Tirdas, 7:33 PM, 7th of Frostfall, 4E 201

Thalmor Embassy

This all started twenty-four hours ago.

Well, no. If one were looking at Malborn's entire history up to tonight, 'this all' started back in Valenwood, when the Thalmor had taken his whole life away from him. That was when he had first been thrown into this awful course of events.

But as he stood here in the Thalmor Embassy, watching his plans crumble before his eyes, he could say with confidence that it had started twenty-four hours ago.

It had begun in the Winking Skeever. The one and only inn in Solitude. Malborn spent the better part of the evening there, just waiting for his contact to show up. For all he knew, the contact wasn't going to even arrive on time, and none of this was going to happen.

By his judgment, it wasn't a bad place to arrange a meeting. The Winking Skeever was as public as public got. A night like this, everyone getting off work, the place was packed. Malborn could barely hear himself think over all the hubbub. No one was going to pay attention to some wood elf nobody sitting alone at a table for two. Another lonely misfit on their way through Skyrim. Nothing to look at there.

Malborn, for his own part, spent that entire evening just watching the door. Every time someone came in, he wondered if they were going to be the one. Merchants, maidens, beleaguered travelers from Talos-knew-where, but none of them gave him a second glance.

Then, just around as the twilight outside was starting to turn to night, the door opened, and in stepped the one. Malborn knew it the instant he laid eyes on the man. Or, presumably it was a man, as opposed to a mer. He was encased in a suit of steel armor, devoid of any marking or recognizable pattern, obviously custom-made. What few areas of his body weren't covered in burnished silvery metal were covered in black cloth or leather. The visor was little more than a T-shaped slit, impossible to see through. He wore a heavy canvas backpack, along with a bow and quiver, and a great big sword was hanging from his belt.

It looked like the sort of thing that a brave warrior would see right before he died. Malborn swallowed involuntarily.

It took very little deduction to realize that this was his contact. A man rich enough to afford his own armor and low-status enough to wear no special marking was almost always some sort of mercenary. And the mercenary trade in Solitude was virtually nonexistent. One certainly wouldn't find any interested clients here in the Winking Skeever. And going by the backpack, this fellow had obviously been traveling, and recently. Chances were, he'd just arrived in the city.

Malborn sighed and looked down at his drink as the man walked over. The evening's merriment was still going on, but everyone was looking at the armored stranger in their midst. This was going to be an interesting conversation.

The man shrugged off his backpack, quiver and bow all at once, letting them thud on the floor by the chair. Then he sat down heavily, right across from Malborn, and let out a long, hissing sigh through his visor.

"Our mutual friend sent me," the man said tersely. It was unsettling how little his visor revealed. It was like talking to a statue.

"Really? You're who she picked?" Malborn rubbed his eyes with one hand. Of course this was Delphine's great paragon against the Thalmor. A wandering mercenary. "I hope she knows what she's doing."

"I'll do my part if you can do yours," the man replied. "Tell me what your part is."

Malborn looked up and nodded. "All right. Here's the deal. I can smuggle some equipment into the Embassy for you. Don't expect to bring anything else. The Thalmor take security very seriously, especially these days." He gestured in the man's direction. "I'm guessing this armor of yours will be the main equipment. You can take it off out behind the inn. I hope you have something else to wear."

Now that the man had settled down at his seat, everyone else in the inn had gone back to their usual affairs. It was like the two of them were invisible. Public places were such an easy place to hide.

The man shrugged. "I think our friend has an outfit for me. But if not, I'll just go over to Radiant Raiment and pay them for some nice regal clothing."

Typical mercenary logic. Malborn frowned. "I… I don't think they just have clothing that's suitably rich-looking for this. You'd have to get them to make it from scratch."

"I'll pay them a lot." The man chuckled lowly. It took Malborn a second to realize the whole Radiant Raiment thing was meant as a joke. "Anyway, you guessed right. I'll need to get out of this armor. Just get it someplace where I can access it again once I'm inside. I'll take care of the rest."

