Summary: Jarl Balgruuf's made it to Markarth with a story to tell... and it's inspiring his fellow Jarl to play the riskiest game of all. Meanwhile, back in Cyrodiil, there are questions to answer on how exactly a prize Thalmor asset went so completely off the rails, leading to consequences for both his Justiciar handler and a young Aldmeri ex-soldier with unfinished business on her mind.
A/N: It's been too long since I updated this so to compensate you get TWO chapters! Also we're not going to Riften quite yet after all. The Thalmor are starting to react! Also there's a certain someone who I wanted to bring in, and the Reach is just about stable enough for that to happen now. So after Balgruuf arriving in Markarth, the action switches to Cyrodiil instead... but only briefly. The new characters will be joining the rest of the cast soon enough.
The following day brought Jarl Balgruuf to Markarth, his housecarl and a few Whiterun guards with him, and the first thing he did was talk to Jarl Hoag, requesting a tour of the city.
Hoag agreed, and with Delphine and a few of the ReachGuard in tow, the two Jarls walked around, talking to citizens and seeing how the city was doing… and with that done, Balgruuf and Hoag sat down to a private lunch.
"Well, lad, spit it out," Hoag said, tearing at his bread and buttering it. "You've been pensive all morning. Let's hear it. You have thoughts, don't you? How did your meeting with the Sybil go?"
Balgruuf lowered his glass, staring down at his pie and mashed potato.
"Hoag," Balgruuf said carefully. "Are you a pious man? I mean, we all follow the Ni- Eight. But do you believe? Really."
Hoag had no idea, if he was honest. As a young man, he'd believed without question… but Ildi had died and the gods had brought him no comfort.
"Lad, if the gods are true, they don't need me to believe to keep being so, and if they're not, it hardly matters if I believe or not," Hoag said, wondering why Balgruuf was having a crisis of faith now. "Why, what brought this on?"
"The Sybil spoke to me," Balgruuf finally managed to get out. "She manifested him. Talos. He said… he said the Empire was dying. That he couldn't protect an Empire that had turned its back on him. But he could protect a kingdom that had given him sanctuary. He says he wants Skyrim to protect and ally with the Reach, and recognise Madanach as king. Hoag, what do I do? I always worshipped Talos, but he never spoke to me before! Or any of us! Gods don't do that, do they? Yes yes, I know the priests always talked about the Will of the Nine, and listening to the voice within, but they were never supposed to appear! No one ever told me I'd sit across from a young woman in priest robes, and see her eyes start glowing and a god speak from her!"
Balgruuf had stopped eating entirely, head in his hands.
"What in Oblivion do I do, Hoag? A god just asked me to stand up and tell both the Empire and my High King to go to the Daedra!"
Hoag had lowered his own fork, staring at the young Jarl as he realised he'd just found an ally… and if the talks with Istlod failed, a solution to that as well.
"Then who are we to defy the Will of Talos, lad," Hoag said, reaching out and taking Balgruuf's hand. "Come on, don't look so surprised, I have my son out here swearing he will be Madanach's Shield-Thane come death or Daedra, and several young grandchildren by marriage all worried the Empire will invade and execute their father. And after talking to the citizens and Madanach's steward and Marquise Inga, I've decided Ulfric has the right idea. Balgruuf, lad, we've all been looking at this the wrong way. We've all been thinking of Madanach as the tyrannical usurper who stole a province… but the Hold back him. Markarth doesn't want any more fighting. Hroldan's flourishing with its new Stormcloak residents. Everyone here seems content enough with Madanach as King, people are a bit sad about Hrolfdir but no one's mourning him desperately, and absolutely no one misses Clan Silver-Blood. The Hold chooses the Jarl, Balgruuf – and the Reach has chosen Madanach. He didn't get his army from abroad. He raised it from within the Reach, from among the hill-folk – and disaffected citizens who'd left Markarth. Also, that Reachwoman witch who allegedly entranced and murdered Thalric Silver-Blood?"
"Aye, what of her?" Balgruuf said, frowning. "Thongvor and Thonar always made her out to be some harpy from the bowels of Oblivion itself."
"Thalric died nineteen years ago this year," Hoag said shortly. "I found out from Madanach that his so-called mistress was in fact Madanach's twin sister. He's thirty four this year, just had his birthday a month or so ago."
Hoag waited to let Balgruuf do the maths on that one, and Balgruuf's profanity-laden reaction did not disappoint.
"I'd have executed the bastard myself for that!" Balgruuf cried. "Fourteen? Gods, Hoag. I know sons will whitewash their father's memory, but there are limits. And Hrolfdir did nothing?"
