A/N - So, here's the part where I say I'm sorry I haven't updated in forever and blah, blah, blah... Yup, taking a break got me sucked away from fanfic for awhile...but I do want to finish this story. I hope I can get through part three and finish it before the next time I get caught up in something else. We'll see, won't we? :)

Anyway, enjoy the brand new chapter that'll kick off the final part to this crazy, weird, and rambling story I've written!


~D~

Opening of Part Three: Dichotomy

(Dumedak)

The Khajiit fixed her sharp eyes on the man sitting at the desk. He was bald, and a gray beard lined his chin. She was a little surprised. She'd been expecting a fat, lazy, comfortable target - someone made vain and cruel by a life of undeserved power, comforts, and fine foods...not a man with the wizened, kind, and empathetic face that stared at her, evident laugh lines having wrinkled his skin over the course of decades. This target, she thought, deserved to know where his death came from. She moved from the shadows, shifting the dagger from hand to hand. She halted, wanting him to see her and know what she meant for him. She was the end. She was his death.

And his demise would bring glory to her family.

His eyes flashed surprise upon seeing her, but his shocked expression faded to understanding. His face filled with acceptance. "And once more, I prove Commander Maro the fool. You can't stop the Dark Brotherhood. Never could," he observed coolly.

She froze. She hadn't been expecting that.

"Come on," he encouraged, "don't be shy. You haven't come all this way to stand there gawking."

Her whiskers twitched under her mask. "You expected me?"

"But of course. You and I have a date with destiny. But so it is with assassins and emperors, hm? Yes, I must die. And you must deliver the killing blow. It is simply the way it is. But I wonder, would you suffer an old man a few more words before the deed is done?"

The assassin was not accustomed to this sort of casual conversation with her targets, but she found she could not bring herself to silence him before he'd said whatever he felt he needed to. "Fine. Speak."

"I thank you for your courtesy…" He sighed, shifting in his chair. "You will kill me and I have accepted this fate. But regardless of your path through life...I sense in you, a certain ambition… So I ask of you a favor. An old man's dying wish. While there are many who would see me dead, there is one who set the machine in motion. This person, whomever he or she may be, must be punished for their treachery. Once you have been rewarded for my assassination, I want you to kill the person who ordered it. Would you...do me this kindness?"

"I'll, hmmm...consider it," she told him. "I promise nothing..." Her tail flicked, eyes narrowing.

"Thank you. Now, onto the business at hand."

He stood and walked towards the fancy, tinted windows gazing out over the bay. He exhaled, taking in the view one final time.

The cat stalked forward, slipping her knife around to his throat. "Find peace in the void, old man," she whispered. She drew it with a jerk of her arm. "Hail Sithis," she murmured, crimson spilling over her claws.

The lifeless body collapsed, and a sleek form stole out of The Katariah unseen.


.


That World Will Cease to Be

(Tol Lein Fent Dir)


LI. On the Hunt

(Nau Fin Nir)

Jyrath grinned. It was not a grin of amusement, but one of irony. He stared into the mirror, the once-despised looks of the elf he bore seeming so insignificant now. So unimportant. How it had once meant something, to be different, outcast. But he was different, in another way. He was dragonborn, which seemed to have nullified the rest of what he may be to the world. At least, on the surface. Many still hated the idea of the half-elf chosen by the gods, but it mattered not. There was nothing they could do about it. They would never mistreat him to his face now, and, with time, they would learn to accept it. It served them right, he thought, to be proven so wrong in their false convictions.

He stretched, shaking away the last bit of sleep. Once again, he adorned the finest clothes he owned. The grin disappeared and he frowned at his reflection, instead. He shrugged his shoulders, the excellent cloth making him feel uneasy. He did not particularly care for the way they screamed status, but Zin insisted that if he were going to accompany her to the Imperial court, he had to, "look presentable." A necessary evil, it turned out.

Shrugging away his early-morning musings, he exited the room and strolled down the hallway.

He entered the livingroom, gaze flicking to the rising sun outside the window. He rubbed his eyes and crossed into the dining room. His eyes picked out Zin, who stood at one of the windows, looking out at the dawn. Her face turned, the red light reflecting in her eyes.

"Is there breakfast?" Jyrath asked hopefully.

"Jyrath," she said. Her tone was almost...cold.

His brow furrowed. "What is it?"

