Bigger gap between stories this time, because the last one was early. Tried my hand at uploading a story via computer. Much easier.
Yeah! 100,000 words and 10 chapters! Achievement Unlocked: Prolific Penmanship 50 points!
The colder the air got, the more despondent Link became. But he perked up when they made it back to Riverwood. Link went straight to his pony and hugged Dapple's shaggy little head. Orgnar had been feeding the horses under Delphine's instructions, so they were well taken care of and the cold weather bothered neither Dapple or Alfsigr since they were breed for the cold winters of Skyrim. Alfsigr was very happy to see Folkvar as well but she gave him an angry look for leaving her behind for so long. Folkvar would have patted her nose and apologized,but he didn't want to do so in front of Link. He had to maintain a certain amount of detachedness from regular human emotions unless emotions were absolutely necessary.
Somehow, Delphine must have had some sort of sixth sense that alerted her to their presence because they hadn't been in town for more than five minutes before she came out of the inn and looked both ways down the street before looking at them.
"I don't think you were followed. Come on, I have a plan," Delphine beckoned for them to enter the inn behind her and they obliged.
They went down into the secret room in the inn's basement and Link called the wardrobe and secret door behind them, hoping no one would go into the room after them and find it empty. Though it would be much worse than if they went into the room and found the secret passageway into Delphine's room.
"I found out how we're getting you into the Thalmor Embassy," Delphine started as Link walked down the stairs after Folkvar.
Folkvar hoped it wasn't something that required braking in at night. Folkvar could be stealthy if need be, like when stalking a dear, but sneaking into what was probably the most guarded place in all of Skyrim would not be easy for him, and nowhere near easy for Link, who was loud on a good day, despite the pointers he had gleamed from his Khajiit friend, Khayla.
"I'm assuming we're not going to be fighting our way in?" Folkvar complained.
"So that's your plan, huh? Even if you could survive, by the time you got inside, whatever documents they had would be long gone. We're there for information, remember? Trust me, I've been doing this a long time. My way is better."
"What's your plan?" Folkvar asked, crossing him arms.
"How are we getting in?" Link added, his small voice eager to hear the details.
"The Thalmor Ambassador, Elenwen, regularly throws parties where the rich and connected cozy up to the Thalmor. I can get you into one of those parties. Once you're inside the Embassy, you get away and get the secret files. I have a contact inside the Embassy."
"Why doesn't your contact get the documents?" Folkvar grunted, liking the plan less and less as Delphine continued her explanation.
"He's not up for this kind of high-risk mission, but he can help you. His name is Malborn. Wood elf, plenty of reason to hate the Thalmor. You can trust him. I'll get word for him to meet you in Solitude, at the Winking Skeever - you know it? The Embassy is close to Solitude. While you're doing that, I'll work on getting you an invitation to Elenwen's little party. Met me at the Solitude stables after you've arranged things with Malborn. Any questions?"
"How are the Thalmor not going to recognize me?" Folkvar asked. "They know me as the Dragonborn and as a warrior who didn't technically take a side in the civil war."
"Hopefully they won't recognize you dressed as a rich noble," Delphine answered. "They definitely won't recognize you if you shave the beard off."
"The beard stays," Folkvar snarled, quickly taking a defensive stance.
"At least get it trimmed for this," Delphine tried to compromise. "You look like you live in the wilderness with that shaggy thing."
"I do live in the wilderness," Folkvar all but snarled. He was very attached to his beard, he'd had it since he could grow one and rarely had to maintain it in any form other than a quick brush through with his fingers. "But I suppose a trim wouldn't hurt."
"I'm glad we can agree on one thing," Delphine sighed. "Anything else?"
"What am I doing?" Link asked. This kind of mission was new to him and he was both nervous and excited. His acting was stiff and it always had been, making it hard for him to lie and deceive people, which was essentially what the mission was. He hoped Delphine didn't expect him to do too much talking.
"You are not going," Delphine glared at Link scoldingly. "One invitation will be hard enough to get, let alone two. You've got a different job."
"What?" Link asked, he tried to sound tough and crossed his arms, just like Folkvar, but it didn't work as well on a short, lanky pubescent boy as it did with a fully grown, massive swordsman.
"I've got word that there is someone who will be able to help us in Riften. I need you there, finding him. The man your looking for is probably in the old Ratway. He's old, in his seventies, eccentric, and a little crazy. I can't tell you his name in case you get caught and it compromises us. Think you can handle it?"
"Yes," Link nodded, though he didn't feel like he could.
Folkvar could tell the boy was lying immediately. He also didn't agree with sending Link off alone. It was too dangerous.
"He'll stay here if he can't come with me," Folkvar objected quickly. "He's not going in your mission."
"He's the only one who can do this," Delphine said. "I'd go myself but I'm needed for your mission. Link is the best choice. He's trained in stealth, pick pocketing, and lock picking. He'll fit in well in both Riften and the Ratways. I need him there."
"It's too dangerous," Folkvar answered. "I wont allow it."
"Folkvar," Link tightened his arms around his chest, the gesture no longer looking like a mock at intimidation and now a clear sign of the stress Folkvar and Delphine's argument was causing him. "I want to go. And she needs me there. I can do it, right?"
The look on Link's face was twisted by uncertainty, the need to be believed in, and determination. All three emotions would have seemed out of place anywhere but on Link. Folkvar knew this face. Link used it when he wanted something, wasn't sure if it was alright to ask, but asked anyway. He also knew that the boy didn't use it on purpose, unlike his puppy dog face. Despite it not being the irresistible puppy face, Folkvar was still unable to say when he knew a yes would bolster Link's self confidence. And Delphine had a point. Thank's to Link's interest in Khayla's unique skills, he was perfect for this mission.
"I'll see you in Solitude after I met with Malborn," Folkvar complied begrudgingly, finally caving in. He didn't say he agreed, but him ceasing to object was enough for both Delphine and Link.
"Sounds good. Be careful," Delphine nodded. "Both of you. And Link, talk to Brynjolf. He's well connected. A good starting point, at least. Oh, and if you find him, if you think I'm paranoid, you may have some trouble getting him to trust you. Just ask him where he was on the 30th of Frostfall. He'll know what that means."
Folkvar and Link quickly left the room before Folkvar changed his mind. Folkvar bought enough food for the next week for both him and Link, making sure to put extra rations in Link's portion, just incase something happened while he was separated from him. When Delphine left her room and entered the main section of the inn, Folkvar grabbed Link's shoulder and went outside to get the horses ready for the long journeys ahead of them.