"I have heard him speak on Reachmen before now, saying they aren't like us, and come of age earlier, and are far freer with their morals," Hoag said quietly, staring at the table and feeling his own guilt for just accepting this at face value and not questioning it. "I asked a few of the guards and healers what the age of consent was for Reachfolk, and it is sixteen, like our own. They will allow a rape victim to use the act to prove adulthood when the age comes round, but not a perpetrator, and while many recalled youthful experimentation somewhat earlier than the actual age, none countenance grown adults taking teenagers as lovers. They're no different to Nords in that regard, Balgruuf, and if Hrolfdir countenanced Thalric's actions, he sealed his own fate in the end. I feel sorrow for young Igmund, but I cannot avenge a Jarl so negligent."
"No," Balgruuf echoed, resolve seeming to stiffen before Hoag's eyes. "I see now why Ulfric wrote what he did in that letter. This is no longer usurpation, this is justice. Weregild for the – do Madanach and his sister have a family name?"
"Reachmen just declare who their parent was, although they do have honour-names," Hoag said, recalling what Ulfric and Madanach had told him. "Keirine and Madanach took their father's name – he was said to be a cultural scholar of some repute. The Reachman equivalent of a high-ranking bard, as it were. They call themselves ap Caradach, although less so since they acquired formal titles of rank."
"Oh, Madanach gave his sister a title?" Balgruuf asked, and Hoag had to laugh at that.
"No. After Thalric got their father killed under false claims of stirring up sedition, and decided the orphaned Keirine would make a good mistress, she put up with it for a year before eventually killing him and fleeing the city with her brother. She, not Madanach is the one who became known as a heroic martyr figure, and she was the one who became one of their Matriarchs. The way Madanach tells it, the Reachmen took her to their hearts, both as a brave survivor of abuse to be defended and avenged, and as the celebrated killer of one who'd wronged them horribly over the years. She had her own following years before he did, and Madanach says she was the one who helped him rise to power as King. She's a beloved hero and now the spiritual leader of the tribal Reachmen. She's the First Matriarch who formally accepted Talos's apology by leaving a Briar Heart for him. To the Reachmen, she's the public face of all victims of Nord cruelty… and her publicly forgiving Talos is why the peace process is going to work. The Reachmen saw her do that, and decided if she could do it, so can they. And if the Reachmen can lay down arms, so can we, lad."
"You make it sound so simple," Balgruuf said, looking actually wistful. "Think Istlod and the Empire will see it that way?"
"The Empire, no, but if a High King stands up to them, they can't lawfully keep the province in the Empire," Hoag said firmly. "And Cyrodiil doesn't have the troops to force the issue, not right now. If Istlod agrees with us, all well and good. If not… perhaps he's not the King we need."
Balgruuf's fork clattered to the table.
"Are you… Hoag, this is treason!" Balgruuf hissed. "You can't seriously be suggesting we start rabble-rousing to kick Istlod out and put you in his place!"
"Treason? For enforcing the law?" Hoag snapped back. "Talos himself told you to ally with the Reach, boy. If the High King's insistent on the Reach swearing fealty to him with a Nord Jarl, then you don't have a choice. We have to declare no confidence and call a Moot."
"It's going to look like a Stormcloak power grab!" Balgruuf snapped. "Dengeir doesn't entirely trust Ulfric, Fura will probably side with the Empire rather than support you as King, Harrald is not going to leave the Empire when Maven's in bed with them, and Yngva's intentions will probably depend on the precise key the nirnroot near the Moorside Inn is chiming in that day!"
That was a little unfair on Yngva in Hoag's mind – but not entirely an embellishment either. Still, he had a further surprise in store, because all this had occurred to him too.
"It won't, because I'm not standing," Hoag said, patting Balgruuf's arm. "I'm getting old, Balgruuf, and I don't want to be King, not really. It's young blood leading us that we need. Young blood that fought in the war and can rally its veterans." He sat back and smiled at Balgruuf, hoping he'd realise the obvious.
Balgruuf, bless him, clearly wasn't that ambitious because he didn't seem to be getting it at all.
"You, Balgruuf," Hoag sighed. "You stand as High King. What do you think?"
"I… seriously?" Balgruuf managed to say. "Me? As High King?"
"Yes, you, you can unify Skyrim in a way I can't," Hoag said firmly. "People like you, Balgruuf. They trust you. You've got a reputation for fair-mindedness already. And a keener grasp of strategy than Ulfric has. You'd make a better King. If it came to that, of course."
"If," Balgruuf said, still sceptical. "And you've still not explained how the Rift's going to back us, because if we don't have the Rift, we're fighting a two-front war."
Hoag just smiled.
"Don't worry about that, lad. Turns out King Madanach has some ideas on that front. Come on. Finish your lunch and we'll meet with him. If you're in on this, you need to be in on it."
Thalmor Embassy, Imperial City, Cyrodiil
"So tell me exactly how your so-called prize asset has managed to lose the Reach!"
Justiciar Sabrinda, piercing green eyes staring down at the junior interrogator in front of her with her long red hair tied back out of her face, was really not pleased about this. Justiciar Sabrinda, hero of the Oblivion Crisis in the Summerset Isles and someone who'd served as a leading member of Lady Arannelya's invasion force. Here instead of Hammerfell because Interrogator Elenwen's prize Nord asset had gone off the rails.
