fire? Out of all the many words of power, it's always fire.