"Lad," Folkvar put a hand on Link's shoulder, noting how despondent Link was being. "I know you can do this. I'm not happy about it, I'll admit, but your more than capable of handling this on your own. The sooner we can get to the bottom of this dragon business the sooner it will be over and this will take a good few days off the whole matter. I trust Delphine and I trust you."
"I'm nervous," Link admitted quietly as he checked over Dapple's saddle bags to make sure he had everything for the long trip to Riften. "I've never really done anything on my own. I mean, I sort of single handedly killed a giant spider inside the Great Deku Tree, saved the Gorons from starvation by defeating a giant fire breathing dinosaur king, and saved the Zora Princess from a giant parasite inside their guardian fish god thing. But I had Navi with me telling me where to swing my sword. She would always alert me of danger and if I didn't know what to say she'd whisper in my ear."
"What happened to Navi?" Folkvar asked. He wondered why he had never heard of this Navi person before if she was so important to Link's life.
"She was a fairy and couldn't leave Hyrule. Without the Deku Tree's magic keeping her alive, she would need to stay near the Great Fairy springs or at least in the forest. She went with me around Hyrule because there are Fairy Fountains everywhere if you know where to look. There aren't any fairies in Tamreil so she couldn't come with us. I wish she could have. Then maybe I could have gotten away from the bandits myself. After she left, you were the only person to help me."
Link stopped tightening Dapple's saddle and rested his head against the pony's warm shoulder, basking in the warmth that spread through his forehead. He felt suddenly so tire, small, and afraid. Every time Folkvar left, Link got himself into some sort of trouble and now they suddenly expected him to be able to take care of himself. He did not feel ready to leave Folkvar.
"Link, listen to me," Folkvar squeezed Link's shoulder reassuringly. "You can do this without Navi or me. You've been practicing with your sword very diligently and you've got more than enough raw talent to put you on a different level than anyone who wields a blade in Riften, even without training or a fairy. Not only that, but you are resourceful and smart. I know you, lad, and I know you can do this."
"Really? You're not just saying that?"
"Would I ever just say something?" Folkvar removed his hand from the boy's shoulder and patted his back.
"Thanks," Link sighed. "If you say I can do it, then I guess I can."
"Need some help tightening Dapple's saddle?"
"Dapple's bloating his stomach again," Link smiled. "He doesn't like the saddle tightened. I wouldn't either, if I had to carry me around all day in the cold."
"At least you don't have to carry me around all day in the cold," Folkvar chuckled.
He helped Link tighten the saddle. He ruffled Link's hair affectionately and pulled him into a big, bear hug, resting his fore head on the top of Link's head as boy's arms wrapped around him and held on tight, either with fear of loosing him somehow or just simply embracing Folkvar's love for him.
"Come back safe, lad," he whispered to Link, his voice full of love and fear.
"Only if you do too," Link's voice was muffled in Folkvar's big chest.
"When have I not come back?"
"Never," Link answered.
They pulled away from the hug and Link looked up at Folkvar, a question on the very tip of his tongue, but his inherent fear of pushing Folkvar away kept it back. He knew he couldn't make Folkvar stop loving him, they were pretty much family at this point, but doubt and the fear of loneliness still ate away at his mind. When Folkvar raised his eyebrow to coax the question out of Link though, the boy pushed back his fears and finally asked the question.
"Folkvar, can I call you Pa?" Link asked quickly, closing his eyes and clenching his fists as if waiting for Folkvar to say no.
Though Folkvar had expected a question, he was still caught off guard. He had already been thinking of Link as his son, but that didn't require him to change what he called the boy. A parent usually called their child primarily by their name and sometimes with a pet name, but children rarely called their parents by their name. Folkvar wondered how long Link had been meaning to ask that question but had been to scared. Probably since Folkvar had nearly died and joined Freya in Sovngarde. Folkvar had to answer Link's question correctly, or he risked hurting him. After only a moment of thought, Folkvar decided on the correct answer.
"I will leave that up to you, lad," Folkvar ruffled Link's hair playfully and smiled sadly.
"I'd like it," Link opened his eyes and slowly unclenched his fists. "I'd really like it."
Folkvar nodded his approval and turned to Alfsigr, going through her pack, looking for something. When he found it he turned back to Link and held it out to the boy.
"Lad," Folkvar said. "I've been teaching you how to read a map, as well as make your own. Now it's time you have your own. I've already marked where we're meeting once you've found Delphine's old friend."
"Thank you," Link took the map gingerly, letting the realization that he truly was going to be on his own for a few days settle in, but he didn't let it bother him. It wouldn't bother Folkvar. "You'll be there, right?"
"Of course," Folkvar nodded.
Folkvar ruffled Link's hair once more for good measure and jumped up into his saddle. Link followed suit and they rode off down the bridge. They stayed together for a few hours until they reached a fork in the road, one path leading east to Riften, Link's destination, and one leading north to Solitude, Folkvar's destination. There was a nip in the air that was stinger than usual but the sky was clear but for a few clouds. There wouldn't be horribly bad weather for a few days to come and Link was headed in away from the colder regions of Skyrim. Folkvar could handle the coldness he was riding towards, but the promising weather did not make their parting any more enjoyable.
"I'll see you in a few days," Folkvar turned to Link, who was nervously looking down the east path, but he turned to met Folkvar's gaze with a confidence that was slowly growing. "Stay safe, avoid trouble, don't talk to any shady characters. Don't eat too much in one sitting, keep your food rationed or you'll run out. No, don't talk to anyone at all. Riften is nothing but shady and no good characters. Find Delphine's friend and then get out. Keep a low profile. I don't want you stay one night alone in that rat infested town."
"I'll be fine," Link smiled. "A sword's better than a knife."
"Knives strike fast and from the shadows, trust no one," Folkvar responded.
"I thought you said I could do this," Link pouted.
"I trust you, lad, not other people."
"That kind of attitude wins no friends."
"And procrastinating burns day light," Folkvar raised his eyebrow at Link to let him know that the conversation was getting thin. "I'll see you in a few days. Gods' speed, my son."
"Goddesses guide you, Pa," Link's smile grew with happiness at being called son and being able to call Folkvar 'Pa'.
Folkvar nodded to Link and the two turned down their different roads, Folkvar headed north, and Link headed east.
(1)
Folkvar missed Link the moment the boy was out of sight, and the more time that passed, the worse the feeling got. Though Link was unusually quiet for a child his age, he loudened Folkvar's life considerably. He seemed to leave behind a strange, melancholy sadness when he and Folkvar were apart.
