It's Memorial Day! To our servicemen and veterans, those here and those gone on, thank you for your service.

Proofread by BrownBear.

-B-

Just because a thing goes unseen does not mean the thing does not exist. It's probably planning an ambush.

~Thieves Guild maxim

-B-

I'd seen a lot of unpleasant places as a Rester, but I'd never been in a chamber dedicated to the active torture of living creatures. The smell of blood and despair made my stomach turn, and I was sure I would never get the feeble whimpering sounds of the prisoner being interrogated out of my head.

"Stop, please. I don't-I don't know anything else."

The dungeon that comprised 'downstairs' was two levels, a sort of gallery above the actual place where 'work' was done. Thus, I could move quietly and without being observed immediately upon entering.

The place smelled of wood, smoke, blood, waste, and suffering. My inner dragon's nonchalance about it all was immediately stifled by my outrage at what such a place represented.

"Don't you think I'd have told you already?" the prisoner choked, his voice breaking.

Anger began to burn in my guts as I peered over the bannister. There were two Altmer and one human. One of the Altmer, in hooded robes, sat at a table watching as the second…interacted…with the prisoner. I was too far back and the lighting being what it was—torches and not proper magelights—I couldn't be certain what I was seeing.

That was fine. It was bad enough to know I would never be free of the broken sounds the prisoner made. I don't need to clearly see what was causing them.

The Altmer with the prisoner looked to her superior, who nodded. "Silence," the woman snapped, kicking her prisoner in the chest. "You know the rules."

I started moving, anger beginning to beat in my veins. This...this isn't right.

"Do not speak unless spoken to..."

"Let us begin again," the Thalmor at the desk said, his tone full of the pleasure of watching someone pull the wings off a butterfly, of watching the harmless thing struggle to move, maimed and left helpless.

He thinks he's such a monster, so damn untouchable…

"No, please…"

I couldn't take it, whatever my inner dragon might feel. But the idea of proving how insignificant this Altmer sadist actually was—showing him who was truly scary—appealed to my inner dragon, leaving me comfortably of one mind.

I found the staircase leading the rest of the way down. The prisoner had begun to weep and scream by the time I reached that level. The sounds grated on my ears, making me wonder how anyone could stomach such things.

"What the—" the Altmer at the desk demanded, half rising.

An arrow from above punched through the Altmer in the prisoner's cage.

"FUS RO DAH!" the Shout blasted the other Altmer and his table back, pinned him beneath the wood. "You wish to hear screams?" I demanded, aware of a feral hiss in my tone quite unlike myself. I pulled Viidost-Vey free. "Are they so pleasant you your ears?"

"Yours will be," a new voice declared smugly from the upper gallery.

I turned to find three more Thalmor had entered. They must have the fires topside under control, if they're coming down here with no apparent haste or worry.

My blood chilled a bit as I realized that, between two of them, hung Malborn, half fainting with either injury of fear.

I let the death strike fall, Viidost-Vey slicing cleanly through the elf's neck, leaving a gouge in the floor. Blood sheeted off the blade like water off a duck. I didn't do it for effect—if I had, I'd have been disappointed by the responses. I did it out of practicality…and felt no small, petty satisfaction in knowing I'd left the world a somewhat better place by his death.

"That Bosmer is mine," I declared, pointing at Malborn with my sword. Pray he is not permanently damaged.

The words sounded strange in my mouth, but at the same time there was a certain truth to them—a certain dragonish truth. I was responsible for him. Therefore, he was mine. The dragonish line of thought, augmented by my remembered conversations hissed it: he was mine. Mine to protect. Mine to rescue. Mine to make requirements of. As all joor once belonged to the dov—obligated to us and with obligation due them—thus did this mortal belong to me. It would weaken me in the eyes of others if I surrendered but it would weaken me, too, if those who are mine came to great harm.

"You're outnumbered…whatever you call yourself," the Altmer sneered.

I smirked up at the Altmer, regarding the wooden walkway upon which he stood. "The word is Dovahkiin, but you needn't soil it with your filthy Thalmor tongue." Huh. There is a lot of wood around here. More than there was on the main level of the Residence. More than there was at the Embassy proper.

He reddened, the words smacking too much of something he's probably said several times. "Release your Dremora and put down your sword. First Emissary wants you alive." Apparently he could care less.

"And that is why she is First Emissary." I had to take a risk. They could threaten Malborn to force me to comply. I don't know how they connected him to all this, but I'll take responsibility for it. "FUS RO AMATIV!"

The Shout slammed into the wooden gallery, splintering it into matchsticks. The gallery section tilted crazily, sending the Altmer nearest the railing sliding under the rails and onto the floor. The other two Altmer and Malborn fell against the railing as the ground beneath them toppled.

The Altmer in charge took Kathutet's mace to his head before he realized what was happening. The other two followed in quick succession.