Malborn could hardly believe he was doing this. He'd met this man not even a minute ago, and they were already talking about a matter of life and death. The only thing keeping him from walking out of the inn and forgetting about the whole thing was his memory of Delphine. He trusted that woman. He'd just have to trust this 'mutual friend' of theirs too.

Friend. What a thought. Malborn had stopped dealing in friendships ever since he'd left Valenwood. But he wasn't about to start with some crazy mercenary on what practically amounted to a suicide mission.

He swallowed again. There was a good chance that he was going to be dead in a couple days. Dead, with a sword in his belly, and that was if he was lucky.

The man leaned forward, and for a second Malborn thought he was going to take his sword out. But he just laid his leather-covered hand on top of Malborn's own. "Be brave, Malborn. We'll both get through this in one piece."

Malborn sighed. Now his hand was pinned to the table. Not like he could do much about it. But he got the gesture, sort of. "I hope you're right," he eventually said. "Just… Don't screw this up, all right? It's both our lives on the line."

The man nodded—Malborn thought it looked sort of solemn—and leaned back in his seat, letting go of Malborn's hand in the process. "I won't. Now if you'll excuse me, I need a minute out behind the inn."

That had been one day ago. Today was the party.

It'd already started on a bad note. The guests in attendance always varied depending on who happened to be where, but one of their few regulars was the one and only Maven Black-Briar. The same Maven Black-Briar whose body had washed up by the Riften docks a couple weeks ago. No one would've dared to cross such a terrible, powerful woman, but as Malborn had observed, there was a sort of polite pretense around here that Skyrim's wealthy and influential members couldn't just be killed. Now that pretense had been broken.

The atmosphere in the Embassy was always tense, but now? It felt like the guards were about to put a sword through anyone who even walked near them. Not a good note to start on.

Things started to relax when the first guests arrived. Not counting Razelan, of course. The drunken fool was there even before Malborn returned from Solitude. But as Malborn took up his position behind the counter, and the big names of Skyrim started filing past him into the parlor, it felt almost like business as usual.

Except that Delphine's contact wasn't here. The first half-hour, Malborn was just politely greeting guests and serving fine wine as always, and the whole time, he was trying not to just stare at the door to his left. Just like at the Winking Skeever. At some point, someone new would be walking in. At some point. This wasn't business as usual, this was the big night. Maybe Malborn's last night, ever. And all he could do was wait.

His palms kept getting so sweaty. He was wiping them on the hem of his shirt a lot. He'd been working under the Thalmor's nose for years, he knew how not to betray his sheer gods-damned terror, but still, ugh. Palms.

It was about forty-five minutes into the party—Malborn could tell because Elenwen had just cut Razelan off from what would have been his fifth drink—when the front doors opened again. He couldn't help but look. Everyone in the parlor did.

And sure enough, in walked someone he'd never seen before. The first unfamiliar face today. An Imperial man, maybe in his late twenties, early thirties, around there, wearing understated but plainly expensive Nordic formal attire. He even had one of those quilted short-sleeve overrobes, deep red, golden trim, very stylish. Looked like he fit right in around here.

Obviously the same person as the armored man from the Winking Skeever. There weren't exactly a lot of other possibilities. So the mission was on. Malborn had to get this going quickly.

He was about to try his polite-greeting routine on the man, when Elenwen swooped in like a hawk and cut him right off. Confronting the mysterious stranger in her parlor. Not good.

"Welcome," Elenwen said, with her best velvety gracious host voice. That bitch. "I don't believe we've met. I am Elenwen, the Thalmor Ambassador to Skyrim. And you are…?"

"My name is Iseus Maro," the Imperial said. That voice of his was definitely the armored man's. Strange to hear it without a steel visor in the way. "I'm honored to meet you, First Emissary."

Iseus. That was his name. Duly noted.

This situation was not good at all. If Elenwen kept her eyes on this man, something was going to go wrong. A new guest at the party, yes, it was attention-worthy, but that was not a good thing. Malborn had to do something. He had to think.

