Under a sullen gray sky, amid the mist of Morthal swamps, Marceline saw her quarry in the distance. The piers of the East Empire Trading Company were now in sight, just beyond the steamy moors. Soon, my love, she said silently, hoping that this quiet prayer left on the wind would reach Ondolemar's ears. This ploy had to work.
"What are you thinking about, Thane?" Dres asked as he took a place by Marceline just beyond the others. Leaning against a fallen tree, they stood in silence for a moment while watching the other Companions sitting around the dwindling fire. "You're plotting something."
"Always," she answered, watching the embers glow as they floated through the evening air.
"What is it?"
"I'm simply gauging your friends. I'm looking to see who's best for the job—I'll need two," she said quietly as she watched Athis squabbling with Vilkas over what appeared to be a mudcrab's claw. "How, by the nine, did you get mixed up with this lot?"
Dres laughed as he stooped down to pick up a stick. "It's actually a funny story, Marcy. After you ripped my heart from my chest and fed to me, I went on a little binge and managed to get kicked out of every single tavern in Whiterun. One night, I stumbled into Jorrvaskr and challenged everyone to a duel. After beating the shit of me they took pity and eventually hired me on as a Companion."
"That's not really funny, Dres," she countered while staring straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact with him. She felt guilty enough about their falling out, without discussing aftermath. "Are they better employers?"
"Hmm. Better benefits," he laughed, recalling the relative ease of physical conquests of late. "I tell you, Marcy, those bloody Nord girls are ready, nothing like you and your uptight—"
"Gods, you are a s'wit," Marceline said, shoving him off the fallen tree they were leaning against. Dres looked slightly ridiculous lying on the ground in the mud with leaves stuck to his face and hair. It was some time before they stopped laughing. "As you were saying, you bloody fetcher."
"Yes, as I was saying before I was so cruelly cut down by a vicious little mer—
"Part Nord," she sniffed in mock indignation, as she offered her hand.
"And yet you're still so uptight," he laughed as he stood, brushing leaves and debris away. "So what is it Marceline, this job? Is it a hatchet job? Because if that's the case, then we're all qualified."
"No, this is something that requires some tact."
"Well, that leaves out Vilkas, Aela…"
"I just need one more," Marceline smiled as she looked at Dres. "I need you to have Tullius and Elisif agree to give me an audience. I would like to have them together when I present our plans for a treaty. I would have you petition Tullius and I thought I'd send a shield maiden to petition Elisif—a scrubbed up shield maiden."
"Then Ria's your girl. She's young, malleable—and for some unknown reason, she seems to look up to you."
"Much to Aela's chagrin," Marceline added. Aela's distaste for the Thane was apparent. Though their pace to Solitude had been brutal, there had still been enough time and opportunity for her to engage Aela. All attempts were shut down by the huntress in clipped one and two word sentences.
"That's not what's eating Aela," Dres answered slowly, as their eyes met.
"Hmmm, I see," Marceline uttered slowly, while observing Ria as she sat with the others. She noted that the girl was still a bit uncomfortable in her own skin, and eager to please. She watched as Ria laughed a bit too heartily at the banter between Athis and Vilkas, looking to them for approval. "You're right, Dres, she's perfect for the job."
"Do I need an invite to join this little gathering?" Aela said, as a startled Marceline jumped. Aela laughed quietly as she sidled in closely to Dres.
"Of course not," Marceline said, as she discreetly shifted away from Dres, while looking nervously to her friend. This Aela was impressive, Marceline mused, for it was seldom was she ever taken by surprise. She stared at Aela with an impassive smile, though wondered how much of her and Dres's conversation she had overheard.
"The two of you looked so deep in discussion, back here by yourselves," Aela teased. "I wondered what could possibly be so interesting."
"We're discussing tactics, love," Dres answered. "We have to get both Elisif and Tullius to agree to an audience."
Aela shrugged, as the rest of the group joined them. "Why are we bothering to seek an audience with Elisif? Everyone knows she's an Imperial puppet. She has no say in such things."
"She maybe a puppet, but she's still the jarl of Solitude," Marceline countered. "We have to show deference and respect. We have to get her approval."
"It's Tullius we need," Dres added.
"And it's Tullius you'll get," Marceline smiled.
"Why don't we just go as a group?" Aela argued. "It would be much easier that way."
Marceline sighed heavily. "Because that is not the way things are done. You don't just go banging on the queen's front door demanding audience. Besides, the last time Elisif encountered a speaker of the Thu'um, her husband died and her land was plunged into a civil war. I'm not so sure she'd be too keen on us just crashing the gates at tea time, so it's better to have a plan. Plus, it would work for all of us if Tullius and Elisif agreed to meet at the same time."
