"Something has happened? Hasn't it?" Nivard said implicationally from the other side of the stone strategy table. Low torch light lit the room a dull orange color with shadows draped over every surface. Logvarine looked up from his work and Nivard could see his tired eyes. He had gotten no sleep.
"Why would you say that?"
"You imprisoned five traitors, but there are only four in the cells. Your face is unusually pale today. What happened, Log'?" he crossed his arms and walked over to the dark elf.
"I… I'm planning our invasion of Solitude, can this wait until later?"
"No."
Logvarine sighed and then rubbed his face awake.
"Okay… Rytel probably hasn't cleaned up yet, so I guess I'll show you."
"Show me what?"
"You'll see…" Logvarine said as he approached the door to exit into the hallways.
Just one look into the room put a look of shock on Nivard's heavy face. He slowly turned to face his friend and then back at the grisly scene through the door.
"I knew you could be brutal… but by Ysmir's beard that is…" he paused and saw the almost guilty look on Logvarine's face. "For shit's sake, his body is in at least ten pieces!" he pointed up. "And is that his head!? Dear god!"
"SHHH! Do you want everyone to hear you?" Logvarine tried to calm him down. Nivard made a quick shuddering motion, shaking like the cold.
"As a werebear, even I wouldn't eat that." He threw his hands up, "Just saying."
"Look," Logvarine sighed, "Can we get back to the planning chambers, we have much to do?" Nivard grabbed Logvarine's shoulder.
"Fine, let's just forget this ever happened, alright?" Nivard said.
"Alright." Logvarine accepted. They spent the rest of the day planning out Logvarine's final resolution for the war over Skyrim: Take Solitude!
With the forces of the malevolent Mehrunes Dagon at his side, he predicted much more positive outcomes for the coming battle of Solitude. He had made a pact with the Daedric prince allowing Logvarine's warlocks and wizards to conjure the Prince's demons to serve them. There was no flip side to the agreement; Dagon merely wanted to watch the destruction and havoc unfold for his enjoyment. Within the next few months they would begin a war that they could not turn back from, and Logvarine could only hope that his people were ready and that all of the traitors had been expunged. The forces of Solitude were at least a thousand men strong, but within a month Logvarine could have members of the Vengeance from all over Tamriel under his command and ready to strike swiftly when called for.
The Imperials of Solitude would be outnumbered two to one, if not more.
Logvarine had many siege weapons and catapults at the ready, built and housed in secret locations known only to a few. Death would strike on a massive scale, but if he warned the civilians then their element of surprise would trickle away. Morals or Duty. He was not sure what to think of the matter. Day in, day out he would lean with his body over the map of Skyrim and place pins in the different points of entry into solitude, and places where he would expect their more important combatants to be stationed. General Tullius was the one man that worried him the most. The General was a good man, a good soldier, and Logvarine did not want to have to put his blade through him.
"What about the battle is nippin' at ya?" Nivard asked as he entered the room with a bottle of mead in his hand.
"I'm just worried, is all."
"What is there to worry about?" he nudged the bottle toward him. "You're the freaking Dragonborn!"
"No, you are the Dragonborn." He pointed at Nivard. "You delivered the final blow to Alduin, you fulfilled the prophecy… I just helped."
"You were of greater help than I, you know?"
"That is debateable." Logvarine said as he went back to his planning. He turned to his own bottle of spirits on the edge of the map and began to down the drink.
"You may not be THE Dragonborn, the LAST Dragonborn, the one of the legends. But you still have the blood of the dragon flowing through your veins." Nivard slammed his bottle down on the table, spilling a few drops of the sweet honeyed liquid onto the already stained map.
"And to think," Logvarine smiled, "Had Logelaine not turned on us, he would have likely become the most powerful of the three known Dragonborn… he would, for sure, be… the Last Dovahkiin of the Prophecy."
"But instead he killed…" Nivard found the name stuck in between his teeth. Logvarine managed to pull it from his own mouth.
"Paarthurnax…"
The two Dragonborn lowered their heads for a moment and then looked back up. Nivard took another drink.
"I still don't understand Logelaine's hatred for us… what did we do that made him so resentful?" Nivard said.
"I think it was my father, coupled with Logelaine's attempted execution at the hands of the Imperials. We want to heal the empire; he just wants to destroy it." He sighed. "He's on a revenge quest… but I suppose we are little different."
"Of course we're different!" Nivard shouted, "He carries out his justice selfishly, but we do it for the good of-!"
"And what of Veloth!?" Logvarine shouted back. The room died in the silence that followed. "Was that not justice brought on by my own selfish dark perversions!?" he said. Nivard could not find any words to respond with.
"I mutilated him and deprived him of an honourable death… he died like a chained up animal as I branded him like one. And I…" Logvarine was struggling not to scream in frustration, "And I enjoyed… every… moment of it…" it was then that Logvarine realized that he had drank the whole bottle of… well, he couldn't remember what it was by now, nor could he read the label. The liquor hit him like a bag of rocks straight to the gut. He fell back and slumped into the stone Dwemer chair that was seated behind him.
"Are you alright?" Nivard asked worriedly. Logvarine weakly shook his head.
"I jusht… drank it too… fasht…" he could feel his tongue losing feeling. The drink must have been something from Morrowind. He felt his head with his hand as the room began spinning.
"How much did you drink?" Nivard asked with an air of concern.
"Two *HIC* bottlesh." He was amazed that it took the first one this long to actually take effect, but maybe it was just the second bottle doing all of the work. Nivard grabbed the bottle out of his hand and looked at the label.