Elenwen was facing away from him, but he could just tell the lady was raising her eyebrows. "Iseus Maro? Ah, yes, I remember your name from the guest list. By chance, are you related to the Imperial Legion's Commander Maro?"

Iseus scowled in confusion. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

But before Elenwen could say anything in response, Malborn raised a hand towards her and spouted off the first thing that came into his head. "Madame Ambassador, I'm so sorry to interrupt—"

Elenwen instantly turned and shot him an impatient look. "What is it, Malborn?"

"It's—just that we've run out of the Alto wine. Do I have your permission to uncork the Arenthia red?—"

"Of course," Elenwen snapped. "I've told you before not to bother me with such trifles." Meanwhile, Iseus was walking off and striking up a conversation with another of the guests.

Well, that worked better than Malborn had expected it would. He nodded in hasty apology, with a quick, "Yes, Madame Ambassador," and that was that.

As Elenwen drifted off to find someone else to harass, he reached down behind the counter and pulled up a bottle of Arenthia red, from where it'd been sitting by the six untouched bottles of Alto wine.

No sooner was she gone than Iseus was walking right up to him. The two of them locked eyes, and all of the sudden, Malborn found himself fighting back a rush of panic. He and his contact were face-to-face in the Embassy. There was no turning back now. The mission was already in progress. One mistake from either of them, and this whole thing was going to fall apart.

He took a deep breath in, then addressed Iseus with a bright smile. "What can I get for you?" And then, in a lower tone, "You made it in. Good. As soon you distract the guards, I'll get you through this door—"

"Oh, I don't need anything," Iseus shook his head graciously. "I'm just taking a look around. First time and all." Then he mouthed silently: "Just a minute."

"As you wish, sir," Malborn nodded deeply. All right. His part was moving along all right. Now it was Iseus' turn to act.

There was a bit of a strange moment where Malborn was looking on at the guests in the parlor, and he found himself appraising them all from Iseus' point of view. Who could help deflect attention off of him, and how? Who here even knew him well enough to want to help?

Malborn's eyes settled on Razelan. Drunken, boisterous Razelan. The man was sitting there sulking over an empty tankard. It looked like Iseus was having the same idea as Malborn, because he was walking over to the Redguard at that very moment. Taking a breath in, getting ready to speak.

And then, out of nowhere: "Thane Iseus! What a surprise it is to see you here!"

It was Proventus Avenicci. The Steward of Whiterun. Older fellow, rather fair-skinned as his race went. Unremarkable, beyond that. Besides that he was ruining everything Malborn had worked for.

Already, Elenwen was closing in on the two of them. Malborn swallowed. This was the part where his plans crumbled before his eyes. The past twenty-four hours had all led up to this one awful moment.

Iseus turned around and greeted the Steward with a big friendly smile. "I could say the same for you, Proventus. Mainly that you're here and not the Jarl. Is everything all right back in Dragonsreach?"

"Oh, everything's fine," Proventus nodded quickly. "But he's quite busy with his duties. It's better that he tend the more minor issues in my absence than I try to lead in his stead."

"You didn't tell me you were a Thane," Elenwen cut in. "We're honored all the more by your presence."

Iseus nodded in deference to the First Emissary. Or at least, in a very good imitation of deference. "I haven't gotten into the habit of introducing myself as Thane Iseus. It's all quite new. Hence the whole matter of, uh… Not having visited here before. I'm very eager to learn."

"Well, you've come to the right place," Elenwen replied primly.

Proventus excused himself from the conversation without a word. Good idea on his part. No one in their right mind wanted to speak for long with the most violently invasive member of Skyrim's elite, even if she was the one hosting these little get-togethers. Wasn't worth the risk of earning her dislike. Also she was just terrifying to talk to.

Elenwen went on speaking. "Until recently, you might have been able to learn by the example of Maven Black-Briar. She attended these parties quite regularly. I'm sure you heard about what happened to her."

Iseus replied only with a grim nod.