"It's your party, Marcy," Dres said. "But what if the Thalmor—"
"I've anticipated that, but I think that's highly unlikely," Marceline said with a slight shrug. She knew that it was possible that she would come face to face with Elenwen tomorrow, but she thought it more likely that Elenwen would send a proxy, rather than face Marceline herself. "If I know Elenwen, I think she will wait until I've said my piece to figure out what I'm asking for. She'll want to know my price. More likely she'll send some underling."
"Or she'll have her spies planted in Elisif's court," Dres added. "Either way, she'll know soon enough."
"Precisely," Marceline nodded.
"If the Justiciar hasn't told her first," Vilkas retorted loudly.
Marceline shot a killing look at Vilkas before answering curtly, "I doubt that—but even if he has, it matters not. Soon everyone will know why we're here. The reign of the World-Eater must end. It's no secret. My husband could shout it from the rooftops and it would make no difference." She then rose and coldly stalked past Vilkas, back to her to a small traveling chest. She reached in and pulled out a dress.
"Ria, love," Marceline said softly as she approached the girl in animal hides. Her armor was fine for the road and battles ahead, but Marceline knew that this girl, this brave warrior with the earnest expression on her face would be mocked by those who deemed themselves greater than she. No, the cause is too great for it to fail on the grounds of simple etiquette. "There are certain protocols one must follow when presenting herself to a jarl—or to any great lord." Ria blushed fiercely as Marceline placed the simple red dress in the girl's arms, continuing, "Wearing this will indicate that you are no mere ruffian pleading your case; I'm sure the queen, or at least her courtiers hear those a hundred times a day. This will set you apart."
Ria took the dress into her hands. The soft velvet and cool silk gently caressed her arms, though she felt slightly treacherous for admiring such a piece of finery and wondering how it would feel against her skin; the Companions distained such things. "Wouldn't my armor be better? To show that I'm a warrior?"
Marceline could sense the girl's trepidation. She smiled warmly as she placed her hand on Ria's shoulder, "She'll know that when you address yourself as a part of the Companions."
"It's also a diversion, love," Dres added. "It will throw them off a bit, I think, seeing a Companion so finely dressed. Not to mention, it may put Elisif at ease. We don't want to make the poor darling nervous, and appearing before her in full war-paint and armor may do so."
"I just don't understand. This is lovely, Marceline, but I just don't think," she said as her voice trailed. "I just don't think this is me."
Marceline gazed steadily into the wavering girl's eyes. "In a royal court, nothing is what it appears to be. In your heart, you know who you are and what your aim is. Follow that."
"But what…what else do I say?" Ria asked, clearing her throat nervously.
"Simply state that the Dragonborn requests an audience with her ladyship. That is all you have to say. Dres will be close by."
"And what of Tullius, Marceline?" Dres inquired. "Do you think he'll see me?"
"I don't anticipate any problems, but if Tullius turns you away or refuses to make room for you in his busy schedule, go see a Captain Aldis."
"Who's that?" Ria gulped as her body twisted anxiously.
"He's captain of the guard and an old friend of mine. I'm sure you'll have no problems there. When you both finish meet the rest of us back at the Winking Skeever,"Marceline said as she held out her hand Ria. "Let's head to inn and get you cleaned up."
Marceline was granted an audience.
The air was thick with tension as she ascended the stairs leading to throne room. Gasps and hushed whispers filled the densely populated room as Marceline strode toward the small woman sitting on the throne. This was the second time a crowded gallery parted before her in a mix of curiosity and fear. The sun's bright light filtered through a stained-glass window and reflected off her sheer ebony armor. Today she was no simpering courtesan vying for the attentions of a sovereign. Today she was warrior. Today Marceline was Dragonborn.
"Your Highness," Marceline said, as she kneeled before the petite blonde and would-be-queen, Elisif. Beside Elisif stood a large man, regally dressed. From what Ria had described, this must be Falk Firebeard, her steward. Though standing prominently beside the jarl with his hands mounted firmly on his hips, he had not said a word. This was a good sign. Marceline had heard that he personally handled all commerce, serving as a filter between Elisif and her people. Elisif speaking directly to Marceline could only indicate that the jarl took this request seriously.
Behind her, Marceline heard the heavy footfall of Imperial armor. Taking a place beside Elisif, General Tullius stood with his arms crossed over his chest. An impenetrable scowl sailed across his deeply lined face. Marceline had seen him only one other time—at Helgen as she awaited execution.