"Perhaps it's Dapple who's the loud one," Folkvar thought out loud to Alfsigr. "Link makes very little noise at all."
Alfsigr, as usual, did not respond. She didn't even shake her main or stamp her foot.
"You are not a good listener," Folkvar commented, watching a bright blue butterfly flit across the road. "Especially for a listener who can't talk back."
Folkvar did not want to think of what part of Link's absence he felt the strongest because it made the loneliness all the more painful, but his mind wandered when he traveled and there little he could do to stop it. His mind started to make a list of everything he like most about Link, the first thing being that he could respect silence. Much to Folkvar's own amusement, the second was the way Link voice rose in pitch when he asked a question. His curiosity was that of a child and he was Folkvar's child, making every rare question a golden opportunity for Folkvar to teach the boy something new and an opportunity to heal the boy's wounded soul. It took Folkvar a long list of why he loved Link to discover why it felt so silent without him.
Folkvar was always aware in someway of where Link was and what he was doing. Even when his attention was not on Link directly, he could still see the boy out of the corner of his eye. Link was always somewhere close behind him, watching his every move like a duckling who had imprinted himself onto the first sign of kindness. Link was essentially his shadow. Folkvar had forgotten what it felt like to have a small boy Link's age following him around and imitating the way he walked, and sometimes the way he talked.
Once upon a time, twenty-five years ago, Folkvar had a little brother Link's age who followed him around everywhere, much like Link did. Solf was much, much louder than Link was, though. He was also much bigger, overconfident, a little cocky, and was always somewhere near Folkvar. He didn't stand a chance that day. He had been the first to die, though Folkvar had been the first attacked. Solf hadn't suffered. His life was ended by a quick blow to the heart.
Folkvar quickly decided to think about something else before he started to imagine Link in Solf's place. Link was not Solf, he was much more cautious and nothing bad could happen to him. Folkvar couldn't imagine anything bad happening to Link. It was just too painful. Instead, he dismounted in the waning twilight and set up camp, hoping Link had found a good, safe place to camp for the night. The Rift was not a safe place for a lone traveler.
Folkvar laughed at himself for thinking that Link wasn't safe on his own. Of course Link wasn't safe. No one was safe in Skyrim, alone or not. Out there in the wild, and even in a walled city, there was danger around every corner and it came in every shape and size. Not even Folkvar was safe, and he had years of experience under his belt. The only thing Folkvar should be worried about was whether or not he had prepared the boy well enough. Before he turned in for the night to sleep with one eye open, as he usually did, he decided that he had and quickly left it at that before he could second guess himself. It would be a long night until morning, but he had survived many nights just like this. This one would be no different.
(2)(2)
The Winking Skeever was a very odd name for an inn, though most inns had odd names if you thought about them long enough. And each name had a meaning behind it. Folkvar assumed that the story behind this name involved a pet Skeever with an eye twitch. Skeevers, which were rodents of unusual size, did not used to be as big as decently sized dogs. They were sometimes small enough and tame enough to be pets and were popular amongst growing boys. Folkvar was not particular to pets, but he believed that if one had a pet, or animal that wasn't going to end up food, it should be something practical, like a large dog that can fend off wolves or a horse, which can carry a rider long distances at a good pace. He hoped Link wouldn't find some wounded animal and take it home with him. It seemed like something he would do.
Folkvar took a few steps inside and looked over the patrons. The bard, a tall nord woman in hide armor, was beating a song on her drum and humming a tune to match the tempo, many other guests were drinking spiced wine and swaying along to the tune. In the back, a wood elf, Malborn, was sitting alone at a table underneath a massive stuffed bear head hung on the wall. He was sipping watered down ale and looking around the room with a paranoid expression that matched Delphine's down to the smallest detail.
Folkvar casually sat down next to the elf and ordered himself some wine just to blend in a little. He had no intention of drinking enough to loose his better judgement. The stuffed bear head's glass eyes seemed to stair down at him. The taxidermist who stuffed the head was very good at capturing the bears natural expression and it looked like it wanted nothing more than to sink its teeth into the neck of anyone who got too close. It was very unnerving, but at least it would prevent people from glancing over at them and hearing their conversation.
"Good afternoon," Malborn narrowed his eyes at Folkvar, not sure if he was to be trusted.
"Our friend sent me," Folkvar took a small sip of the wine and acted like he had known Malborn since they were young to make it seem like they had a reason for conversions other than for breaking into the most guarded place in Skyrim.
"Really?" Malborn looked surprised and gave Folkvar a look over, noting the huge sword and the pack he carried that held his heavy armor. "You're who she picked? I hope she knows what she's doing."
"I hope so too," Folkvar grumbled. "What's the plan?"
"Here's the deal," Malborn leaned in closer and talked quieter. "I can smuggle some equipment into the Embassy for you. Don't plan on bringing anything else in with you. The Thalmor take security very seriously. Give me what you can't live without, and make sure to get it into the Embassy. The rest is up to you. Met Delphine at the stables. She has everything you'll need to get in."
Folkvar shrugged his sword over his shoulder and handed it and the pack of his armor to Malborn. Everything else he had the wisdom to leave behind in the stables with Alfsigr. Malborn looked at the sword with an annoyed expression, but Folkvar could tell he was confident that he could smuggle the sword, as big as it was, into the Thalmor Embassy without a problem. Malborn took to pack and the sword, they made a small a light of small talk to avert suspicion, and then Malborn left. Folkvar, who could very well be walking right his death, decided another tankard of wine wouldn't hurt. Once he had downed the wine, he left before he was tempted to drink any more, which would be irresponsible.
(3)(3)(3)
The sun was staring to dip in the sky by the time Folkvar made his way to the stables. Delphine was waiting for him there with a carriage to take him to the party. When Folkvar saw her he was suddenly overcome by a wave of doubt. He had never been to party with a bunch of rich, important people who might also want to kill him, and he never intended too. He hoped now more than ever that Delphine's plan would work and that Link's end would go much smoother than his end. The boy had a longer journey afterwards than he did, plus he wasn't sure if Delphine's friend had a horse, so that could slow them down.
Folkvar quickly went up to Delphine before he changed his mind, turned around to intercept Link at Riften, go home, and hope the dragon problem would blow over with time. Delphine turned to look at him and made a very unamused face. Folkvar was not dressed accordingly. He hadn't bought a new set of cloths in five years. He saw no reason when his current set, a pair of patched breaches and a thick red shirt with a brown patch on one shoulder, was perfectly fine and wasn't torn to shreds. They didn't look very fancy, but they kept him warm and that was what counted. His armor, on the other hand, was much better carried for as it saved his life almost daily.