"Justiciar, I can explain," Elenwen began.
"I hope so, I just asked you," Sabrinda snapped. "I'd love to hear it. You told me you'd manipulated him into overthrowing the Reachmen, and that not only would he do it, we could capitalise on it politically. So why are my reports all telling me that the invasion's stopped and Ulfric Stormcloak's reached a peace agreement with King Madanach? And to make matters worse, the agents we had in place in Windhelm got sacrificed in a botched assassination attempt that hasn't even worked! We lost a Justiciar, Elenwen. And a high profile Blades agent is now in the wind. The Dominion want answers, and so do I."
"Justiciar, we weren't to know there'd be a peace deal!" Elenwen protested. "All our psychological profiling indicated Ulfric would be damaged, blaming himself for the war's outcome, and be eager to set things right, as he saw it! Anger issues, violent mood swings, vicious antipathy to magic and anyone who uses it – it was all there, all ready to go! I'm as at a loss as you are as to how Ulfric Stormcloak calmed down enough to consider changing sides and joining forces with someone like King Madanach. Who rules a kingdom of skilled mages, and is on record as despising Talos. I can only surmise Madanach knew he was losing and is magically manipulating the situation somehow."
Sabrinda frankly looked disbelieving and Elenwen didn't blame her. She had a feeling it wasn't that simple too. Magical mind control was possible but difficult to maintain, and Ulfric was the sort to react violently once free of it. Emotional manipulation was more likely but how on earth Madanach had managed to undo all her hard work in so short a time, Elenwen couldn't understand at all.
"Quite," Sabrinda said tersely. "Well, no matter. We will work to undermine further efforts. Skyrim can't possibly be pleased with one of its Holds in the hands of bloody-handed Daedra worshippers. In the meantime, I have a job for you. We've identified a Blades agent on the run, and we think he might even have been the agent responsible for undermining our defences while we held the Imperial City. He's heading for the Jeralls, and if my instincts are right, he's heading for the Reach. I want him taken care of before he gets there. He's a prized asset for the Blades, if he meets up with the Reachmen, who knows what they'll do."
"It shall be done, Justiciar," Elenwen promised, relieved at redemption being so easy… although tracking a Blade never was. "Anything else I should know? Is he travelling alone?"
"No, he's travelling with a notorious Argonian smuggler called Swims-at-Night, who's been on the Empire's watch list for years," Sabrinda said, passing the file over. "They're evading us extremely well and we'd have lost them already… except they're also being followed by someone else. A war orphan tentatively identified as a fifteen year old human boy called Cicero Di Rosso. I have no idea why the boy's following them, nor do I care, but he's clearly skilled at picking up their trail where our agents aren't having any luck. Alas, he's not so good at hiding his own. Details are in here. Track the boy, and if you leave tonight, you can likely ambush them in Pale Pass. I want Tyr dead, Elenwen. Do what you must. I don't care about the smuggler. He's the Empire's problem, not mine, but if he puts up a fight or can't be bought off, deal with him."
It would be Elenwen's pleasure.
"And the boy?" Elenwen asked. Not that she greatly cared about one young human, but killing a juvenile outside war was generally something you needed authorisation for.
Sabrinda paused, pursing her lips.
"He's got no kin to miss him and there'll likely be no witnesses if you time this right. Hopefully you won't have to kill him… but if it becomes necessary, don't hesitate. His mother was ex-Legion, chances are she was a Talos-worshipper and raised him the same way."
Elenwen felt her mood lifting at this. A boy tracking down a Blades agent only had one of two motives – revenge, or following the only family he had left. If the former, she could make use of someone who hated a Blade that much. If the latter… she could deal with the problem.
"Oh, and one more thing," Sabrinda added. "My daughter Liriel wants to go. Apparently Tyr's one of the ones who was holding her prisoner during the war. She's rather keen to see justice done. She's young, but talented, resilient and very motivated on this one. I trust you get my meaning."
Elenwen had heard Liriel's story, they all had. Taken prisoner on a routine reconnaissance mission, the rest of her unit killed, no one heard from her for months, and then she'd resurfaced after the fall of the Imperial City, somehow managing to get out when the Aldmeri troops within had all been massacred. Apparently she'd waited until after the siege then given her captors the slip. One lone elf in civilian mage robes had been able to pass by where a group might not.
What she'd had to do to survive was a story of no little interest, but Liriel hadn't wanted to talk about it and Sabrinda's arrival from Hammerfell had ended all attempts at questioning. The child of a high-ranking Justiciar wasn't someone you could just interrogate. Even if some wondered if Liriel was hiding something.
No matter. Elenwen would see for herself on the trip north. Far be it from her to stand in the way of revenge.
