Skyrim and all related characters and situations belong to Bethesda.
The Road to Kynesgrove
XIV: Knock Knock
Muscles rippling and pouring sweat, Farkas pulled himself up the final run on Karthspire's northwestern face. The sinking sun threw his shadow across the rocks and crevasses as he made his way, tenuous handhold by handhold, up to where Acajou was waiting for him, peering over the side of the mountain to watch his laborious progress with joy in her eyes.
With a weary grunt, he slapped a calloused hand over the lip of the ledge he had gained, his fingertips turning white as he hauled himself to safety. Acajou protectively curved her neck behind him as he paused to catch his breath, kneeling precariously close to the edge.
"All this to avoid a handful of Forsworn around the corner?" he asked, slowly getting to his feet. Despite being a powerhouse of a man, his arms and shoulders ached from the climb. "I think we could've taken 'em and spared ourselves the hike."
"I did offer to carry you." Acajou sniffed. "Besides, I'm too big to fit inside Karthspire, and this is the only other way we can get to Sky Haven."
"Yeah, well, you didn't do me any favors by making it sound like this place was some little old lady's cottage on a hill. Why is she living on top of a mountain, anyway?"
"You'll see," Acajou said mysteriously, narrowing her eyes in an attempt to look enigmatic.
Flexing his fingers to work out the cramped kinks in the joints, Farkas looked over Acajou's neck at the land below. For some reason, the climb seemed so much higher from where he stood. He took a few cautious steps away from the edge. Acajou followed him.
"Wanna go see Delphine now?"
When he first saw the courtyard, Farkas had to admit that he was impressed, albeit a little confused. He didn't know what he had been expecting when he got to "Delphine's house", as Acajou had so simply put it but, when he reached the stone-cobbled courtyard, framed by three open-air structures that looked older than Jorrvaskr itself, he knew that this place was much more than some hermit's abode above the river. He could tell that the trio of buildings, cracked and ivy-choked as they were, were masterfully made, covered with runes and pictures that still told tales centuries after their creation. Within, he could see straw targets and weapon racks. This was a warrior's training ground.
"Come on!"
Acajou, perched at the top of a short flight of stairs, blinked at him from over her shoulder. She stood before a line of stone doors set into the mountain, each taller than Farkas by half. Each set had a deeply carved symbol etched into it. This was no shadowmark, no hidden sign. The mark was a pledge, a promise.
"Go on," the dragon urged. "Knock!"
His knuckles came away stinging when he obeyed. The sound of his fist striking the door echoed within. When minutes passed and no answer came, Farkas turned to Acajou.
"Maybe they didn't hear you." She said. "Here, let me try."
With a casual swing of her massive head, the Dragonborn slammed her snout into the stone doors with enough force to knock over a house. The resounding boom inside made Farkas wince.
"There. I'm sure they heard that one."
"Yeah, no kidding." Farkas's ears pricked to the sound of footsteps. Angry footsteps. Moments later, one of the doors in front of him swung open.
Delphine emerged from the shadows of Sky Haven Temple looking like death. When she recognized the two intruders, her lips moved a silent oath and she took a stumbling step outside.
"What are you doing here?"
Her harsh question immediately wiped the toothy smile from Acajou's face. Tightly bandaged from her neck to her hips, one swollen-fingered hand glued to her side like she was holding it in place, the Blade slammed the stone door behind her and glared at them with black-circled eyes, her face scarred and bruised. She almost looked like she had been crying but, when she spoke, her voice had all of her quiet intensity even if it was a little gravelly as if she had been shouting for days.
"What are you doing here?" she rasped again. "What were you thinking? What happened?"
"We came to see you," Acajou explained timidly, as if that was the only explanation she needed. Predictably, Delphine turned to Farkas with fire in her gaze.
"You brought her here? Here, of all places? Do you even know what this place is?" Then she paused. "What the hell kind of get-up are you dressed in?"
Farkas looked down at himself, at the dirty but plush tunic he had liberated from a bandit camp they had passed on their journey. It had obviously belonged to someone well-to-do before the bandits had gotten a hold of it. The material was sky blue and cotton soft, but unfortunately ran a size or two smaller than his broad shoulders could comfortably fit into. The stitches on the sleeves and down the sides were stretched to their limit; he had already ripped the hems at the wrists. At least the boots had fit.