"Have you given Malborn everything you want to smuggle into the embassy?" Delphine asked, the concern for Folkvar's ability to pull the mission of present in her voice.
"I did," Folkvar grunted, crossing his arms. "He'd better follow through. That's a new sword and the armor wasn't cheap."
"He will," Delphine answered curtly. "I have your invitation to the party. But the only way to get past the guards is if they really believe you're an invited guest. Which means you need to look the part, and not be armed to the teeth. Here, put this on."
Delphine reached into the pack around her shoulder and handed Folkvar a set of the finest cloths that would fit his huge figure. The coat was thick and plush, made of the best softened leather Folkvar had seen in a long time. It came with finely made breaches and a pair of shoes that Folkvar wouldn't be able to walk in for more than a week, two if he stepped lightly. Overall, Folkvar decided the cloths were impractical in the harsh environment that was his ancestors', as well as his own, home land.
"When you're ready, I'll keep the rest of your gear safe in the back," Delphine patted her pack where she wanted Folkvar to put all the things on him that he didn't want the Thalmor to take and that he didn't give to Malborn. "You only have what you gave for Malborn to smuggle in for you, plus what ever you pick up inside."
Folkvar went behind the stable and changed out of his own, worn but practical clothing, and into the fine, much too fancy and snug coat, dress shirt, breaches, and wooly shoes that Delphine had given him. He rolled his shoulders, deciding that he felt very naked and exposed without his heavy armor and huge sword on his back. He would have to give Delphine his bow as he and not given it to Malborn to smuggle in. He felt bad that the elf had to smuggle Ísabrot into the embassy, which would not be easy.
Once he was changed, and uncomfortable, he walked straight for the wagon, begrudgingly handing off his personal effects to Delphine. His hand stopped momentarily on the little unicorn carving Link had given him. He was torn between wanting to take the carving with him and worry that something would happen to it at the embassy. Delphine seemed to see his dilemma and took his cloths and bow, but left the carving. Folkvar quickly put it back over his head and tucked in under the coat, where the worn wood rubbed against his chest through the shirt. The wood was already turning dark and shiny from the amount of times Folkvar had rubbed it in his hands.
Once Delphine had placed his cloths and coin purse in her pack and slung his bow over her shoulder, she surveyed how Folkvar looked in the fancy clothes. She frowned, but then wiped the expression off her face. If he didn't meat her standards, there was little she could do about it now.
"Hmm, I guess this will have to do," She sighed. "You should pass for a real guest, at least until you open your mouth."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Folkvar grunted harshly, realizing that he did not sound at all the part. His voice was harsh, gruff, and more than a little rude. He quickly coughed to clear his throat, but he wasn't sure if there was much he could do to make his voice sound more noble and less mercenary.
"Are you ready to board the carriage?" Delphine smirked.
"No," Folkvar grumbled. "I don't like this plan of yours, but I don't suppose that matters."
"It doesn't," Delphine lost her smirk. "Get in the carriage. Your invitation should be in the inside pocket of the coat."
Folkvar rolled his shoulders in an attempt to loosen his battle worn muscles into the more finesse posture of a fat noble who did nothing but attend parties and earn money, but he didn't think it worked. He got into the carriage and sat down, staring up at the sky, watching the clouds drift lazily on by. A week ago he would not have expected to be on a covert mission, but here he was, and he was not enjoying it. But Link, and so many other, were counting on him so he would have to do his best.
"Don't worry," Delphine reassured him as the carriage stared to move down the path. "We'll all be here when you get back. Just make sure you get out of there alive with the information we need. Good luck."
(4)(4)(4)(4)
The Thalmor Embassy was a huge, well guarded fortress in the mountains north of Solitude. It was a long ride up and Folkvar couldn't wait to go back down, where things were simple. Defend yourself against Mother Nature, her horde of wild animals, and stay away from bandits unless paid otherwise. Folkvar knew he was late, hopefully fashionably so. Fourth sky he was not the only one arriving. A Redguard in with a big black beard and fine blue and gold trimmed clothing walked up soon after the carriage pulled up to the gate.
"Ah, a fellow late comer to Elenwen's little soirée," the man patted Folkvar on the back joyfully. Folkvar decided to humor him and enter the party with him. "And arriving by carriage no less! I salute you, sir! I'm Razelan. My lateness is due more to getting lost on this gods-forsaken mountain than to any desire to actually arrive late. I prefer to arrive early. Often the day before the party. So as not to miss out in any of the drinking. There's not enough drinking in the world today, wouldn't you agree?"
"I would not," Folkvar tried to sound as sophisticated as possible.
He used to be more sophisticated once, a long time ago when his mother was a wealthy and successful merchant. He had wasted all of her money on drink after his family died, and then tried to earn it back by brawling with the other patrons of the local taverns in Cyrodiil as he found that he was a very violent drunk. He was forced to reform himself when he realized that he was on the path to an early grave, and not the way a nNord would prefer, with a clear mind and a weapon in his hands. So he gave up drinking and started to chase after danger. That's how he ended up going back to Skyrim. Cyrodiil's bears weren't big enough to give Folkvar any real challenge and the trolls were not up to his standards. Of course, his plans of meeting his violent end were cut short after he survived not one, but two dragon attacks and then ended up rescuing Link, who he was now responsible for. In the end, he discovered he wasn't really looking for a way to die, but for a reason to keep living.
While Folkvar was lost in thought, the man sat himself down on a rock nearby.
"I think I'll just sit right here and rest for a bit," Razelan decided to ignore both Folkvar's remark against too much alcohol consumption and his increasingly distant look and continued talking. "I know, I know - we just met. But think, by the time this party is over we'll no doubt be fast friends. I look forward to it."
"I'm going to go in," Folkvar said, knowing that if he waited any longer he'd miss his opportunity and Delphine might have his head.
"I'll go after you," Razelan waved his hand to motion for Folkvar to go without him. "Although these fellows know me. I never miss one of of Elenwen's parties, you see."
Folkvar went up to the entrance and a guard approached him. He had to remind himself not to panic. He may not be armed, but the guards didn't know they had a reason to kill or detain him yet, so he should be perfectly safe.
"Welcome to the Thalmor Embassy," the guard said, his hand hovering dangerously close to his weapon. "Your invitation please."