Liriel had turned out to be not nearly as big a liability as Elenwen had feared. Grim and determined, yes, but not completely broken. Useful indeed. Also far better at getting information out of people than Elenwen had given her credit for. Liriel told them to wait while she'd get changed into Mages Guild robes then question her informants alone, coming back with valuable information. Seemed someone had a gift for persuading stubborn humans and beastkin to talk.
And so they'd ridden into the pass, not needing Liriel to tell them a small group had passed this way lately. The trail led into a goblin-infested cave rumoured to lead into Skyrim… and the dead goblins told their own story.
Someone had been here, and from the bodies, it was one person armed with a sword and shield, and another with knives… and one archer whose aim was a bit erratic.
Voices ahead, and Elenwen motioned for her little band to stay quiet. It was just four of them, her usual two guards plus Liriel. Enough for two adults and one boy, none of whom were mages.
There seemed to be an argument in progress.
"What the hell were you thinking, boy? You were supposed to be staying in the Imperial City with Cassia!"
"I know! I was! But… I don't want to be a soldier. Cassia's not Mama, she'd have left me to do basic training while she was off elsewhere. I know what Legion training involves, I don't want to have to get up before dawn and spend all day running through mud with a pack of rocks on my back being shouted at by a drill sergeant! They don't let you wear eyeliner or paint your nails either. They were going to give me a haircut. A haircut!"
The speaker's voice broke a little on the last sentence, and if his biggest concern was being forced into getting a short back and sides, he probably wasn't that dangerous. He sounded young. Probably the boy, Cicero... and he clearly wasn't after revenge.
"Then I found out you were going to the Reach and I followed," Cicero continued, still sounding unusually perky. "And a good thing I did, I shot that goblin for you!"
"Eventually," an Argonian voice purred. "You need to aim for the throat or the eyes, hatchling. Get the bastard before he gets you."
"You see!" Cicero squealed, not seeming at all offended. "Swims knows everything! I'll learn much more from him! Please, Swims, please can I learn how to be a smuggler like you? I'm very good at sneaking around! After all, you did not know I was here."
Cicero's voice dropped into a low purr on the last sentence, and Elenwen decided the boy was clearly aiming for a career in crime already. He'd be no great loss.
"Oh, but we noticed," Elenwen purred, breaking cover. Always such fun to see the looks on their faces when they realised they'd been caught. Tyr was no exception, and poor doomed Cicero looked heartbroken, even as Tyr stepped in front of him. Tyr wasn't wearing the traditional Akaviri armour and he'd swapped his Blades shield for a Legion issue one… but he still had the longsword. And Elenwen suspected he'd trained to use that leather gear he was wearing well. Most Nords did.
"I should thank your little friend, he led us right to you, Blade," Elenwen said, smiling. "He's sneaky… but not quite sneaky enough. As it is, Tyr, that elven prisoner you abused was the daughter of someone important… and we're here for justice. Isn't that right, Liriel?"
Cicero's look changed to one of confusion, and Tyr looked utterly betrayed, which was odd if Liriel really had been his captive, which was setting alarm bells ringing… and then Elenwen could think of nothing other than the pain in her chest as a Bound Sword materialised inside her, going up and under the ribs.
"Justice," Liriel agreed, cancelling the spell as Elenwen collapsed and bled out at her feet. "But not for me. Don't just stand there, Tyr, help me deal with these!"
The guards had watched in shock as Liriel's treachery had been revealed, but they were disciplined enough for it not to last. Mage armour was being cast, weapons summoned… and then Cicero shot one through the throat, just as Liriel's lightning spells shocked the other. Tyr promptly bodyslammed Liriel's victim to the ground, finishing him off with a blow to the stomach, while Swims-at-Night slit the throat of the one Cicero had shot. Job done, Thalmor dead… and Liriel smiled weakly at her old war comrades.
"Hello," she whispered. "I… it turns out I'm not going back to Alinor after all."
Not now, she wasn't. Not after betraying her country again. Sure, she could let the others walk away, go back to her mother and tell her she was the sole survivor… but signs of magic and a backstabbing on Thalmor soldiers and no bodies of the others in sight? Swims she could have made out to be a hired sword who'd fled at the first sign of trouble, and she could have justified sparing Cicero, but Tyr's bloodied corpse not being there when revenge on him had been her reason for going?
Her best hope now was disappearing with these three… but that meant she could never go home again.
"No," Tyr said firmly. "No you're not."
He'd closed the gap and pulled her into a hug, and even as tears came to her eyes, she heard Cicero squealing and Swims commenting that he hoped no one expected him to start being affectionate any time soon.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Liriel whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks even as part of her whispered how good it felt to see them again. Tyr, who'd been taken prisoner by the same cultists who'd captured her, and who'd escaped with her. Swims-at-Night, the smuggler who'd helped them stay on the run from Aldmeri forces, Liriel having seen what her side did to their prisoners by that point and wanting to save Tyr from that if nothing else. And Cicero, who'd been hiding in the Imperial catacombs during their infiltration mission into the Imperial City to find the Daedric artefact Lord Naarifin had been using to anticipate Imperial troop movements, and decided to join them. Well. He'd initially thought they were an Aldmeri patrol and tried to stab Liriel, but thankfully he'd only had an iron dagger and he just wasn't that practiced with it yet, and Liriel's Aldmeri issue armour had saved her. That and Tyr tackling him to the ground. Mercifully, once appraised of the real situation, he'd proved quite helpful.