"Farkas was peeing and—"
"I didn't have time to grab all of my things when we left," Farkas interjected quickly, shooting his Harbinger a piercing look. "Delphine, Whiterun was attacked." He paused. "So were you, by the looks of it."
Delphine's expression darkened.
"It- it was a cloud! It was huge, wasn't it, Farkas?" Acajou flared the fan on her tail and bounced a little on her wingtips. "It came down out of the sky and then it turned into a dragon, right above Dragonsreach. I bet it was even bigger than Dragonsreach!"
If the words had phased Delphine, she didn't show it. Her eyes grew hard and she crooked her finger at the dragon, "Come here. What are those scratches on your neck from?"
When Acajou remained silent, the Blade reached out and grabbed Acajou's crest, forcing her head down. Odahviing's talons had carved ugly trenches in the otherwise smooth scales. "I said, what are these from?"
Acajou gave her a sly look. "I've always had those."
Impatiently shoving the Dragonborn's head away, Delphine half-turned from them with a frustrated growl.
"So you came here," she said on a laugh that held no humor at all. "Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. You know, Acajou, you've done some pretty stupid things since I've known you, but coming here for help is one of the most brainless ideas you've had to date. I just… I just don't know what to do with you."
"Wait, wait," Farkas interrupted, stepping between Acajou and the Blade. "I must be missing something here. Last time we saw you, you were all up in arms about being the one to help get Acajou back to her own body. Why the change of heart just because we showed up on your doorstep?"
"Get out of my face, wolfman," Delphine spat. "This doesn't concern you."
"It damn well does concern me, if you're talking about my Harbinger," Farkas snarled back, purposefully stepping too close to Delphine. She held her ground and stared up into his darkened face, scowling. "I need to know if I can trust you with my shield-sister. Right now, it doesn't look like I can."
"You presume much by calling me an enemy. Out of the three of us, you are the least informed about the situation and have no right to get your hackles up about something you don't understand." Despite the fight in her words, her eyes were tired and her shoulders sagged. Despite being horrendous at reading the situation, even Farkas could tell something was wrong.
"Then why don't you fill me in? Shor's bones, I'm trying to help here. By the looks of you, you need all the help you can get."
"A great help indeed, bringing her to Sky Haven Temple," was the scoffed answer. She turned to Acajou, her bruised cheeks flushed red. "You didn't even have the brains enough to let him know before you got here, did you?"
Head hanging like a punished dog's, Acajou muttered, "It's not something to get angry about. I'm sure if the others found out, you'd be able to explain it to them pretty easily, right?"
"That isn't the point, Dragonborn. You just don't get it."
Farkas, hearing enough bickering, reached out and grabbed Delphine none-too-gently by the upper arm. "Tell me what is going on here," he said, and his words had a finality that even Delphine had to respect.
So saying, he crossed his arms and waited in stony silence as the sun threw the last rays of its red-orange light on the ancient mountaintop. Delphine blew out a furious sigh.
"Sky Haven Temple," she began, obviously trying to rein in her temper, "has been around since the First Era. It first served as a fortress for the Akaviri Dragonguard—my ancestors—in their fight against the dragons. It is the home of the Blades—a faction dedicated to protecting, and championed by, the Dragonborn." She nodded to Acajou. "Thanks to her, we have been slowly rebuilding our numbers after nearly being wiped out by the Thalmor, and this place serves as our secret haven. It must never be seen by eyes other than those belonging to a Blade.
"Of course, now that you've seen it, I guess that rule's no longer in affect. But I digress. You must take the knowledge of this place to your grave, if you value your life, and Acajou's."
And yours, Farkas thought, watching her lips move. He had expected a woman of her age to have more wrinkles. Aloud he said, "I still don't understand why you're mad. You're not telling me something. What does being a Blade have to do with anything?"
"The Blades are a group of dragonslayers." Acajou's candid voice made the term sound so innocent. It took a moment for the words to sink in. "This is where they all train."
A moment of silence followed.
"The Blades are dragonslayers," Farkas repeated slowly. He pointed at Delphine. "You're a Blade?"
"Keep your mouth shut about it," was the reply.
The gears in his brain began to turn faster. "You're a dragonslayer?" He turned to Acajou. "You're running around with a dragonslayer?"