Folkvar reached into the inside of his coat and found the piece of parchment right where Delphine said it would be. He handed it to the guard. So far, so good.
"Here you go," Folkvar hoped he sounded as harmless as possible.
"Thank you, sir," the hard looked over the letter with approval. "Go right in."
Folkvar tried not to be stunned by the guards friendly expression and went up the steps to the embassy. This was too easy, but then again, Delphine planned it for this part to be easy. Razelan went in soon after him, but not soon enough for it to be perceived that they walked in together. The inside of the Thalmor Embassy was like a breath of fresh oppression. It was stuffy and constricting, a stark contrast from the open freeness that was the wilderness of Skyrim. Folkvar didn't consider himself a personal enemy of the Thalmor, but just blinking wrong could get on their bad side and Folkvar had a habit of pissing off the wrong people.
Folkvar had only walked a few feet into the embassy before he was greeted by the hostess herself. Elenwen was a tall, stuffy Altmer with red eyes and a gaunt face. She was confused momentarily when she realized she did not recognize him. Folkvar didn't know whether to be happy she wouldn't call the guards on him for being an enemy of the Thalmor or nervous that she might call the guards on him for not actually being invited to the party. But he did remember seeing her somewhere before.
Thankfully, she did not call the guards, and instead held herself taller and approached Folkvar regally, trying her best to look down on him, despite the fact that he was at least three inches taller than her.
"Welcome," she forced herself to smile, something Folkvar noted was a common trait amongst most the Altmer he had met. "I don't believe we've met. I am Elenwen, the Thalmor Ambassador in Skyrim. And you are?"
"You're Elenwen?" Folkvar was not prepared for that question, but he believed he managed to dodge it naturally enough. He was severely outnumbered and it made him nervous. "I've heard so much about you."
"Have you?" Elenwen narrowed her eyes. "All good, I trust. But you have me at a disadvantage. I'm afraid I know nothing about you. Please, tell me more about yourself. What brings you to this..."
Malborn, gods bless him, discovered Folkvar being cornered in the hallway, and managed to divert Elenwen's attention away from Folkvar long enough for him to get past her without having to answer her questions. It was then that he remembered that Elenwen had been the Thalmor overseer for his false execution in. Helgen before the dragon attacked. He then did his best to avoid her gaze, lest she remember him as well.
"What is it, Malborn?" Elenwen turned away from the tall Nord and snapped at her Bosmer servant.
"It's just that we've run out of Alto wine," Malborn complained. "Do I have permission to uncork the Arenthin red..."
"Of course. I've told you before not to bother me with such trifles."
"Yes, Madame Ambassador."
While Malborn distracted her, Folkvar entered the main party and was now in a safe zone where no one could ask him incriminating questions without making a scene. He wasn't quite in when Elenwen turned to him and nodded her head with respect.
"My apologies," Elenwen grumbled. "We'll have to get better acquainted later. Please, enjoy yourself."
"I will," Folkvar returned the nod, careful not to look like a criminal.
There were many guests Folkvar didn't recognize, which was good considering that if he recognized them, they would most undoubtedly recognize him. The only person he did know was Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone. He and Link had prevented her town from becoming a huge coven for Movarth a few months back but she didn't know enough about him to give him away. She had only seen him a few times and he had had his helmet on for most of them.
Before anyone approached him, Folkvar turned on his heals and leaned into the bar so that he could talk to Malborn, who was more informed about the plan than he was.
"You made it in, good," Malborn sounded relieved.
"What do I do?" Folkvar whispered, his teeth clenched nervously.
"Distract the guards, I'll open this door and we can get you on your way," Malborn nodded discretely to the door behind him. "Let's hope we both live though this day."
"Thank the gods I don't have to actually attend this damnable party. I'm a warrior, not a noble whose got time for things like this," Folkvar grumbled.
He looked around the guests again, wondering who would cause the biggest distraction. He used to be quite the distraction himself in his younger days, back when he was still drinking more than what was good for him. He knew drunks, and a drunk was always the best distraction, especially when making a scene. Razelan was sitting on a bench looking absolutely miserable. From the looks of it, he was still completely sober, a state that disagreed with him. He was the perfect candidate for a distraction.
Folkvar sat down next to him, leaned back, and crossed his arms. Razelan looked over at him and sighed sadly.
"What does a fellow need to do to get a drink around here?" Razelan bemoaned.
"You look very thirsty," Folkvar said quietly, loud enough for Razelan to hear but not the guard standing nearby.
"My friend, you are very perceptive," Razelan smiled. "I have a powerful thirst that cannot be slacked. And none of the waiters will bring me a drink. Elenwen must have told them to cut me off, the frigid elf. Afraid I'll have to cause another scene, I suppose."
He didn't sound very convicted to this scene, but Folkvar, his suspicions correct, needed his new friend to make the biggest scene this fortress had ever scene so that he could trump it and make a bigger one, preferable in full armor and with his new sword in his hands.
"I might just be able to help you with your little problem," Folkvar stood up slowly, so as not to draw attention to himself.
He walked up to Malborn, a knowing look in his eye. He tapped the bar, signaling for a drink, but he had no intention of drinking it himself. Instead, he took the goblet filled with red wine Malborn handed him and brought it back to the beach were Razelan sat. He swirled the wine around in the glass and once more leaned back. He noted Razelan eyeing the wine hungrily, or thirstily, as it were.
"That for me?" Razelan said quietly.
"Possibly," Folkvar did not make eye contact with the Redgaurd.
Razelan reached out for the drink, but Folkvar moved it out of his grasp before he could get his hands on it. Razelan made a small pitiful noise, and Folkvar moved the goblet back into his grasp, this time letting him take it. Razelan look a long swig and sighed deeply, embarrassing the buzz that came from fine wine.
"Ah, the one generous soul amongst a gathering of pinch-pennies and lick-spittles," Razelan sighed. "If there is anything I can do for you, do not hesitate to call upon me."
"Actually, there is something you can do for me," Folkvar said, his voice quiet, but not too serious as that could tip Razelan off to his not so lawful behavior.
"Wonderful!" Razelan smiled at the thought that he wouldn't be in debt for very long. "I can begin to repay your generosity immediately. Say on, friend."
"I need you to cause a scene," Folkvar grunted. "Get everyone's attention for a few minutes. You understand?" Folkvar made sure to make it sound the same as when a young man asked his friends to talk him up to a girl he liked to induce more compliance than he would if he was asking someone to drive the get away wagon for a huge heist.