"Sadly, this proves that her example was not one to live by. She made one enemy too many, and she paid with her life. There's a lesson to be learned here—be careful whom you choose to be your enemies. Some will cost you everything."

Elenwen was enjoying this. Laying the veiled threats nice and thick on the Imperial newcomer. Making sure he knew his place in the grand scheme of things. Malborn had seen her do this a hundred times. And every single time, it was sickening to watch.

"Well, you get to be a Thane by making friends, not enemies," Iseus said airily. "But enemies are just another thing to manage. Some might not like my ambitions, but they're not exactly here, are they? I think I'll settle for just... Making the right friends, and the right enemies."

Malborn could've sworn Iseus finished that statement with a smirk. Elenwen seemed to catch it too, because she replied, "You've come to the right place indeed, haven't you? Enjoy the party, Thane Iseus. I'm sure this is the beginning of a long and mutually beneficial relationship."

And with that, Elenwen and Iseus parted ways. For a moment, it looked like Iseus was going to try and get Razelan's attention again, but instead he just calmly and quietly circled around the counter and came up by Malborn. None of the guards even bothered him on the way.

"Let's go," he murmured.

Malborn turned and opened the door behind him without a word. Picked up one of the wine bottles from the counter on the way, too, for later. He couldn't speak even if he'd wanted to, he was trying so hard not to laugh. That was brilliant. Iseus hadn't even needed to make a big diversion. He'd just let Elenwen have her fill of talking to him, and then moved on at the same time as she had. Except while she was moving on to another guest, Iseus was moving on to the kitchen. The guards hadn't even thought to give him any attention after that.

As soon as Malborn shut the door behind them, Iseus whispered, "Where's my gear?"

"In the larder," Malborn whispered back, still quaking with mirth. "Well done back there. I thought that was going to be a lot more work. But let me do the talking for now, all right?"

Iseus nodded silently and fell in behind Malborn. Good. This was going according to plan. Looked like Delphine had chosen a good contact after all.

The Embassy cook was a Khajiit named Tsavani. Yes, the Thalmor Embassy's cook was a Khajiit. She basically wasn't ever allowed outside the kitchen. On the other hand, she'd been working here even longer than Malborn had. Ostensibly, they tolerated her race because she was good at her job. Convenient how the Thalmor did that when it didn't hurt their image.

The kitchen was a typical servant's area, all in all. Unadorned stone, dim lighting, and an awkward shape where the larder cut into the rest of the room. Because of that obstruction, Tsavani hadn't seen them yet. Malborn took a moment to compose himself, then walked out in view of the hearth. There she was. All according to plan.

Tsavani looked up from her work at the countertop with a hostile leer. "Who comes, Malborn? You know I don't like strange smells in my kitchen."

"A guest, feeling ill," Malborn replied smoothly. Behind him, Iseus staggered audibly against the wall. Nice touch, Iseus. "Leave the poor wretch be."

Naturally, the Khajiit's reply was a little incredulous. No one had never pulled this stunt with a guest before. "A guest? In the kitchens? You know this is against the rules—"

And now she'd walked right into it. Malborn had been hoping she'd object on those grounds. "Rules, is it, Tsavani? I didn't realize eating moon sugar was permitted. Perhaps I should ask the Ambassador—"

Tsavani hissed angrily, but did nothing more. "Get out of here! I saw nothing."

All according to plan. Malborn ushered Iseus into the larder, and that was that.

There wasn't a lot of space inside the larder, what with the shelves full of food everywhere, but the two of them managed to stand a respectable distance apart as they spoke. "Your gear is in that chest," Malborn said, pointing to a big wooden chest on the floor that had definitely always been there. "I'll lock the door behind you. Don't sc—"

"—screw it up, I've got it," Iseus said, as he started unbuttoning the front of his formal wear. "Get back to the party. They're gonna miss you."

Malborn didn't have to be told twice. He scurried back out of there like a skeever out of a fire pit. They'd already taken far too long to get this going. And sure enough, when he opened the door to the parlor, he found… The same old boring social exchange as always, where no one was paying attention to him.