"Is he hurt?" I demanded of Kathutet, pointing at Malborn.

"Deadland's Gates, what do I know about mortal injuries?" he demanded. "Except 'purple on one the wound, drink the yellow one?'" Nevertheless, he heaved Malborn into a rescue carry as I entered the cage in which the interrogation victim lay.

His eyes were open and he was shuddering. The Breton had the look of someone who had been used to a comfortable existence once upon a time. His pale eyes, partly obscured by his disarranged dirty-blonde hair, opened wide. There was pain, but shock, too. "You are…what are you?" he whimpered, edging away from me as best he could.

"Help. I'm help. Are there any bones broken?" I asked, dreading the answer.

"I can…walk…if that's what you're asking," he panted. He struggled to his knees, then to his feet. His skin blanched and he whimpered but he could stand. I put my hands on his shoulders and willed a mild Restoration spell into him. It would, at the very least, dampen his pain.

It meant that I felt and echo of it, for a few moments, but it was better than doing nothing. "I suppose it is."

He didn't have a choice. Not really.

"I can walk. Thank you," the prisoner nodded. "Why are you here?"

"Questions later. Let's get out of here, first." As much as I would love to ask some of my own questions, curiosity couldn't be indulged. I wasn't going to get caught by the Thalmor simply because I couldn't be patient.

I don't think I can count on Shouting the floor out from under someone a second time. I know I have no desire to enjoy their…hospitality.

Fetchers.

"You may wish to enlighten us," Kathutet said darkly, setting a semi-conscious Malborn on the ground, "as to where you plan to walk."

"There's a…something. A place where they throw the dead…" The Breton's expression contorted.

"A place where they throw the dead," I prompted.

"Yes. Over there," the man gestured feebly with one hand. "I don't-I don't know where it leads. If it leads anywhere. But…" he looked upwards. It was a better bet than trying to fight my way through the Embassy garrison with two injured men.

I looked at Kathutet.

He grimaced distastefully, seeing where this was going.

"Show me."

The prisoner limped along with the Dremora—to Kathutet's distaste, the man had to reach out from time to time to steady himself.

I turned to Malborn. "Malborn? Malborn, come back. Come back the rest of the way." I patted his face, resisting the urge to slap him sharply.

His eyes fluttered then, opened. This time, he was lucid behind them. "Where are we?" he asked groggily.

"The infamous 'downstairs.'"

Malborn grunted and sat up, patting himself down. "The Thalmor will be after me for the rest of my life," he declared darkly, "I hope it was worth it."

"It is. It truly is." I couldn't bear to tell him the truth, that I had only fragments of new knowledge that were not all directly related to the big problems facing the world in general.

While we waited for Kathutet to clear the immediate area, I had the prisoner I'd freed dress in the least damaged of the Thalmor robes and the best-fitting of their boots. He needed more than what he had if hew as going to go any distance.

When Kathutet declared all was safe, Malborn and the prisoner joined him, with me helping to lower them down.

I stood atop the trapdoor looking around the torture chambers, feeling rage boil and coil, burning hot in my guts. I focused on it until all I could see or feel or think was fire.

I'd never felt so fully in tune with a torrent of dragonfire before. It had leapt virulently onto the furnishings upstairs in Elenwen's office. Now, it raced about, unrestrained, greedily scrabbling at anything it could reach, heating the air in seconds. I let off another gout than dropped through the trapdoor.

Let them think the jaws of Oblivion opened under their feet. May nothing be raised to replace…all this.

-B-

We walked until Etienne Rarnis—such was the name by which the Thalmor prisoner went—couldn't walk anymore. That put us about two hours away from the Embassy—and there was no sign of pursuit.

I'd shrugged out of the Thalmor robes Malborn procured early on in order to keep Malborn warmer than the party clothes he'd had on. As it was, both the Bosmer and the Breton looked particularly wretched, shivering by the fire. In fair weather, it's a hard two days' journey from Solitude to Riverwood. In midwinter, it's more like a three-day journey—more if snows hold one up. Even more if one travels with injured or weakened men. and it was obvious that Etienne had managed the two hour slog only because desperation made it necessary. He was not going to manage such a duration of hard travel again, soon.

That meant we were either at the roads' mercies or should stop in Whiterun before continuing on to the Sleeping Giant. I had no doubt Delphine would complain if I were to show up as part of a group, but I didn't see what else could be done, really.

"So, who are you?" Malborn asked. "Who are you really?"

'Bellona of Falkreath' stuck in my throat, as though I'd tried to swallow something a little bigger than was wise. "I am…Dovahkiin." I answered, gazing into the fire as Kathutet's clannfear sniffed and snuffled about the perimeter of the camp. Kathutet himself stood on guard, his back to the fire so it would not trouble his night vision. We weren't stopped for the night, merely long enough to afford the less fit of us some rest. "Call me Bellona."