"Sujamma!? You drank two whole bottles of straight Sujamma!?"
"I'm… sh-tarting to f-f-feel the effectsh now…" he began laughing weakly, "I can't even feel my tongue mucsh…"
"C'mon Grey-face," Nivard said, grabbing him by the shoulder and gently picking his drunken friend up out of the seat, "Let's get you to bed. You've had a stressful few days…"
"What word from around the provinces?" Logelaine asked as Thunder and Lightning crackled outside of his tall castle windows like a battle between two heavenly warriors. He watched the spectacle from his chair in one of the rooms on the far side of the castle, untouched for nearly a century, if not more. They had done some renovating since taking refuge there.
Kagnor approached his throne-like seat and rested his arm on the headrest.
"The Thalmor have declared martial law in many western Hammerfell cities, for one."
"Continue." Logelaine requested.
"There has been talk of rejoining the empire among the council members of both Elswyr states." He sniffled slightly, sickened by the cold north winds, even though he was a nord. "Rebellion has increased drastically in many of the provinces, excluding Valenwood of course."
"Against the Dominion I presume?"
"Aye."
"Good."
"When do we strike?" Kagnor asked as he began pacing back and forth. The storm was still raging outside.
"We wait for someone to throw their cards onto the table, and then when we know how to deal with the hand that they were dealt, we place our bets." Logelaine cackled softly to himself.
Kagnor was just as sarcastic as usual.
"Lovely analogy of the situation."
"Thank you, I try."
"My scouts have reported an increased presence of Thalmor soldiers in the province. The locals are starting to rise up." Said the Hound.
Logvarine wiped his face of sleep and continued hovering over the map even as he yawned loudly.
"Let them try to quell the rebellion for a little. We will wait for the embers to burn momentarily before we stoke the fire."
Samuel stepped forward with his white hair draped in front of his eyes partially.
"And how long is that going to be?" he asked. Logvarine turned to face him.
"A few months, or until the Thalmor decide to use unnecessary force on their rebels." He scoffed, "Although in hindsight, that might just continue to add fuel to the fire in the hearts of these nords." He began rapping his gauntleted fingers on the table. "There is nothing like an atrocity to strengthen the flames of war."
"I will not be responsible for such an atrocity, if that is your plan." The Hound added.
"I would never do anything to the innocent of Skyrim. I thought you knew me better than that?" Logvarine defended. He grabbed his forehead and squeezed it sorely.
"I've got to give up skooma." He said as he looked over at the skooma pipe in the corner of the room.
"Maybe you should give the Sujamma a rest too." Suggested Samuel, "I heard about your night from Nivard."
"I haven't been sleeping well the last few nights." Logvarine explained. "Night terrors and the like."
"Samuel and I were the ones who cleaned up your… mess." The Hound implied. Logvarine slowly raised his head back up.
"So you see why I've been troubled then?" Logvarine nearly whispered. Samuel swept his hair back and then sighed.
"Rytel gave us the full story. This Mithron guy, can we trust him?"
"Of course, without a shred of doubt in my mind."
"Then we shall treat him as a brother." Declared the Hound as he stamped his spear on the ground. Logvarine nodded slowly.
"Thank you. He has been through a lot so show him kindness."
The next day things were not as hectic or stressful for the most part. Logvarine met with his chief lieutenants and devised the beginning stages of their invasion upon Solitude. Tylnar was arguing for a direct approach, but the others seemed to ignore him like usual. Suddenly, the door to their discussing room burst open and in came one of the guards with a smile on his face.
"What is this about?" Asked the now uncloaked Logvarine as he began to stand up.
"Someone is here to see you, and I think you'll want to see him too."
Logvarine departed the room with his envoy of lieutenants in tow and following the slow jogging guard. They walked, boots clacking on the stone as they trudged through the halls. They came to the door exiting his fortress, and then pushed the large iron doors to the side.
On the other side of the doors was a whole convoy of imperial dressed soldiers and at the head of their group was a dark elf and a Khajiit.
Warnarn's armor was ebony armor fashioned slightly in the style of an Imperial General, and Moon-cat's armor was black leather even darker than that of the nightingales.
How all of the imperial deserters managed to fit on the elevator down to the depths of their home was beyond Logvarine's understanding.
"FATHER!" cheered Logvarine as he ran forward, holding his sheathe back so it would not fling back and forth. Warnarn jogged forward and met his son half way as they embraced warmly.
"This is MY SON! The Dragonborn!" He cheered to his troops as he wrapped one arm around his son and stuck the other high into the air. They gave hoots and hollers of respect. It was understandable that a group of deserters would be so rowdy and uncontrollable. The large group of soldiers began to mingle with Logvarine's men, friendlily. Warnarn, former General of the imperial legion, leaned in and whispered to his son.
"Where is my daughter-in-law, hm?"
"Hmm…" hummed Logelaine in deep thought as he stared at the ceiling from his bed. Saline stirred beside him and pulled herself up against the headboard, resting her light gold haired head against it.
"Is something wrong?"
"I just… feel like something familiarly unpleasant is nearby, I feel a heated nervousness." He raised his hand to look up at it inquisitively.
"I'm sure that whatever it is," she said as she rubbed his bare chest of pale grey flesh, "It won't be a problem too big for you to handle."
"You're probably right, but how long can we survive with just the three of us and a thin network of spies?"
"As long as it takes, I'm sure."
With those words, Logelaine's restless thoughts were settled and they fell into deep sleep in each other's arms.