As he stepped back to behind the counter, Elenwen turned to look at him. Of course. The one person who could be guaranteed to cause trouble.

Elenwen closed the distance between herself and the counter, and then asked, "What are you doing, Malborn? Did you just come out of the kitchen?"

"Found some alto wine after all, Madame Ambassador," he grinned sheepishly, holding up the bottle in his hands. "Just the usual trifles."

Elenwen sniffed dismissively and went back to whatever stupid thing she'd been doing. That was close. Malborn set the bottle down with a sigh.

Now it was back to waiting. Just like before the mysterious contact had arrived at the Embassy to start with. Except not really. This time, the mysterious contact was somewhere in the Embassy, no way of knowing exactly where. He might've been sneaking around, or hiding, or fighting someone, or getting caught, or getting killed, no way of knowing that either. All Malborn could do was stand here at this counter, serve drinks when people asked for them, and act like he hadn't just set loose an enemy agent in the Thalmor's midst.

Then again, Malborn himself was an enemy agent in the Thalmor's midst. What a comforting thought that was.

The waiting stretched on forever. It didn't get any easier. The entire time, Malborn was fighting his hardest just to keep calm. His heart was seemingly permanently in his throat. This was the night. This was the night, for him. And now there wasn't anything he could do about it. Couldn't run, couldn't hide, couldn't do anything but hope his new partner-in-crime didn't get them both killed.

Eventually, guests started leaving. One by one, peeling off to go spend the night down in Solitude. At this point, Malborn had no idea how much time had passed. A lot, he imagined. An hour, maybe. Something like that. He wasn't going to ask.

Around the point where half the guests were gone, the door opened behind Malborn. He turned around expecting to tell Tsavani to stop worrying and get back to her hearth. But that wasn't what happened.

Standing there in the doorway were two Thalmor soldiers, fully armored, swords drawn. Malborn's heart froze. It'd finally happened. Iseus had been caught. And now it was his turn. It was over.

"Come with us," one of them commanded.

He didn't have time to protest. They just grabbed him by the arms and started dragging him between them.

At first, Malborn thought they were taking him someplace quiet to have him killed. But they weren't going someplace quiet. They were leaving the embassy building. Just before the exit, two Thalmor mages were sprawled in awkward positions against the walls, sitting in huge puddles of… of glistening dark red. They weren't moving.

This was Iseus' handiwork. He'd fought his way out. But he hadn't fought enough.

Then the soldiers pushed him out into the courtyard. The rear courtyard, between the main building and the private solar. Surrounded by iron fences, lined with stone walkways, all white with snow. There were bodies everywhere. Dead Thalmor soldier bodies. All of them were covered in blood. There was so much blood. Some of them had been slashed open so deeply that their insides were visible, like gaping fissures into raw red meat. Every last one of these people was stone cold dead.

Malborn didn't even feel the chill of the outdoors. He was so numb. None of this made sense. He couldn't think. He just walked where the soldiers were taking him.

They were taking him to the solar. He'd never even been there before. This didn't feel like it could be happening.

There were more dead bodies inside. Malborn thought he recognized a few of them. The blood just didn't stop. He couldn't believe how much blood there was. They'd all been carved up so horribly.

With an awful pang, Malborn realized that he'd be one of these bodies soon. Laying there with his flesh sliced open by someone's blade. Unmoving. Dead. He'd spent so long fearing his death, and now he didn't even know what to do. He just walked.

They were taking him down some stairs. Underground. There was some kind of cellar. A dungeon, he realized.

"Dammit, he got the rest of the backup," one of the soldiers said as they stepped past even more bodies.

The other, the one who'd told Malborn to come with them, answered, "It doesn't matter. We can do this ourselves. Keep moving, traitor. This'll all be over soon."