"Is that all?" Razelan smiled knowingly, though he didn't actually know anything. "My friend, you've come to the right person. You could say a scene is somewhat of a specialty of mine. Stand back and behold my handiwork."
Razelan stood up, somewhat shakily, it was strong wine and he had drunken it quickly. He then proceeded to go to the center of the room, taking another goblet off of a waiter's plater, who looked very upset that he had let the drunk get the drink, and the Redgaurd raised the goblet into the air, but not before taking a sip of the wine inside.
"Attention everyone! Could I have your attention please!" Razelan shouted loudly, drawing the attention of the guards as well as the guests. "I have an announcement to make."
While Razelan gave his drunken toast to their host, Folkvar slipped behind the bar as quietly as he could. Malborn quickly opened the door for him and they both went through into the wine cupboard, closing the door behind them.
"So far so good," Malborn said nervously. "Let's hope nobody saw us slip out. We need to get through the kitchen. Your gear is hidden in the larder. Just stay close and let me do any talking, got it?"
"I am more than willing to let you do the talking," Folkvar agreed.
"Then follow me," Malborn nodded.
They went through the door in the back of the wine cupboard and entered the kitchen. It was a well stocked kitchen, with lots of fresh meat and vegetables. A Khajit woman in white clothes that were stained red with blood was cutting a side of goat for the guests. Folkvar assumed that if all when to Delphine's plan, the guests would not be enjoying the meal the chef was preparing for them, which was a shame since she was working very hard and her cooking smelled delicious.
"Who comes, Malborn?" She snarled skeptically. "You know I don't like strange smells in my kitchen."
"A guest, Tsavani, feeling ill, Malborn answered smoothly. "Leave the poor man be."
Folkvar quickly made sure he looked a little nauseous to back up Malborn's claim. He wanted nothing more than to have his sword back in his reach and for someone to point at the enemy so he could start swinging. He followed Malborn to the larder, almost feeling the pull of his gear. It was all he could do not to pull the little unicorn out from under his shirt and rub it between his fingers for reassurance.
"A guest? In the kitchens?" Tsavani turned back her ears and sniffed deeply. "You know this is against the rules."
"Rules, is it, Tsavani?" Malborn crossed his arms. "I didn't realize that eating Moon Sugar was permitted. Perhaps I should ask the Ambassador."
"Get out of here!" Tsavani hissed guiltily. "I saw nothing."
Malborn and Folkvar went into the larder and Marlborm closed the door behind them. There was a large sack propped against one wall that looked like it could hold anything. Malborn pulled away the tarp like martial of the sack, revealing Folkvar sword and armor. Folkvar quickly took off the fancy coat and began to buckle his armor into place over the dress shirt. He felt whole again.
"I'll lock the door behind you," Malborn quickly closed the door behind him. "I've got to get back before I'm missed. Don't screw this up."
"This is the part I'm here for," Folkvar reassured him.
Once Folkvar was ready, he went through the door in the larder that lead to the rest of the embassy as apposed to the kitchen and was met almost immediately by three guards, two soldiers and a mage. The soldiers raised their shields and charged, but they could hardly sound the alarm for an intruder before Folkvar dropped them with two great swings of his enchanted sword. The soldiers fell to the ground, frost spreading over them quickly.
The wizard was more of a challenge. He forced Folkvar to dive for cover when he shot lightning from his hands, but the momentary distraction did not stop Folkvar. He waited for the wizard to tire and when he did, Folkvar sprung from his hiding place quicker than the wizard could ready another spell and he two was felled on the ground under a fine layer of frost.
Folkvar went to the back of the room they were guarding, exited the building, and went out into the fresh air of Skyrim, taking a deep breath. He had only been inside for a few minutes but the feel of the cold wind on his face was as refreshing as it could ever be.
Even more invigorating, was the second wave of enemies that attacked him the moment he entered the courtyard. He once again managed to dispatch the guards quickly and without sustaining major injuries, though his hair felt a little singed from a fire spell that nearly incinerated him. Folkvar was stronger and quicker than any man, woman, or beast that he had come up against so far and nothing could kill him yet. The Thalmor didn't stand a chance against him, but that didn't deter their attack.
Once the enemy was defeated, Folkvar took a better look at his surroundings. Behind him was the main building of the Embassy where the party was no doubt being dispersed as the nobles fled for their lives from the one man attack. In front of him was Elenwen's personal building. It was easily four stories tall, five if there was an attic. It rose up from the ground in a way that reminded Folkvar of the Mage's Guild Hall in Bravil, a city in the southern part of Cyrodiil. He had been there primarily on business for the Fighter's Guild, back when he did that kind of thing, but the tall building had caught his attention. Elenwen's wide tower like manor was build off stone though, while the Mage's Hall in Bravil was made of worn down wood, centuries old, and unlike the hall, it didn't look about to fall over at any second.
Despite that the smell of magic made Folkvar uneasy, especially Altmer magic, he knew he would need to enter this building and search it top to bottom since he had not been given a map to the house with directions to Elenwen's personal study nor would there be directions inside. Folkvar steeled his nerves, calmed the warning of danger in his mind, and burst through the door, a lumbering mass of enraged Nord, the best was to make an entrance when storming a fortified, well guarded stronghold with only one man.
There was guard who was standing with his back facing the door, chastising an underpaid servant about a pay that the poor man had not received. The guard did not get to finish his sentence before Folkvar cut him down. The servant, who was not disloyal to his master, drew a dagger from his belt, but he never got close enough to Folkvar to use it.
The hairs in the back of Folkvar's neck trembled with static and he spun on his heals, two words ready in his mouth to face the mage he knew was behind him. The mage cast his spell and Folkvar, not fearing anything in a sudden burst of adrenaline, let the words fly.
"FUS RO!"
Folkvar then held up his enchanted sword to defend him self from the mages spell that had been cast before Folkvar could stop him. The sword's magic managed to block most of the attack, but Folkvar would probably jolt anyone he touched for a while. The mage, however, was not lucky enough to have a weapon that could block the force of Folkvar's shout and was basted against the wall behind him, his head hitting the stone with an echoing crack. The mage crumpled to the floor and would rise no more.
Once the threat was eliminated from the room, Folkvar was able to examine it. To his left was what looked like a kitchen, in front, stairs that lead up to the higher floors, forward and to the left was what thankfully looked like a library. Folkvar decided to check there first, making sure to check the mage and guard for any keys they might have as keys would make Folkvar's life much easier. He found a key on the mage, and pocketed it. He then went to the library to check for the documents Delphine wanted.