She inhaled. "The emperor was assassinated last night," she replied.

"What?" He asked, surprise washing over him. "The emperor...is dead?" He struggled to wrap his mind around that.

"Yes." She stood still for several moments, then said, "...all of the careful negotiations and plans. We had everything in place to finally push back at the Thalmor, but…" she stepped away from the window, facing him, "with Titus Mede II dead, it's likely that many negotiations I worked for will fall through. There's no way of knowing if the one they will elect in his place will be intelligent and eloquent enough to see the wisdom of our plans." She shifted, agitation evident in the motion. "All the ties I had set up in the Elder Council will be useless if they elect a fool."

Jyrath folded his arms. "They respect you, right? Can't you influence who they choose?"

"No, they're in too much of an uproar to be reasonable... One of their own, Amaund Motierre, ordered the assassination of the emperor himself... I suspect he was anticipating being elected, but was unwilling to wait quietly for the old man to pass."

"Was?"

"He is also dead...double treachery, though we don't know why. What he planned to do with that power, no one can say... And now the council has turned on each other while they send for the emperor's closest, remaining heir. A nephew, I hear - distant. I do not know what he will be like. It's possible, too, they may even still elect one of their own, but all the hostility is...going to their heads."

"The emperor's death will destroy all the progress you've made?" he asked. "That seems...extreme..."

"Maybe not all, but it's very possible a lot of it will be undone... Before I went to Solstheim, I worked extensively on building relations outside of Cyrodiil. I spent centuries on it, Jyrath. Some have faded, others have grown. But now that the emperor is dead, the empire appears weaker than ever before. Those who originally stood against our worst enemy - the Thalmor - have fallen, including the Blades, and many of our other agents...and now, the emperor himself. So many will be afraid to pursue alliances... Especially the southern provinces where I had tentative relations built upon years of hard effort. We will likely have to wait for several more years - if not decades - before major action can be taken."

Jyrath shifted himself. "But that means there is time..right?"

"I don't know," she replied. "I just don't know. And that's the entire problem with this situation. I'm working blind, now, until some sense of normalcy is restored. The Thalmor could launch an invasion tomorrow. Maybe they had Amaund in their pocket, and were waiting for this chance. Who can say for sure? Maybe they intended for the emperor to die, so we would be more easily conquered. Or maybe not. Maybe they'll sit back and wait while we destroy ourselves from the inside out, if men like Ulfric Stormcloak have their way..."

"I'm...as surprised as you are by the emperor's death," Jyrath said, "but, honestly, I think you're worrying too much. This will not blow up that much. Other countries know that leaders come and go. Besides, I know I sound callous, but the old man was bound to pass sooner rather than later."

"You might be correct. We shall have to wait and see, then."

He looked around, but he didn't see any food that looked like it was cooking. He reluctantly moved to the cupboards, dragging out bread, cheese, and fruits.

Zin didn't seem to even notice. She turned back to the window.

"Are you still going to court, today?" Jyrath asked.

"Yes," she returned, terse.

The silence pressed in again.

"Where is Miraak? I thought he'd be here, by now."

She hesitated. "He is out...causing some trouble, I imagine."

"You really don't know?" Jyrath dropped at the dining table with his cold breakfast.

"Well, he didn't say exactly where he was going, only that he had some…Yuvonfahliil to...pay a visit to. And I am certain that he did not mean it in a good way."


Miraak snarled. His fist found a handful of black and dark purple robes, and he dragged the one wearing them to his feet. "What are you planning, elf?"

The Thalmor gave a wheezing chuckle. "I...don't know...who you...think you are...but you are incredibly daft to believe you'll learn anything...in this manner."

Miraak clenched his hold, irritation flooding him. "You all aim for dominance, but have no desire to live to see it. I do not understand."

"I...fight...for...my...cause… Not...for...myself…"

"Then I'll keep killing your people until I find someone reasonable." Miraak's hand erupted in flames, and the elf screamed once, loud and obnoxious, before dying.

He flung the singed body away, stepping forward. The stench curled his lip, but set his blood on fire all the same. His gaze was drawn to the hearth, where ashes fluttered lightly amongst the thick, black and gray logs that glowed orange and red. What remained of any important documents that he could have used, no doubt, lay there. Apparently, the Thalmor was not wrong; Miraak had been going about this the wrong way. He let his irritation drain. He needed to approach this problem from a different angle. Perhaps stealth would be the only option, in the future, as no Thalmor had been willing to answer his questions. He'd never been good at sneaking though, and he loathed the very idea of resorting to something so lowly.