Tyr let her go, and then it was Cicero's turn.
"Liriel Liriel, Cicero has MISSED YOU!"
She'd told him repeatedly he didn't need to keep using Nibenese formal dialect with her, but he'd ignored this completely and kept on using third-person Tamrielic anyway.
Right now, if it made the little imp happy, she was fine with it.
"Hello Cicero," she said, smiling as he pounced on her in turn. "It's good to see you. Even if you're really not supposed to be here. You had a bright future as a Legion scout, maybe even special agent, ahead of you and you go running after Tyr?"
"Liriel had a family to go back to and a bright future in Alinor University, and she did the same," Cicero said, grinning knowingly up at her.
Liriel didn't know why but it had suddenly got very warm in here.
"Not the same," Liriel said tersely. "I heard they'd found you and had to come and help. You could have stayed in the Imperial City and been fine. Particularly seeing as you're the reason the Thalmor found Tyr at all. Swims, if you take him on as an apprentice, teach him how to cover his tracks better."
"If," Swims said, rolling his eyes. "Well, can't say I'm not glad to see you, Liri. Only this has kind of put a spanner in the works. See, we're heading for the Reach. They'll take a fugitive Nord in the Stormcloaks without a thought, and they'll probably not say no to a human kid if he makes himself useful and Tyr vouches for him. But… they're not real fond of High Elves. Especially ones in Thalmor robes. If you're coming with us and not sloping off to the Nords' magical College in Winterhold, that's a problem. Unless you want to come to Riften and lead a life of crime with me, of course."
"She's coming with us," Tyr said fiercely, hand on Liriel's shoulder. "I mean, if you want to, that is? You don't have to."
Everything in Tyr's face, eyes and posture screamed that he wanted her to, and somehow, that almost made up for lying to her mother, and leaving her heartbroken parents behind, and her brother, and never getting to see her little sister grow up.
Almost.
"I'd like that," Liriel whispered. "But don't worry about getting into the Reach. I've got a change of clothes, I can ditch the Thalmor robes. And… Tyr, this is going to sound weird, but we need Elenwen's head. Can you, er, get it for me? Don't worry, I can preserve it with magic, stop it rotting."
Tyr let her go, excitement dying as he remembered Liriel had this tendency to not quite realise how weird things might sound before saying them. And came out with a lot of weird things on a regular basis.
"Why do you need Elenwen's head?" he asked, even as he reached for his sword.
"Because I worked as a healer in the same prison she was assigned to, patching up the prisoners so she could do it all over again the next day," Liriel said, staring bitterly down at Elenwen's corpse. "Trust me on this one. We tell Ulfric Stormcloak I'm the one who killed Elenwen, and I imagine he'll let us walk right in."
A raid of the Thalmor supplies, including food, medical and magicka supplies, and an extra tent, and then they were on their way, Liriel having changed into her civilian mage robes and taken great pleasure in burning her Thalmor gear.
Never again, she promised herself. She might miss her family. She might miss Alinor's beautiful gardens and beaches and magical libraries and warm sunshine. But she'd seen the Thalmor at work now, and she could never look at her country the same way again. It felt good to finally admit she was walking away.
The rest of the cavern proved easier going with four of them including a mage, and Cicero's aim was improving too. Particularly with Swims pointing out all the vulnerable bits on the corpses so Cicero could go for those next time, and while Tyr made a show of disapproving, he'd then interrupt to add a few words of wisdom, with the caveat that as Cicero was smaller than most foes and less experienced, it was fine if he didn't exactly fight honourably.
Liriel glanced at Cicero and had a feeling Cicero would be using this excuse well into his twenties, but she said nothing. She didn't want him to die, after all. If keeping to the shadows and striking while his foe had their back turned kept him alive, so be it. They'd already learned telling him not to join in was wasted words. Honestly, Liriel had always found that most people had to learn how to get mentally all right with taking lives in combat. Tyr had said as much too, and even Swims who worked in a dangerous business had said killing was an occasionally necessary act, not the actual job.
Clearly no one had told Cicero this, because he'd had no trouble shooting enemies. Or finishing off the downed ones who weren't quite dead yet. Or yanking arrows out of the corpses (or trying to anyway, it didn't always work), or going though their pockets for valuables or…
Liriel guessed he'd seen so much death and violence during the occupation, it had stopped bothering him. Which really bothered her.
But Cicero seemed happy and excited and pleased to see them all and be travelling with them again, and going to SKYRIM! Home of ale and Nords and snow and DRAGONS!