"Well, I'm supposed to be one, too."
Delphine glared at her. "Not 'supposed to'. You are."
"Wait, wait." Farkas held up both hands, his eyebrows furrowed in thought. "You said that I was wrong calling you the enemy, and yet here you are admitting to being someone who kills dragons. You keep telling me that I don't understand anything, but isn't it a little obvious why I'm confused?"
"I won't stand here and be accused on the threshold of my own fortress," Delphine said coldly. "Whether or not you can wrap your mind around the situation is irrelevant. I am helping the Dovahkiin because I am bound to do so. In her true form, Acajou is the greatest dragonslayer living on Nirn, and it is my station as a Blade to return her to that form.
"However, I cannot risk having her initiates—those who have only recently taken up the mantle—see their leader in this form. It would destroy everything they've worked for. Imagine, being told that your only goal in life is to follow the Dragonborn and help her slay dragons and, in the next moment, seeing that your leader is one of the creatures you have learned to hate the most in this world."
"But, surely they wouldn't kill her if they knew who she was. Does her form really matter so much to them?"
Delphine locked eyes with him, her face a somber mask in the nearly-gone light. "We do not have the luxury of trusting others," she said softly. "Our numbers are few. Our enemies are many. I cannot send my Blades out into the world with the idea that any dragon can be their ally. That mental uncertainty is…fatal."
The whole premise seemed warped to Farkas, but he held his tongue. "All right," he said. "I understand. I think."
Seeing the humans' tempers cool, Acajou deemed it safe to speak again. "The Blades are really very nice, Farkas." She paused. "You know, if you join up, you'll make an even seventh member!"
"Sixth," Delphine said dully. Acajou fixed her with a puzzled look and her eyes squinted as she tried to do the math in her head.
"Huh?" she finally said.
Delphine turned back towards the doors. She seemed so tiny compared to the towering Akaviri symbol. Her voice was heavy as she spoke. "Mjoll died two days ago."
"Farengar!"
Jarl Balgruf the Greater of Whiterun was not quick to anger. While his voice was gruff and his tone could be harsh, he was a wise and honest diplomat, fair in all aspects of his jarlship. Not only was he greatly revered in his hold for being so willing to deliver assistance to anyone who petitioned it from him but he had, so far, kept Whiterun out of the messy business of Skyrim's civil war and had maintained relative peace in his hold. This peace allowed his citizens to go about their lives undisturbed by the violence enveloping the lands around them.
Which was why he was absolutely furious when a Thalmor Justiciar appeared at Whiterun's front gates that morning and demanded a council with him and his court mage.
"Farengar!" The shouted name echoed off of the walls of Dragonsreach. The guards standing in front of the dais flinched at the sound as the Jarl stood up, hands balled into fists, and bellowed the wizard's name until a hooded and robed figure appeared from the shadows of the mage's quarters.
"Yes?" Farengar asked without lowering his hood or making eye contact. If Balgruf hadn't been so angry, he would have noticed that the words 'my Jarl' had not followed the affirmation. The circumstances being what they were, Balgruf merely pointed a stern finger and the ground in front of him and waited impatiently for Farengar to make his way over to the dais to be interviewed.
"I usually keep myself out of your affairs," the Jarl began, folding his arms over his chest, "because I trust you. You have been a good mage, a good advisor, a good friend, to me for many years. I only expect you to do your duty and help me protect Whiterun from whatever may threaten it. This is not an unreasonable expectation."
Farengar slowly inclined his head.
"The other day, you assured me that the storm you summoned over Whiterun was an accident. A harmless accident. I believed you." Balgruf's bearded face darkened with anger. "So why are three Thalmor agents knocking down my door, saying that your magic killed one of their wizards?"
If his hood hadn't been pulled forward so far, Farengar's smile could have been seen by all of the shocked inhabitants of Dragonsreach. In all honesty, he didn't know why he was smiling. His heart was seized with fear at the memory of the storm. He managed to get rid of the grin twisting his lips before saying, "Are you going to invite them in, my Jarl, so we may discuss the issue?"
"We're already here."