It seemed it would become necessary.

He heard a noise in the room. He turned and made for the sound, eliminating the problem of the door between him and the cause of it with a simple slice of his sword. It fell in two, the wood tumbling away before him in a clatter.

Inside, he saw a Khajiit. She crouched, hissing, eyes wide, ears flat.

"I mean you no harm," he announced. "It's the elves I'm after."

Eyes gleaming in the light from the windows, the cat stepped forward. "This one did not know what he was planning." He realized she seemed small. Perhaps smaller than she should've been, her voice mild, too.

A child? "Perhaps you can help me," Miraak responded, sheathing his blade. "And in turn, I will help you escape this place."

She perked her ears up. "Escape? Khajiit would like that. I didn't want to work, but kit-mother died, and these elves replaced her with Daro'ura."

"Is that your name? Daro'ura?"

"Yes."

"Did you overhear, perhaps, what these elves were planning, Daro'ura?"

Her eyes became shifty. "They spoke of great plans, they did. Heard lots, Khajiit did. I hear talk of assaults in Skyrim! Though, when, they did not say. They talked of killing someone important, but didn't say a name to go with… They want weakness from other lands… Too careful to move themselves with too much resistance..."

"You're perceptive, young one."

"Khajiit is good at noticing things that go unnoticed." She sounded proud. "Daro'ura heard lots, kind one."

"Let us leave, then you can tell me more of it," Miraak replied. "I'll get you to safety, Daro'ura. Do not worry."

"Thank you," Daro said. "This one is not worried." She padded across the floor. Mirak noted how quietly she moved. She dropped next to one of the bodies, rummaging in the Thalmor's pockets.

"What are you doing?"

"Ah," she leaned back, holding a glittering silver necklace. There was a blue emblem at the end, but Miraak couldn't make it out from his angle. "Daro knew it would be here."

"You did?"

"Yes. Like Khajiit said, she is good at noticing what goes unnoticed. She saw pretty necklace. It has no owner now, so she gives it new owner." She caressed the pendant, though, like it were the most valuable possession. She dropped it over her head. "See?" She asked. "Pretty." She flicked her tail, standing and making for the entrance. "These two should leave this place now."

Miraak followed the young cat to the entrance. She stopped at the broken door, whiskers twitching as she observed the damage. "This one knows how to make an entrance."

The first dragonborn gave no comment as she stepped gently out of the wrecked frame. He followed.

"How far to nearest city?" she asked.

"Miles, at least," Miraak responded. "It is a long journey."

"Is that mask made of pure gold?" she asked without warning. In wonder, she looked at him, eyes sparkling in childish delight.

He chuckled. "Of course, Daro'ura."

He thought he saw a gleam enter her eyes as she looked away. "What is this one standing around for? These two go now."

The young cat set a fast pace through the woods and showed no hesitation. He was not far behind, and found himself mildly impressed with her stamina. They only slowed when he had to tell her directions. She never faltered in his guidance, though, and moved inefficiently, yet deftly, through the woods, leaping across logs and rocks at every opportunity, seeming to do so for the thrill of it. She often laughed or sang, too, having far too much energy than she should have.

Considering the ordeal she'd just been through, he was more than a little surprised. A young child witnessing death and destruction and losing her mother...and reacting calmly? There was more here than what met his eye. Contrary to her words, he'd found no Khajiit body of her mother. Of course, he had no idea how long she'd been working for the elves. Perhaps days...weeks… Perhaps the body had been disposed of somewhere remote.

However, if she'd been working for them, why did they lock her in a closet? Punishment, perhaps, for failing a duty? Perhaps she'd locked herself in there out of fear when he'd broken in. He pushed those musings away and proceeded on. He could ask her later.

When darkness fell, they set up a camp - a fire with the leaves and grass cleared away for a place to sit. Miraak took a spot, cross-legged by the fire, gazing into it.

Without a word, the young cat curled up on the ground on the other side and soon fell asleep.