The room was indeed a small library as well as a study. To the left of the door way was a desk furnished with many important looking papers stacked high. Behind the desk was a chest that looked much too important to be ignored. Folkvar went to it quickly, certain that his assault would have alerted at least some of the still surviving guards, if not all.
Folkvar, being the seasoned explorer he was, was correct in his assumption that the chest was important. In it he found three very crucial documents that Delphine would love to get her hands on. A letter about the Thalmor's investigation into the return of the dragons, and two dossiers, one on her and one on the late Jarl Ulfric. Folkvar, finding that he had time, skimmed all three documents before leaving.
First, he skimmed Delphine's Dossier:
Status: Active (Capture or Kill), High Priority, Emissary Level Approval
Description: Female, Breton, mid 50s
Background: Delphine was a high-priority target during the First War, for both operational and political reasons.
She was directly involved in several of the most damaging operations carried out by the Blades within the Dominion. She had been identified and slated for the initial purge, but by bad luck was recalled to Cyrodiil just before the outbreak of hostilities. During the war, she evaded three attempts on her life, in one case killing an entire assassination team. Since then, we have only indirect evidence of her movements, as she proven extremely alert to our surveillance. She should be considered very dangerous and no move against her should be made without overwhelming force and the most careful preparation.
Operational note:
She is believed to still be working actively against us within Skyrim, although we have no location on her. Assumed to be working alone, as no other Blades are known to be active in Skyrim, and she has in the past avoided contact with other fugitive Blades for her own security (one of the reasons she has so far evaded elimination). Her continued existence is an affront to all of us. Any information on her whereabouts or activities should be immediately forwarded to the Third Emissary.
Then Ulfric's, which was old, considering it had not been updated since the man's death:
Status: Asset (uncooperative), Dormant, Emissary Level Approval
Description: Jarl of Windhelm, leader of the Stormcloak rebellion, Imperial Legion veteran
Background:
Ulfric first came to our attention during the First War against the Empire, when he was taken as a prisoner of war during the campaign for the White Gold Tower. Under interrogation, we learned of his potential value (son of the Jarl of Windhelm) and he was assigned as an asset to the interrogator, who is now First Emissary Elenwen. He was made to believe information obtained during his interrogation was crucial in the capture of the Imperial City (the city had in fact fallen before he had broken), and then allowed to escape. After the war, contact was established and he has proven his worth as an asset. The so-called Markarth Incident was particularly valuable from the point of view of our strategic goals in Skyrim, although it resulted in Ulfric becoming generally uncooperative to direct contact.
Operational Notes: Direct contact remains a possibility (under extreme circumstances), but in general the asset should be considered dormant. As long as the civil war proceeds in its current indecisive fashion, we should remain hands-off. The incident at Helgen is an example where an exception had to be made - obviously Ulfric's death would have dramatically increased the chance of an Imperial victory and thus harmed our overall position in Skyrim. (NOTE: The coincidental intervention of the dragon at Helgen is still under scrutiny. The obvious conclusion is that whoever is behind the dragons also has an interest in the continuation of the war, but we should not assume therefore that their goals align with our own.) A Stormcloak victory is also to be avoided, however, so even indirect aid to the Stormcloaks must be carefully managed.
Then the letter:
First Emissary Elenwen,
We anticipate a breakthrough in our efforts to uncover the party or power behind the dragon resurrection phenomenon. An informant has identified a possible lead, whom we have brought back to the Embassy for a full interrogation. The subject is obstinate, but by all indications is holding back the information we seek. I have authorized Intermediate Manual Uncoiling - I do not expect more will be necessary, unless you feel time presses.
I know you prefer to be present for the final questioning; I will inform you immediately when the subject is fully receptive. Two days tell the tale.
In the meantime, if you wish to audit our technique, your expertise is welcome, as always. I have placed the prisoner in the cell closest to your office stairs, for your convenience.
-Rulindil, 3rd E
The letter proved to be the most useful since it gave Folkvar a reason to continue further in the Embassy and make himself and even bigger thorn in the backs of the organization that was being a thorn in the back of his home land. Folkvar hoped the key he had taken off the mage was for the doors down into the dungeons, where he would hopefully find the prisoner who knew more about the return of the dragons, something that involved him deeply, so he continued on his search for important information.
Folkvar's weight on the stairs behind Elenwen's office made them groan. They had ben built for lightly armored, elegant elves to traverse up and down. Not for a big, 200lb nord in armor that weighed at least half of his own weight, plus a huge sword. But the stairs were built expertly and did not give under him, for which he was grateful.
The door at the bottom of the stairs was locked. But the key opened it smoothly, which was good since Folkvar, though skilled at getting anywhere in a dungeon, was just not built for lock picking. Link was nowhere near as good with keys and he was with a lock pick, making him all the more valuable on missions like this. Though his habit of breaking any key he came in contact with was a little strange. Folkvar felt a sudden pang of loneliness at the thought of his boy being on the other side of Skyrim. The loneliness turned quickly into fear, when he remembered the nature of the mission that had separated them. But the worried fear of Folkvar's inner father was shoved to the back his mind when he reminded himself to focus on his own mission. The sooner he was done here, the sooner he could let his fatherly worry eat him up inside, little by little, until Link arrived at the meeting place with Delphine's friend.
With the painful emotions locked away in the back of his mind, Folkvar let the adrenaline once more take him over and he, this time quietly, entered the dungeons to find the prisoner who could very possibly hold all of the answers to his, the Thalmor's, and Delphine's questions. There was no time to loose.
The dungeon was an easy clear. There was only one guard and he was standing directly under the balcony that the door opened up to. Folkvar could have taken the stairs to his left, but jumping over the railing and impaling the guard before he even knew what hit him was much quicker, so Folkvar did that instead.
Once that was done, Folkvar saw a chest in one corner of the dungeon and he decided not to over look it. The man in the cell closest to the door could wait a few moments and was much too out of it to notice any way. In the chest was a third dossier, this one even more interesting than the last two. This was was about a man named Esbern.
Status: Fugitive (Capture Only), Highest Priority, Emissary Level Approval
Description: Male, Nord, late 70s
Background: Esbern was one of the Blade's loremasters prior to the First War Against the Empire. He was not a field agent, but is believed to have been behind some of the most damaging operations carried out by the Blades during the pre-war years, including the Falinesti Incident and the breach of the Blue River Prison. His file had remained dormant for many years, and inexcusable error on the part of my predecessor (who has been called to Alinor for punishment and reeducation), in the erroneous belief that he was unlikely to pose a threat due to his advanced age and lack of field experience. A salutary reminder to all operational levels that no Blades agent should be considered low priority for any reason. All are to be found and justice exacted upon them.