Turning to see the owner of the insufferably haughty voice, Farengar counted three Altmer ascending the steps to the main level of Dragonsreach. All three were men, and each were garbed in black and gold robes that accentuated their height and narrow shoulders. Their golden-lipped mouths were firm and frowning, and three pairs of slanted eyes fixed Farengar with accusing stares. Something within Farengar laughed gleefully, but he showed no outward signs except straightening his posture. He hated being looked down on by elves.
"I don't believe we have anything to discuss," sniffed the Thalmor who had spoken before. Looking Farengar up and down just once, he turned his elegantly slanted eyes to Balgruf. "My name is Elsehir. I am a representative of the Thalmor Embassy and have been sent to retrieve this man for interrogation. Please allow us to remove this murderer from your house and deliver him to justice."
"I welcomed you through my doors to negotiate this matter and figure out the correlation between the attack on your kinsman and my mage's storm," Balgruf said flatly. "I will not allow you to accuse him without some sort of proof."
"It must be difficult, living up to all of these Nords' preconceptions about your tribe being complete barbarians when it comes to Skyrim social etiquette. You actually have to give a reason for wanting to kill someone before you take them off to the block," Farengar said mildly, just loud enough for Elsehir to hear. The high elf curled his lip.
"Farengar," Balgruf said warningly.
"I would at least like to know exactly why these mer want me dead before they cart me off to the Embassy."
Elsehir held up an elegant, long-fingered hand. "You do not have a reason to inquire into the nature of our visit. All you need to know is that we have reason to believe that you killed a high-ranking Thalmor agent several weeks ago in the mountains to the northwest, and we have been unable to track you until you so stupidly displayed your so-called storm the other day."
"Ah, typical Altmer logic!" The fear that would have usually gripped his body was mysteriously absent, and instead he had the audacity to turn his back on their company and stroll a few paces away. "A Thalmor dies somewhere, and the guilty party happens to be someone performing a spell in a completely different part of the country, weeks later. Please excuse me if I find the charges ridiculous."
"If you were a mage of the caliber that you claim," Elsehir said, his silken voice a dangerous hiss, "you would know that magic can be traced back to its user. It takes a mage of considerable prowess to be able to do so, but such mages are not uncommon in the ranks of the Thalmor. Rest assured, your storm did not kill our brother—but you did."
Balgruf, worry in his eyes, glanced surreptitiously at his mage. How could he prove innocence now?
Farengar reached up and pushed his hood back. His expression was serene, despite his tired eyes. "It was beautiful, was it not? Visible for miles around, no doubt." The words came bubbling out of his throat like water out of a spring, and, like a man parched, he didn't want to stop drinking. The small voice in his heart saying that's not my voice was drowned out in the wave. "Perhaps my magic did, somehow, cause the death of your kinsman, although it was not to my knowledge. Not that Thalmor ever accept apologies.
"But maybe they'll accept a bargain?"
The high elves were silent. The two behind Elsehir exchanged looks.
"I think you're out of your head," Balgruf said, ever the frank diplomat.
"You know the term 'a life for a life', correct? Would a tasty piece of information sate your appetite for revenge for the moment?"
Elsehir snorted. "I cannot believe this. You began this discussion by belittling us for accusing you, and yet you fully admit to the murder of a Thalmor wizard and attempt to bargain your way out of a sentence." He reached out to grab Farengar by the upper arm, but was stopped by the look in Farengar's eyes, and something else, something he could not see, but sense, and he shivered involuntarily.
Farengar didn't know why the name formed in his throat. His voice was gone, replaced with one that was almost his. The similarity frightened him, and still he could not close his lips.
Smiling into the Thalmor's somber faces, Farengar asked, "What does the word 'Delphine' mean to you?"
That night, they laid Mjoll to rest under the stars.
From an outcropping on a nearby mountain, Acajou watched the slow procession of warriors proceed from Sky Haven Temple to the courtyard. Earlier in the evening, they had constructed a pyre between the training buildings, taking the utmost care in arranging the aspen and oak branches as precisely and beautifully as possible. Now their task was to lay Mjoll's body in the bed of pine straw and tundra cotton in the center and set it aflame.
Mortally wounded, Delphine had said, while fighting a blood dragon. Held on long enough to see two more mornings before succumbing to her injuries, despite Esbern and Erandur exhausting themselves to try to save her. She had died mid-sentence, trying to convince them all that she would be all right.