He was very disappointed to learn he was too young for the ale, and dragons were extinct. But the snow proved to be real enough, as they found when the cave emerged into the Skyrim side of the Jeralls.
Liriel had been to Skyrim precisely once, when she and Tyr and the others had gone in search of Titus Mede's camp to find him and warn him the Dominion's army was being led by a Boethiah worshipping psychopath who was planning to slaughter the entire Imperial City and break the Veil. She'd forgotten how cold it was.
Mara, I am not used to this. I hope Cicero's all right.
Cicero had never seen snow in his life until he'd reached the Jeralls a few days ago, and hadn't had time to enjoy it then. Now he was taking advantage, running around and playing in it, picking it up and throwing it around, delighted.
"Isn't he cold?" Liriel gasped, rubbing her hands together and shivering.
Tyr tilted his head, smiling.
"He should be, shouldn't he? And yet there he is, happy as anything. As if he doesn't feel the cold. You know what, I bet his pa's a Nord. Cicero's pale for an Imperial, you know."
"We don't know who Cicero's father was," Liriel reminded him. "No one knows. Cicero doesn't even know, his mother didn't tell him very much. He's probably dead."
"Or in jail. Or living a life of crime," Swims added, being always one to look on the criminal side of things. "Come on, he clearly loved and left Cicero's mother. Whoever he was, he's not a man of honour or Cicero would know who he was."
Hard to disagree with that. But the sight of Cicero happy and able to act like the child he still was for once was nice to see.
Liriel glanced at Tyr and immediately wished she hadn't because he'd glanced back at her, green eyes catching the last of the sunlight and smiled.
He needed to stop doing that, because it was making her extremely uncomfortable. To be precise it was making her feel things. Strange and unfamiliar things, and the black leather armour that was mostly straps, a cape and a kilt was not helping.
What the hell is wrong with me, it was never like this before!
No, because she'd barely known him, they'd had a mission to accomplish, and they'd all been too anxious to have any thought beyond survival.
But when they'd said their farewells after the Concordat had been signed, and Tyr had had to go into hiding, she'd felt like part of her had left and gone after him, and on returning to her people, she'd seen Thalmor agents out hunting Blades and felt sick with worry. Oddly, when she'd learnt Tyr had been located and was being traced, that had been when worry and helplessness had abated and she'd put her plan into action.
Well, the plan had worked, and Tyr was safe. And now she had no idea what happened next, beyond get to the Reach and seek asylum with the Stormcloaks. She didn't even know if they'd let her stay, although if she could persuade King Madanach she was useful, her chances of staying in the Witch Kingdom itself were good.
But Tyr kept smiling at her, in fact he seemed ecstatic to see her again, even if he didn't seem to know what to say. Honestly, nor did she now they didn't have Daedric cultists to fight.
Maybe they should find some. Only Swims would probably complain and Cicero… would not complain, he'd be excited about the idea, but just because he'd got a taste for combat didn't mean Liriel wanted him anywhere near it.
"We're going to end up adopting Cicero, aren't we?" Tyr said, breaking her train of thought. "I mean, we can't just leave him. Look at him, he's just a kid."
"You're only a decade older than him, he's not going to pass for your son," Swims pointed out. "Still less yours, Liri."
"Little brother then," Tyr said, shrugging. "Adopted. Well, Liriel? Want to adopt him with me? He'll be of age next Sun's Dawn, it's only for a few months. Long enough to get him of age and into a trade of some sort."
Liriel couldn't have even begun to explain why the idea of looking after Cicero with Tyr made her smile the way it did. Only that Cicero had not deserved the things her people had done to him and she wanted him to be happy and have a family again.
"All right then," Liriel said. "We've even got a disreputable uncle for him, haven't we, Swims?"
Swims just growled and shook his head.
"I'm teaching him how to pick pockets and we're practicing on you two," Swims said pointedly, stalking off to retrieve Cicero from where he'd been busy lying in the snow making snow Aedra.
"All the gold we've got was stolen off the Thalmor anyway," Tyr said, shrugging, and Liriel couldn't stop herself giggling. Then she met Tyr's eyes and they were both laughing. And there it was, the awkwardness gone as she realised she'd missed her human friend. Who'd escaped from their cultist captors with her, and drawn her into an adventure that had ended up with her turning on the very army she'd arrived in Cyrodiil with in the first place.
Her regrets were very few and mostly about not feeling guiltier for being a traitor to the Dominion.
"I missed you," Liriel admitted, and Tyr's laughter faded as he looked sombrely back at her.
"I honestly didn't think I'd ever see you again," Tyr said softly. "I thought you'd go back to Alinor, back to your magical research and live a long and happy life without me. I… it means the world to me that you came to find me. Thank you."
Liriel looked away, feeling blood stain her cheeks red and knowing he meant more than he was saying, but not sure what to do about it.
Nip it in the bud. You're elven, he's human, it'd never work.