Operational Notes: As we are still in the dark as to the cause and meaning of the return of the dragons, I have made capturing Esbern our top priority, as he is known to be one of the experts in the dragonlore of the Blades. Regrettably, we have yet to match their expertise on the subject of dragons, which was derived from their Akaviri origins and is still far superior to our own (which remains largely theoretical). The archives of Cloud Ruler Temple, which is believed to have been the primary repository of the oldest Blades lore, were largely destroyed during the siege, and although great effort has been made to reconstruct what was lost, it now appears that most of the records related to the dragons were either removed or destroyed prior to our attack. Thus Esbern remains our best opportunity to learn how and why the dragons have returned. It cannot be ruled out that the Blades themselves are somehow connected to the dragons' return.
We have recently obtained solid information that Esbern is still alive and hiding somewhere in Riften. Interrogation of a possible eyewitness is on-going. We must proceed carefully to avoid Esbern becoming alerted to his danger. If he is indeed in Riften, he must not be given an opportunity to flee.
"Listen here, spy," a smug, confident voice pulled Folkvar from the dossier. "We have your accomplice. Surrender now or you both die."
Standing where Folkvar had just been were two guards, armed and ready to kill. They had Malborn as a hostage and Folkvar knew they would kill him at the drop of a pin. Instead of dropping his weapons and raising his hands, though, he reached for his sword, a snarl building in the back of his throat. Under no circumstances would Folkvar surrender to a High Elf. The only thing stopping him from shouting the elf down was that Malborn was in the way.
"Whatever," Malborn sighed, seeing the hesitation in Folkvar. "I'm dead anyway."
He twisted out of the guard's grasp and reached for a dagger he had concealed in his back pocket. He managed to stab the guard holding him before she his him in the head with the hike of her mace. Link, Folkvar noted absently, would have screamed at this and become angry. Folkvar prayed for his surrogate son's safety, realizing that according to the last dossier, the boy had been sent after Esbern, a man who the Thalmor were after and knew the location of. They would be right on the boy's tail, if not ahead of him already. Link was in grave danger and there was nothing Folkvar could do about it. But, as he rushed for the stairs to get to the guards, he knew he could avenge Malborn in the moment, and it would have to be good enough for now.
The first guard to reach him on the soars was the wounded one. Since she was slowed, Folkvar was able to easily slice her out of the way, knocking her down the stairs and onto the gerund below. Despite the second guard having the higher ground, Folkvar still managed to avoid her attack. Since her swing went wide and Folkvar was no linger directly below her, she stumbled to the bottom, where Folkvar took advantage of her miscalculation and stuck her through the back, killing her quickly and cleanly.
Despite the head wound, Malborn wobbled to the stairs behind Folkvar, clutching the gash on his head. He looked defeated and upset.
"Now the Thalmor will be hunting me for the rest of my life," He sighed bitterly, but he wasn't mad at Folkvar. "I hope it was worth it."
"I can assure you," Folkvar helped him down the stairs. "It was."
He let Malborn rest on a crate while he searched the guards for more keys. He found one and pocketed it. He then went to the cell where the prisoner, a Breton man with two days worth of bloody, unkept stubble and too many nonfatal wounds to count, was hanging limply from chains on the wall. Folkvar gently shook him to his senses.
"I told you," the man mumbled deliriously, trying to look away from Folkvar. "I don't know anything else about it."
"I'm not here to torture you," Folkvar answered, reaching for the chains to release them.
"What?" The man mumbled, not at all convinced. "Who... What so you want then?"
"I don't think I've got time to explain," Folkvar found to release and caught the man as he fell limply to the floor. "Let's get out of here. Malborn, help him."
"That way's out," the man pouted to a trap door in the corner. "I've seen the guards use it to get rid of bodies."
Folkvar helped the man out of the cell and passed him off to Malborn, who begrudgingly helped the weakened man stand. Folkvar took point, since he was the best armed out of the three of them. The guard's key conveniently opened the trap door, and the three slipped down a tunnel that smelled of death and decay. Despite the oder and unpleasantness, the freed prisoner, who interdicted himself as Etienne Rarnis, was smiling like this was the happiest place in all of Skyrim. To him, it probably was.
Folkvar decided not to ask if Etienne knew anything about the dragons. He didn't seem like the type who would. So the subject was left alone and instead they escaped through the cavern.
It didn't take long to get out of the caverns, and it didn't look like they had been followed. It was now night out, so the air was much colder. Folkvar knew he should get back to the stables and met with Delphine to get his stuff back. He was a little disoriented since was didn't know where he was at first, but the stars guided him correctly and he made it back to the stables at midnight. Delphine was waiting for him by Alfsigr and a second, well outfitted bay horse for their ride to the Reach where they would met Link and the crazy old man he was sent to get, who Folkvar now knew was Esbern.
"You made it out alive," Delphine sighed. "Here's you stuff."
She handed him his pack and in return he passed her the three dossiers and the letter.
"And here's yours," he grunted.
"Did you learn anything useful?"
"The Thalmor are just as in the dark as we are."
"Really?" Delphine raised an eyebrow and narrowed her eyes. "That seems hard to believe. You're sure about that?"
"Yes, I'm sure," Folkvar crossed his arms and tried not to snarl. "They're looking for someone named Esbern. Apparently he's in Riften, where you sent the lad."
"They know?" A look of pure fear flashed across her face. "I wasn't even sure it was him. How can they know. Are you sure?"
"Why are you questioning me?" Folkvar shouted quietly, carful not to raise his voice and wake the people who ran the stables. "You're the one who knew about him."
"I didn't know Esbern was still alive. It was just a hunch. A strong hunch,mind you, or I wouldn't have sent the boy after him."
Delphine seemed to be struggling with both worry and joy at the same time. Folkvar was struggling with preventing himself from shouting, or just stabbing her, but he restrained himself and instead took a menacing step towards her, a rage only present in a parent who feared for his child burning in his chest.
"If they get there before him and the lad doesn't make it out alive," Folkvar hissed. "I will hold you personally responsible."
My favorite thing about fan fiction is that is a story is well written but has ideas that you don't 100% agree with, or if the idea is great but the writing could be ether, you can just write your own, the way you think it should be. The beauty of fan fiction is that it's an idea that in ways belongs to everyone. Just don't steal someone else's story.
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