"Rise, Dragonborn," the Elisif said with a confidence that surprised Marceline. She had been told this girl was a mere leaf, a wisp of woman and puppet queen; and yet, as she rose to meet the jarl's deep, blue eyes she saw a fierce and entirely unexpected determination in them. "We have heard much about your exploits, Thane of Whiterun. What is your business in Solitude?"
"Yes, we are quite curious," Tullius added caustically.
"I have come to petition this court on the behalf of Skyrim's people," Marceline said, with her eyes still focused directly on those of the jarl. Behind her, she heard few courtiers titter. Clearing her throat, she continued, "Never in the history of Tamriel has there been a threat so great to our people as that of the dragons. Every day, the men, women and children of this land live in fear for their lives, cowering at the screeching threat from above, and everyday a village is burned and lives are lost amid flame and ruin. I have come to vanquish this threat."
"And how will you accomplish that, Dragonborn?" Tullius asked coldly, his voice barely masking his disbelief. "How could you as one person defeat such a menace, where countless brave men and women have failed?"
Marceline nodded to Elisif then turned to Tullius. "Respectfully, General, your men fail because they have not acquired the correct target. One dragon—the World-Eater, Alduin—controls the rest. Conquer him and you have the key to defeating all the others. But no one, no matter how brave or canny can defeat him unless they know where he is."
"Well, where the hell is he?" Tullius scoffed.
"Alduin lives between two worlds—ours and Sovngarde. In both places, he devours the souls of the living and that of the dead."
"Then how do we get to him, Dragonborn?" Elisif demanded, her voice barely masking her impatience.
"We find another dragon to take us to him," Marceline stated simply. She paused for a moment before continuing, "In the great keep of Dragonsreach lies a centuries-old trap, big enough for capturing and holding a dragon. Once a beast is caught, we will convince it to lead us to Alduin."
"How will you convince it to show you, Thane?" Tullius sneered. "I don't know of any person that can communicate effectively with those creatures."
"Yes, you do, General. You know one intimately, as does the jarl and the rest of her court," Marceline said evenly as she heard Elisif and the rest of court gasp. "Your highness, any speaker of the Thu'um can communicate with a dragon. The Greybeards can, Ulfric can—
"That butcher!" Elisif hissed. She was standing now; her small hands were balled into fists.
"And I can," Marceline finished, asserting herself loudly over the crowd, now hushed completely.
"Well, you're certainly preferred over the other," Tullius shrugged. "Tell Jarl Balgruuf we will require use of his keep."
"It's not that simple, General, and you know that," Marceline answered between clenched teeth. "Whiterun is caught between two warring factions. Balgruuf has made it clear to me that the only way he will let anyone make use of his keep is if there is a temporary truce called between both sides. Because the matter is so great, the Greybeards have agreed to house the negotiations in a month's time."
"That will never happen, Dragonborn!" Tullius shouted forcefully. "You can tell the Greybeards they can wait a month, a year or until Oblivion itself freezes over. I'm here to quell a rebellion, Thane, not negotiate with the rebels!"
"You speak too quickly, General!" Elisif snapped. "All of the people in Skyrim are my people, regardless of what side their loyalties fall. If there is a way to defeat these menacing creatures and stop the destruction trailed in their wake then we must act! Dragonborn, I will agree to this truce, but first you must prove yourself worthy. On the fields west of the palace there is a dragon who stalks my people. Slay it and we will agree to meet."
"I will, Your Grace," Marceline said as bowed to Elisif.
"And we shall be there to see that you do," Tullius answered, his lips twisting scornfully. "I, along with a contingent of men will meet you at Katla's farm. There, we will watch as you summon the beast and destroy it. Then, and only then, will the Imperials agree to talks."
Marceline looked over at Elisif, who nodded. "I will be there too, General—."
"My jarl, no!" Falk Firebeard cried out. "It is far too dangerous for you!"
"Falk," Elisif said softly as she turned to face her steward. "If the Dragonborn fails today there will be no safe place for any of us." She then looked back to Marceline. "We will see you in two hours' time."
They all walked in silence toward the farm. A large contingent of men, courtiers and soldiers had already gathered, both Tullius and Elisif among them. There was little room for standing, let alone fighting a dragon. As Marceline turned to Dres to speak, she saw him in the distance—a tall mer in Thalmor robes standing near the edge of the road near an outcropping of trees. For a second her heart clenched and stomach turned as she froze in her tracks.
"Dres…" she murmured softly, almost inaudibly to her friend.