They pushed Malborn through a set of doors, and then he was on a wooden balcony, overlooking a… Jail? There was a jail down here. He couldn't see much from back here, just a big room below, with a row of cells going to the very rear. More balcony space on top of the cells. Everything was all wooden down here. None of the fancy stonework. Just wooden planks and beams. This wasn't part of the proper embassy. This was a secret prison.

But someone was moving around down there. He could hear footsteps.

The first soldier shouted, painfully loud, "LISTEN UP, SPY! You're trapped in here, and we have your accomplice. Surrender immediately, or you both die."

Iseus was still alive! And he was down there, and… Malborn didn't know what to do. He just said the first thing that came to mind. "Never mind, I'm dead already—"

"Silence, traitor!" the soldier snarled, and suddenly Malborn felt something very sharp pressing into the base of his spine. His whole body went stiff. "Move. Slowly."

Iseus' voice called up to them. "Don't hurt him! You got me, all right? I surrender! Just don't hurt Malborn!"

The second soldier chuckled and said something under his breath, Malborn couldn't hear.

"Put down your weapons," the first soldier called out. "Then come up here. Do it slowly. Any sudden moves, your friend here dies."

"All right, all right! Relax, I'll do it!" There was a brief pause. Probably Iseus putting his weapons down. "I'm coming up now! Just… Don't hurt him, please!"

Malborn had no idea what was going on. This man he barely knew was pleading for his life? It didn't make sense. Iseus should have been running as fast as he could. He should have been leaving Malborn to die. But he wasn't. Apparently, they were both going to be killed today.

There was a staircase ahead, going down to the dungeon floor below. The steps creaked one by one as Iseus slowly came up. And slowly, step by single step, he emerged into view. Wearing that same steel armor from when they'd first met. He had his gloved hands up by his head.

"Good," said the second soldier, stepping out just in front of Malborn. "Now, come over here, and get down on your knees."

"All right. I'm coming over now," Iseus said. "Don't… Please don't hurt him, all right?"

"Don't even think about trying anything," said the first soldier, like that needed saying again.

Iseus stepped fully into view, then walked forwards a couple steps, before stopping. His hands lowered a little. "Well, you guys got me. I just have three words to say to you. All right? Three words."

"Speak," said the first soldier.

"Fus," said Iseus.

The two soldiers glanced at each other.

"RO DAH!"

There was a deafening clap of thunder, and an unstoppable wall of force slammed into Malborn's body. For a split second, he was picked up off his feet, weightless. And then everything went black.

When Malborn woke up, he was outdoors again. Sitting upright on the ground, against a rock face. It was freezing out here, but someone had dressed him in a thick hide cloak. This wasn't the embassy, this was the wilderness. There was snow, there were trees, there was the night sky above, but there was no embassy.

He was alive. Somehow, he was still alive.

"Oh, good, you're awake," said Iseus' voice. The man was crouched just to his right, still wearing his armor, minus the helmet. They were looking at each other face-to-face. "I'm sorry about the shout. You hit the wall headfirst. I did all the healing spells I could for you, but you weren't waking up, so I decided to stay here with you."

Malborn took a slow look around. They didn't seem to be that far from the embassy. The landscape was mostly the same. They were somewhere in the mountains near Solitude. That was all he could guess.

Then he looked at Iseus. "What in Oblivion happened?"

"Well, I found what I was looking for. They were interrogating some poor fool from the Thieves Guild, so I got him out of there. Then I got you out of there, and… Here we are."

"Where are we?"

"Pretty close by the embassy. We're safe here, don't worry. I surveyed the territory before we talked in that inn. That way's south. It'll take you to Solitude." Iseus pointed to the left, down the snowy mountain path. "Did you know there's a Standing Stone nearby? It's completely changed how I handle my armor."

Something felt wrong. Besides the obvious. Something from before things had turned horrifying tonight. Malborn stood up slowly and stretched his arms out. "Well, now the Thalmor will be hunting me for the rest of my life. Unless you have a plan for that too?"

Iseus stood up too. He had all his weapons back on again. Backpack, too. Even his helmet was safe under his arm. He looked like someone who'd won. "It's safer if we split up at this point. I'm going to be going to some dangerous places soon. Do you know where Ivarstead is?"