He focused inward, letting his thoughts become sharp and tempered in the flames's image on his eyelids. He could sense the passage of time, even as he emptied himself of the idle and unimportant musings of the day. He concentrated on what he'd learned. Attacks planned in Skyrim? That made no sense. The Thalmor were already based in Skyrim, taking prisoners of those who broke their laws...but that didn't mean they weren't carrying out more offensive moves there, too. Moves that had nothing to do with the White-Gold Concordat. He would need to follow up on this lead, to be sure, and track down the next set of Thalmor Justiciars, maybe use an invisibility spell this time, and…

He stayed this way for hours, falling deeper and deeper into the meditation.

Disturbing sensations invaded his mind, and he winced, feeling a jab of discomfort. Darkness reached for him, and he felt a twinge of routine fear in response. The abyss opened, chuckling, and he responded by reinforcing his mental defenses.

Ah...how triumphant you must still feel, Miraak… the darkness murmured. But you should also be wary. Know that you cannot escape me forever. You will forever be vulnerable to my manipulations... It is only a matter of time...

Enough, Miraak thought back, I am through serving you, and I will eradicate your influence from my world. Leave me well enough alone.

He called upon his dragon blood, pushing back at the invading consciousness.

A brilliant light appeared behind his eyelids, and the dark presence vanished. Miraak could sense the powerful will of a dragon far beyond him appearing there. The brilliance of the dovah seemed to outweigh everything, and his own strength seemed insignificance in response.

Akatosh… he thought. Why appear to me again?

The very fact that you have given yourself a second chance, leads me to believe that this world and dragonkind need one, too… The young dovahkiin has turned his back on the prophecy of the Elder Scroll. As you know, Alduin lives. The Scrolls have been re-written by this very choice… Creation is on the brink...

Why tell me this now, though, of all times?

Because the one deed that signals the end, has been committed. You will learn of it, soon… I leave it to you to decide what you will do with my warning. Perhaps it is time for an end to this all…or perhaps not. Only time, will tell.

The presence vanished, and despite the ominous warning, Miraak felt peaceful inside. His concentration became even steadier.

A shadow approached him in the physical world, hoping to take him unawares. He readied himself to react. Something reached for his face. His hand lashed out. He caught a furry wrist.

"Daro'ura," he said, eyes snapping open. "What are you doing?"

Daro struggled to pull her hand back. "Khajiit was going to…going to..." she trailed off, a helpless expression on her face.

"Steal my mask," he knew, "if you could, that is."

"No, not at all! She is sorry to have bothered. Khajiit likes shiny, pretty things. Just wanted to feel the texture."

"I don't think so. You're a thief, aren't you? You wished to make off with it."

"N-no," she replied. "No thief. Khajiit is - was - Thalmor worker, until this one rescued her!"

"Stop lying, child," he growled. "I do not appreciate it."

She froze, blinking, evidently surprised at his harsh tone. The dying firelight glimmered in her eyes.

"Now," he said, voice becoming gentle, "tell me the truth."

She blinked again. "Yes, Daro'ura is thief. She wanted mask... But only because Khajiit needs to survive by selling pretty things..."

"Why are you surviving, so young, as a thief?" He asked.

"Daro'ura did lose kit-mother, but long before she was old enough to remember. She lost kit-sister too. She has found survival by taking the unnoticed things. Did not want this one to know, in case he kills thieves."

Miraak sighed and relinquished his hold. She sat down on the other side of the dying fire, tail curling over her feet. The dragonborn said to her, "you were at the Thalmor hideout, trying to steal that pendant. You didn't work for them, did you?"

"No... Daro'ura saw it at merchant stand, but Thalmor bought it... Followed him here, but got caught."

"If I ensure you will not go hungry again, will you promise to stop stealing?"

"Yes, kind one. Khajiit will stop stealing if she no longer needs to."

"I am serious, child. You'd better not lie to me." He took off his mask, looking her dead in the eye. "Is this gesture sufficient enough to make you believe?"

She nodded. "Yes. Khajiit promises!"

"Good. I will remember that you promised, Daro'ura."

She hesitated, shifting, looking like she wanted to speak.

"Yes?" He asked.

"Why does this one...look like this?" She asked, voice uncertain.

Miraak sighed, realizing he'd not bothered to hide his actual features with illusion as he might have if he'd given it thought. "Magick," he eventually replied.

"Oh… Khajiit will be careful around magick, then!" She exclaimed.


.


End of chapter.

Dovahzul Translations -

Yuvonfahliil - Golden-elves. (Altmer)