He turned slightly in the direction of Marceline's stare. "It's not him, Marcy. Your eyes are seeing what they want you to see. It's a petty trick, but…this bastard will be of use, I promise. Focus on the task at hand and I'll take care of the rest." He then turned to others. "Form a perimeter around the Dragonborn, yet take a care not to get too close; this is Marceline's fight and she has to do it alone. Your job will be to keep these fetchers safe. Aela, you and I have some work to do."
Marceline shook her head slightly, before approaching Tullius and Elisif. "Your Grace, General, this plot of land is too small and a battle would endanger the lives of everyone here. I will take the battle down just below those rocks near lumber camp. You should be able to see everything from up here." She then turned and walked down the road with the other Companions following some distance behind her.
A light breeze blew softly, rustling the leaves as the sun shone brightly down on the water, creating tiny lights within the ripples. The beast was near. She could feel it's presence on the wind as she took a position near the water's edge. A tear fell softly down her cheek as she banished all thoughts from mind. Taking a deep breath she called out, "Laas Yah Nir." This silent Aura Whisper would alert the dragon to her presence.
It seemed like an eternity as she waited. From above she could hear the talk of all that came to see the show. They would not be disappointed. Just beyond the light cloud cover she could see it; the blood dragon arced and swooped down as it blew a large plume of fire in her direction. As she lifted her shield to cover her face, she silently prayed that the other fools on the cliff would remain silent as any scream or shout would call the dragon forth. The bastard craved blood and they were certainly easier targets than she.
"Joor Zah Frul!" she cried as the dragon dropped from the sky; her shout lashed the dragon's soul causing it to crash clumsily against the rocks. She could end it now with a well-placed strike from her sword Dragonbane, or she could give the crowd of onlookers a show. She turned slightly as she heard the cries from above, cheering her on. She would give them what they wanted…
"Joor Zah Frul!" she cried out again as the dragon attempted to rise. She then unleashed a bevy of shouts—Fire Breath, Frost Breath and Unrelenting Force—until the poor creature fell helplessly to ground, slumping limply alongside the rocky shoreline. Quickly she ran toward the beast and sprang upon its chest, plunging Dragonbane into its heart as the crowd cheered wildly. Now the real show was to start. Marceline jumped down off the dead dragon as the wind whipped around her wildly. She turned to the crowd, as the defeated dragon turned to ash, while both she and it glowed brightly as a campfire ember. Marceline cried out as the creature's vanquished soul poured into her own.
Then silence. Not a sound was to be heard from the people above as she climbed the gravel road leading to Katla's farm. The crowds of soldiers and simpering courtiers were stricken dumb and slack-jawed as she approached an astonished Tullius and Elisif. "We will see you in a month's time at High Hrothgar, Dragonborn," was all Tullius was able to spit out as he and his troops walked past her in a daze. Marceline sighed deeply as she smiled in triumph, I am close now, my love...
As the crowd dispersed, Marceline approached the other Companions; still there was no sign of Aela and Dres, or the Thalmor she had seen earlier. Suddenly, from the trees she heard a call that sent the others running. She followed quickly behind.
In a heavily forested patch, just beyond the farm Marceline saw them. She cringed when she saw the Altmer male stretched out against a large rock between Dres and Aela. This was not Ondolemar. Silently, Marceline cursed herself quietly for ever believing that this fake was her husband.
"Looky at what we have here," Dres grinned as the pinned captive, struggled futilely against his and Aela's hold.
Smiling sweetly, Marceline approached the young Thalmor soldier. She then reached out the quivering mer; her hand gently caressed his bruised face as she moved in closer. "Shh," she whispered softly against his lips. Marceline could feel his breath hitch as her hands moved down length of the glimmering Thalmor robes.
"I need you to deliver a message to your master Elenwen," Marceline purred as her hand coiled tightly around the trembling mer's scrotum. Yanking hard, as he cried out she hissed, "Tell her it's in her best interest to keep my husband alive!" Marceline then nodded to Aela and Dres; together they released the groaning captive, who collapsed to ground as she and the other Companions walked away into the forest.
The dark cell was only illuminated by torch lights streaming through the small, barred window of the heavily reinforced door. How long have I been in here? Ondolemar had lost track of all time in this cold, dank little room. Of course that's what this room was designed for; to make a prisoner speak or to torture them into madness before a horrific end. How many times had I inflicted this upon others? he mused. He had been here many times before, except in times past he was always on the other side of the door, listening intently to the sound of another soul breaking. This kind of karmic retribution could only be brought on by a god with a sense of humor.