Malborn frowned. "Sure, it's at the west end of the Rift—"

"Go there. It's like Solitude, there's only one inn in town. The Vilemyr Inn. The innkeeper's name is Wilhelm. He owes me a big favor. Tell him I sent you for his help. He'll keep you safe."

Ivarstead, Vilemyr Inn, Wilhelm. Malborn instantly committed all of it to memory. But something still felt wrong. He scratched awkwardly at the back of his head. "Did you say 'shout'? That's what you did?"

"Yes." Iseus nodded firmly. "Also known as a Thu'um. I'm not just Delphine's contact. I'm the Dragonborn."

Well, that explained a lot.

Iseus continued. "That's how Delphine crossed paths with me. She's interested in my dragon-slaying capacity. If you were wondering why she was so adamant that I was the man for the job, there you go. It's actually also how I became Thane of Whiterun. I brought down a dragon outside the city."

The Thane of Whiterun. It hit Malborn like a bolt of lightning. That was what was wrong.

"You're not afraid of being hunted, are you? They'll try to hunt you down, same as me, but you're not afraid. You're a wandering warrior. You're used to it. Right?" Malborn's words were all coming out so frantically. His heart was starting to beat faster once again. He was realizing. Iseus wasn't realizing it, but he was.

"Right," Iseus nodded.

"But you're the Thane of Whiterun. Thanes have housecarls. Where's yours?"

The Imperial frowned. He still didn't get it. "In… Whiterun? That's where I left her."

Malborn closed his eyes. He let out a long, slow breath. That was that, then.

"What is it, Malborn?"

When he reopened his eyes, Iseus was looking a little worried. This wasn't going to be nice to say. "I'm sorry, Iseus. There's nothing either of us can do for her now."

"What?" Iseus' eyes widened. "No, no, that's impossible. She's in the middle of Whiterun, that's not someplace they can—"

"Yes it is," Malborn said flatly. "I don't blame you. You did say you're new to being a Thane. But they'll have sent out riders to Solitude already. From there, they'll notify their agents in the area, faster by far than you could get there yourself. They know you're the Thane of Whiterun, they'll look for your housecarl, and Whiterun is exactly where they'll start looking. I'm sorry. There's nothing you can do."

Iseus took a step backwards, then another. His back pressed against the cliff face Malborn had been resting on. He looked like he was about to faint. No words came forth.

Malborn didn't really know what to say now. Once he'd pieced that together, there was no way he could've gone without saying it, but still. He just came over by Iseus and… Said the first thing to come to mind. "This is what it's like dealing with the Thalmor, Iseus. You can't assume there's anything they're incapable of doing. You have to assume the worst, every time."

"Go to Ivarstead," Iseus mumbled, before speaking up more clearly. "Go. Be safe. I'll come back for you when this is all over."

Malborn looked on blankly. "… This?"

"This." As he spoke the single word, the man took his helmet in both hands and pulled it over his head. The expressionless visor turned to face Malborn. "When I've killed the World-Eater, and put an end to the war the Thalmor started."

And with that, the Dragonborn started to walk off down the path. Not south, towards Solitude, but north, towards the coast. He must have been planning on walking by himself all the way to Dawnstar, or Winterhold. No wonder he didn't want Malborn coming along.

But Malborn wasn't about to let that go. It didn't make any sense.

"What in Oblivion are you talking about? The Great War ended twenty-six years ago!"

The Dragonborn looked back over his shoulder. "No, not that war. I'm talking about the Civil War. Didn't you know? They started the Stormcloak Rebellion. I came here to find proof. And I found it."

Worth it after all, then. Malborn could live with that. In the meantime, though, if he wanted to live at all, he had to get moving. And he'd started to turn away, when something stopped him. He looked back once again.

"Hey!" Malborn called out.

Again, the Dragonborn looked back.

"Thank you for saving me," he said. "I won't forget it."