Silence fell. Whether my answer was good enough or not, no one said anything.

"So, Etienne Rarnis," I prompted, fishing a packet of waybread (not horrifically battered) out of my backpack and handing it to him. "Where do you come from and what made you so interesting to those charming, charming zealots?"

Etienne laughed shakily as he accepted the bread and began to nibble. I passed another packet to Malborn, but didn't open one myself. I wanted to prowl and to pace, to vent excited energy. I felt far more enthusiastic and triumphant than I had any right to be.

The smoke still hanging in the air evidenced my handiwork. Good riddance. I hope everything burns and the remains crater. At least my legacy begins with something meaningful.

Unfortunately, I had two injured men and neither gave the appearance of being used to long travel in the first place. It's a long walk from Solitude to Riverwood, and it became my intention to take both men there, rather than divert to Whiterun. We'd worry about 'what next' once we got somewhere further from a Thalmor place of strength.

Etienne shuddered. "They grabbed me in Riften," he answered. "They seem to think I knew something. They just kept asking me the same damn questions." His tone shivered and quavered, mind retreating into unpleasant memory.

"Knew something about what?" I asked.

He glared at me, snapping back to the present. "You're starting to sound like them."

"Except I haven't laid a harmful hand on you," I answered darkly. "I heard that there was a prisoner in the dungeons. I could have made a clean getaway with far less difficulty. But I didn't. I heard that there was a mortal soul suffering in that pit and I came for you. I have no plans to hold you against your will. You could depart this very night and go your own way. Now, please, what was it they were so determined to get from you?"

To my surprise, the presentation of the situation worked.

Etienne sighed, running one hand thought his hair. "There's a man in Riften. He's old, a little crazy; lives down in the Ratway. They were interested in him."

Malborn was watching Etienne from behind hooded lids. "Frost lies thick upon Skyrim."

Etienne's eyes flicked to Malborn, then to me, then back. "For the time being," Etienne finished. He sighed, relaxing marginally.

Sign and countersign. What have I just stepped into?

When I cast an interrogative glance at Malborn, he shrugged, "Delphine isn't the only person who uses me as a contact. Leave it be for now."

"The Thalmor are looking for the Blades that escaped their Purges. Think they might know something about the dragons coming back," Etienne declared.

Sounds like Delphine in reverse: the opposing faction must be involved, how could it possibly be a third unaffiliated party? Then again…does anyone outside of Skyrim believe in Alduin for what he is?

"They think it's a fellow called Esbern, but the man I knew didn't go by any name. I just saw him slinking around the Ratways."

"Why did they capture you? Riften is far afield of their usual stomping grounds," Malborn noted.

Etienne nodded, "It is. That's why they were skulking about. Plainclothes, who thinks to look for Thalmor in the Ragged Flagon? Anyway…I didn't think there was anything interesting in what I was saying. But the first time I put foot outside Riften," he brought his hands together. "And here we are."

I'll have to run this past Delphine. "Thank you for telling me this."

Etienne nodded in an 'it's the least I could do' fashion. "I'm heading back to Riften."

If he's even up to such a journey by the time we get to Riverwood. I didn't share this pessimistic view, though. "Let me check with my contact and I'll go with you. I want to meet this man who troubles the Thalmor so deeply," I announced.

Etienne snorted, "Saw that coming. Still, safety in numbers and you can do that…thing. Good that you put that place to the torch…er, so to speak."

I had to chuckle at this. I doubt the Thalmor will assume we died horribly, but hope springs eternal.

I won't bet on it, but hope is hope.

"We need to move as soon as you are both able. Malborn, what will you do now? Where will you go?" I asked.

He smiled at me, wry but appreciative. "Don't worry about me. Delphine isn't my only contact."

"Malborn, I want you to be able to disappear, not disappear," I noted sternly.

"And so I shall. Don't trouble over it."

"Is there a point to me asking about the sign and countersign?"

The two men exchanged looks then, spoke as one, "No."

I sighed, shrugged and got to my feet. "Finish eating. We do need to move, soon."

With this, I joined Kathutet at the perimeter, aware of how much colder it was away from the fire. "They won't believe us dead. Not for an instant," Kathutet breathed.

"No, they won't."

"Are you going to be practical or are you going to be stupid?" he asked.

"You're going to have to explain that a little for me," I answered wearily. "We gauge the concepts differently."

"You have loose ends and they slow you down."

"And?" The inflection in my tone stopped the conversation. He didn't like leaving these two loose ends alive, but they'd said things that interested me. Ostensibly, that was my reason for letting them be. In reality, I couldn't just kill them. I'd saved them both. It would be a waste of effort to kill them now.

And if Etienne was half as chatty as he made himself out to be, I might be able to get him talking to some effect.