Only one other time in his life was he inside such claustrophobic space as this—in Alinor after his ill-fated affair with Psylia had ended tragically. But even then, there were windows. Now, in the dark shadows he could scarcely see the rats chewing on urine-drenched straw.
But he could hear. That was the one sense the Thalmor wished their prisoners to keep. Often Ondolemar found that sound, more than the deprivation of light or food was enough to break even the heartiest warrior. In the still nothingness an inmate could keenly hear the instruments of interrogation click, hiss and lash, their sound echoing off the slick, mildew covered walls. Accompanying the mechanical groans of the machine was the shrill sound of prisoners screeching in pain, followed by their futile pleas for mercy.
Ondolemar shifted carefully on the stone slab chained to the wall. The rough stone had already cut into his bare skin—clothes being the first layer of dignity stripped upon arrival. Sitting up, he felt the large cut and bruise on his scalp—his captors had taken great joy in shearing him bald. His whole body ached, and the raised, red welts that ran down the length of his arms and back throbbed as he leaned helplessly against the granite walls. Already he had been racked twice and lashed still many times more. There had been even worse torments and violations, some that slashed at his sense of self and would have completely unraveled a lesser man—and yet he still stood.
Ondolemar's soul had not yet shattered. He had not cried, begged nor shed any tears since the day the Thalmor had seized him in Whiterun; for from the moment he stepped onto the prisoners' cart, he realized his life was forfeit. Knowing Elenwen better than most, Ondolemar knew what to expect and could predict what would become of him in the emissary's little hold. Only one thought continually haunted him now in this half-life and it had nothing to do with torture, or the fear of further abuse. Ondolemar's only waking concern was for his wife. Should the worst happen, his only hope was that Marceline would die well, regardless of whether or not she had been successful on their mission. She had to escape capture, for the thought of any other outcome would break Ondolemar, particularly if she was thrust into this pit beside him.
Suddenly, a door slammed from the floor above. Ah, there she is, he thought. He heard the unmistakable gait and click of Elenwen's boots along the stone floor that stopped abruptly outside of his door.
"Bring the prisoner forth and sit him over there," she commanded. As the guards opened the door, Ondolemar's body shook at the cold air rushing into the dank cell and his eyes were briefly blinded by the bright torch light that engulfed the doorway. His legs buckled as the guard yanked him from his stone cot. A coarse, horse hair blanket that taunted his open wounds was thrown around him as he was led to a small wooden chair and table.
Sitting across from him Elenwen looked as smug as ever, causing an involuntary laugh to escape his lips. He now understood why the condemned laughed.
"What, Justiciar?" she asked, seeming surprised by his expression. "Have you enjoyed your time here, this…interrogation?"
"Oh, Elenwen," he sighed as he twisted his neck and shoulders, his muscles unused to the freedom, then he exhaled slowly. "This was no interrogation, emissary, for there were no questions. This was revenge, though I will say that your torments were quite exceptional and exceeded even my expectations."
"Hmm," she murmured as her lips curled into a small smile. "Well, I have news, Justiciar. We will be leaving soon for High Hrothgar. Your love has convinced both Elisif and Tullius to meet Ulfric for a treaty."
He shrugged. "Yes, that was the plan along."
"I am surprised you speak of it so willingly," she said, while motioning over to a mer dressed in Thalmor robes, who placed cups of tea before the both of them.
"Ah, it was no secret, Elenwen," Ondolemar said as he took a drink of the hot steaming liquid placed before him. Ondolemar gazed intently at the young Thalmor serving them. This mer would have easily passed for a younger version of him, minus the black eye and fat lip the young guard currently wore.
"Who's that? He looks quite familiar."
"Your wife thought so," Elenwen said as she smirked. "Threw her off a bit. Poor darling almost lost her match with a dragon."
"Looks like she must've roughed him up a bit," he observed wryly, while silently noting that the mer's bruises were the likely reason for his recent and forced visit with dungeon's more depraved denizens. "You must be quite fond of him, Emissary, seeing that you were willing to go to such a great lengths to avenge a black eye."
Elenwen inhaled deeply, theatrically conveying her marked disappointment. "I am fond of all great mer who serve Auri-EI faithfully. This was the mer you once were, Ondolemar. And yet you betrayed your kind and your god for some miserable little wench." She lifted the cup to her lips and gazed coldly at Ondolemar. "Was she worth all of this—the broken body, sore ass, loss of position and dignity?"
"Yes," he answered without hesitation.
Elenwen's eye twitched slightly as she slammed down her cup, causing shards of clear glass to shatter across table. Turning to the guards, she barked, "Get him cleaned up and healed—we leave on the morrow for High Hrothgar."