But she didn't want to. Because he was her friend. And because looking at him, here, alive, free and back in his homeland with no obligations any more, his service to the Empire done, felt like she'd done the right thing.
She'd already had to leave her birth family behind. Damned if she was leaving behind anyone else.
Skirting round Helgen by night. Deep into the forest before finally setting up camp for what was left of the night. Roads had Imperial patrols and were to be avoided. Villages and towns might have Thalmor spies. Best not to be seen at all.
But they had enough food for a few days, and it turned out that Tyr and Liriel made a good hunting team, and both Swims and Cicero could cook.
Two days from Pale Pass and they were finally daring the roads for the last dash to the border, Fort Sungard itself looming up as they waited near where the forest path met the main road. Not an Imperial patrol in sight… but there was a wagon trundling up the road from Falkreath. A supply train from the look of it, with Nord warriors guarding it… and a few Bretony types with varying skin colours and strange fur, bone and feather gear.
Liriel hadn't until that moment fully realised that going to the Reach would mean Reachmen. Tribal Reachmen. Traditional Reachman types who distrusted outsiders and didn't adhere to any civilised norm. And here they were, escorting a supply caravan bound for their homeland.
"Wait here," Tyr told them. "I don't know how they're going to react to a High Elf. But they might listen to me. Cicero, come with me. This'll work better if I've got my adopted little brother with me."
Cicero was happy to help, bouncing after Tyr as he stepped into the road to flag it down.
Several bows were raised immediately, and spells were at the ready, but on seeing one lone man with no weapons raised, and a young boy standing with him, the Stormcloak commander waved for them to stand down.
"What's your business, kinsman?" the commander asked, towering over Cicero in his bearskin uniform. "And is the lad your… er…?"
"Brother," Tyr explained, putting an arm round Cicero. "He's adopted. Our parents are dead, it's just us now. We're travelling to the Reach, were you heading that way?"
"Just a bit, Nord," the woman in Reachman gear sitting on top of the crates in the lead wagon laughed. She had golden yellow eyes, dark skin, markings tattooed in to her arms with silver ink and a staff across her lap, and was clearly the ranking Reachwoman. "These are supplies bound for Markarth and Yroldain. Our business isn't picking up stragglers and stowaways. What's your business in the Reach?"
Tyr took a deep breath and summoned up the anger and bitterness he'd felt on hearing his order was being disbanded, his god, the Empire's own protector, outlawed, and finding out the Thalmor would be on the watch for Blades agents. It still hurt.
"I fought in the war, bled for my Empire and afterwards had to go on the run after a little disagreement over the White-Gold Concordat," Tyr said bitterly. "I'd heard the only ruler in Tamriel with the balls to stand up to it was King Madanach of the Reach, and that he was giving sanctuary to Talos-worshippers. Was I wrong?"
The Reachwoman paused, pursing her lips and then shrugged.
"No, although that's not the whole story. Ulfric Stormcloak turned up with his army, intending to overthrow the King. Fell in love with him instead, and now Talos is one of the old gods. I hope the others are treating him well!"
Laughter from the Reachmen, even if the Nords looked vaguely uncomfortable with the idea.
"Talos is… bah. Forgive Vanya there, she's still sore I had to save her from a slaughterfish while she was bathing in the lake. Name's Kolvar Bear-Crusher. I served under General Jonna during the war. Most of us in the Cloaks did. We all lost brothers and sisters in arms to the damn elves in that last campaign. Were you in that?"
"No, I was with the main army under the Emperor," Tyr said, not even needing to lie. "Cicero here was emptying bedpans and delivering meals to the Emperor himself at one point. And how do we get repaid? Kicked out for showing our thanks to the god who gave us victory in the first place. Is this how the Empire treats its veterans?"
"Mama would be turning in her grave!" Cicero added, giving a very convincing show of outrage. "She died when the Dominion invaded the city, gave her life in the defence and for this? She… she would..."
Cicero's voice trailed off, clearly having managed to hit one of his own sore spots and Tyr put his arms round the sniffling boy.
Tyr looked up and saw only sympathy in Kolvar's eyes.
"It's a disgrace," Kolvar agreed. "Makes you ashamed to be part of the Empire. Well. Ulfric's done something about that, hasn't he!"
Cheering from the others, Nord and Reachkin alike, and Tyr could only marvel at how the two sides appeared to be bonding already. He guessed the Reachmen never had had much time for the Empire.
"Ulfric Stormcloak's always got a use for true-hearted sons of Skyrim," Kolvar said, now smiling. "Come with us, I'm sure he'd give you two a place there."
"I'm sure he would, but I've got two comrades in arms who aren't so sure he'd welcome them," Tyr said, motioning for Swims and Liriel to join them. "There's rumours he's not so keen on High Elves."
Liriel emerged, Swims behind her, hoping her nerves weren't showing. The Nords had all gone on edge immediately, hands going to weapons and the sympathy evaporating.