Esbern walked before them, holding a book with the Akaviri Dragonborn symbol etched on its leather cover; singing the funeral song, no doubt, although Acajou could not hear him over the sound of the river below despite being able to see his lips move. Behind him limped Delphine, singing as well, carrying a torch as she proceeded four figures that bore Mjoll on their shoulders. Acajou squinted her slitted eyes. There was Erandur, his face a stone mask, under her left shoulder. Sven, trying and failing to look stoic as anguished tears streaked down his face, at her left hip. She could see Farkas supporting Mjoll's right side, and thought, with some consternation, that it was odd for Delphine to allow outsiders to participate in Blade funerals. The figure under Mjoll's right shoulder was not dressed in traditional Blade attire like the others, and it took a moment for Acajou to recognize the sleek shoulder-length brown hair and serious face. When she did, her heart seized, and she bent her head with sorrow too great to give words to.
Aerin.
They placed Mjoll's body on the pyre as gently as possible, arranging her hands over the Amulet of Talos balanced on her sternum. Her body was clad in her Blades armor that Delphine had spent the last day and a half meticulously polishing; it shone like ebony in the blazing moonlight. Her face had been washed clean of its usual cerulean warpaint, and her serene expression and unbound honey-golden hair made her look like a child.
Keen eyes fixed on her face, Acajou remembered her first time running into Mjoll in Riften, months ago. She had gotten lost on the way to Ivarstead and had stumbled into the corruption-riddled town and immediately had gotten her only bag of coins swiped right off of her hip. Chasing the thief, she had turned a corner and run straight into a tall woman, clad in iron armor and armed with a battleaxe, just as she was hoisting the thief up by the collar of his cloak.
"I believe this is yours?" she asked in a heavy, lilting Nordic accent, tossing Acajou the pouch of gold. Her eyes were fierce but she was smiling, a large toothy smile that reminded the Dragonborn of a sabre cat baring its fangs. Acajou watched, slacked jawed, as the woman known as the Lioness physically dragged the thief off to the guards.
"It's a pity they'll just set the bastard free when she turns her back," a voice at her shoulder had said. Turning, she saw a young man leaning up against a railing on the walkway, smiling at her. His voice was cheerful and genuinely friendly. "The guards in Riften have it in with the Thieves' Guild, after all."
Acajou had looked down at the pouch in her hand. "Who is she?"
"She," the man—Aerin—said, with his eyes flashing with admiration, "is Mjoll. She is Riften's protector. You won't find a more honest, brave, or dedicated warrior in all of Skyrim. She's wasted here, among all the rabble. She should be seeking her fortune out in the wilds, or leading soldiers to glory, but instead she's planted herself here, to try and weed out the wickedness that's taken root. You'd do well to thank her when she gets back. She doesn't receive much recognition for what she does."
"You seem to know a lot about her."
Aerin had laughed, throwing back his head. "I guess that's to be expected. I do love her more than anything on Tamriel, after all."
And I took her away from him, Acajou mourned, watching as Aerin and the others backed away from the pyre, forming a half-circle around the body of their fallen comrade. The other Blades were singing now, too, but Acajou could see Aerin's lips were forming different syllables, his eyes dead even in the light of the torch that Delphine carried. He was sending her off with a song of his own, and Acajou would've given anything to hear it, to be there with them, to sing the song of the woman who had given up her life and her love to follow in her service, to show that she knew what kind of sacrifice that was, that her loss was an absolute failure on Acajou's part to uphold her most important tenant: never endanger anyone else if you don't have to. Never allow others to get hurt in your stead.
It's all my fault. Acajou hid her head in the crook of her wing, curling into herself in grief. She wouldn't be dead if it wasn't for me. It's all my fault.
Across the chasm, as she lowered the torch until the orange flames were licking at the bottom of the pyre, Delphine was thinking the exact same thing.
I really didn't want to kill Mjoll offscreen. The story is about to get a little more serious, and I'm a little nervous because I tend to take serious things waaaay too far. However, I am really excited to show you the next phase of the story, and I hope you stick with me for the journey!
Thanks so much to thug, Agent94, Saphire Basil, Lazuli, and Sayle for reviewing. I think you all are wonderful!
Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, and favorited RtK so far. I appreciate it more than I can say.