It was going to be like this every day from now on, wasn't it. The constant distrust. The looks. The scowling. The constant wondering if today was the day a fight broke out.
Liriel was sick of it already but she didn't have a lot of choice.
"Yes, I'm an Altmer, no I'm not with the Thalmor, no I don't have a problem with any of you worshipping Talos," Liriel sighed. "Tyr and I both got captured during the war, we escaped together and ended up doing a secret mission for the Empire that was critical in bringing down Lord Naarifin. And now we're on the run again, because he's on a Thalmor watch list and I killed a Justiciar. And this is Swims-at-Night, who is the reason we got this far without getting caught."
"Pleasure," Swims said shortly. "Listen, I've heard about the Stormcloaks. I've heard they're all about true sons and daughters of Skyrim and don't have much time for non-Nords – of course, I also heard that just lately, Ulfric Stormcloak's got a lot of time for a certain King of the Reachmen, so maybe you're not all bad. Whatever, I just wanted to let you all know I'm only here to get my friends to safety, see them settled in, have a look round, and then I'll be on my way, out of your hair."
"Selling information to the Thalmor or the Empire, you mean," Kolvar growled… until Tyr stepped in, positioning himself in front of Swims and Liriel.
"They're my friends," Tyr snapped. "They fought with me in the war. They're not working for the Dominion!"
"And Liriel did kill a Justiciar, she did, she did!" Cicero protested, reaching for the bag. "Look, we kept the head!"
The entire wagon recoiled as Cicero waved Elenwen's head around… but Vanya recovered first and stared at it, fascinated.
"Doesn't your second-in-command collect those?" Vanya asked, recalling the avenue of pikes waiting to be filled at Hroldan. "Seems to me he'd be interested in one more, and possibly grateful to the one who took it."
"He might," Kolvar admitted. "All right, put the head away. You can come with us but you'll need to speak to Thane Ulfric. He decides who gets to stay and who doesn't."
"King Madanach might be interested in talking to the elf who kills her own kind too," Vanya purred, eyes travelling all over Liriel. "I know I am."
Liriel gasped, instinctively inching closer to Tyr, who took her hand in his.
"She's not interested," Tyr said firmly. "You leave her alone."
Vanya raised an eyebrow but backed off.
"All right, all right, your girlfriend's safe from me, relax!" Vanya sighed, shaking her head. "Come on, let's make a move."
"I'm sorry," Tyr whispered to Liriel once the convoy started moving again. "I just don't like the idea of people making you uncomfortable."
"It's fine," Liriel said, although she didn't feel fine. She felt… anxious. The mere idea of being Tyr's girlfriend bothered her although she couldn't say why.
He'd let go her hand, not meeting her eyes, clearly able to tell how she felt and clearly not OK with it either, and Liriel wished she could tell him that she did care, really. But the idea of a relationship terrified her. She'd always believed she'd one day meet her one true Altmer love and it'd all be lovely. But she'd not met him yet and now maybe never would. She'd not even considered a human might be interested… or how it'd make her feel. She'd assumed it'd never happen, or that she wouldn't be interested back. She'd never have thought she'd like him back but also be terrified about it.
Who the hell do I talk to about all this?
Liriel looked about her and saw no one who was even remotely suitable – Cicero too young, Swims allergic to romance, everyone else a stranger.
Mara send me a friend who's kind and intelligent and who will listen and help.
Liriel glanced about her as the stark cliffs of the Reach loomed up around her. In this bare and unfriendly land, she didn't like her chances.
A/N: I had to bring Cicero in. Just had to. This of course does mean his chances of joining the Brotherhood are now slim, although he'll certainly still have the sneaking and stabbing skills - might even have some additional magic to compensate. He'll just end up as a Reachman agent instead doing rather similar things (not stabbing, not exactly, but certainly infiltration and espionage).
Tyr and Swims are from the TES Legends card game's main quest, in which you get to play the Forgotten Hero who essentially saves the Empire and then everyone forgets you did it because half of it was secret and half of it you were impersonating Titus Mede for. Most of the quest storyline is recapped in the text, but in brief Lord Naarifin the leader of the occupying Aldmeri army is indeed planning to sacrifice the entire Imperial City to Boethiah to bring forth a Daedric army to conquer Tamriel. It's unclear if this is just his own ambition or official Aldmeri policy. Anyway, doesn't matter, you and your merry band of friends join forces to stop it happening. Liriel is the Forgotten Hero from this timeline - I thought it'd be interesting to have an Aldmeri soldier who's having grave misgivings about everything end up doing the quest because it's the right thing to do morally... but end up betraying her country in the process. Cicero is not part of the questline in game, but in my head, he would have been in his early teens during the war and living in the occupied city, so could well end up being recruited. It is very interesting writing him at this age, in which he definitely has an interest in being a sneaky little assassin but hasn't got any of the skills yet.
Anyway, next chapter this lot get to the Reach and put their asylum application before Ulfric and Madanach. Who thinks this'll go smoothly?