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-Viper-
Dragonlord Vylornar had been assigned his own personal quarters, as though he'd stayed in Pale Pass for quite some time. Viper located his room before he returned to it. The many winding overlapping corridors had not succeeded in bewildering her. Even she was surprised at how quickly, how easily she discovered it. Fortune was indeed smiling at her this morning.
It was modest, she thought, far too modest for a Dragonlord. The room was longer than it was wide, but contained all the essentials required for comfort. There was even a rug thrown over the frigid stone floor. Viper herself did not tread on it. She slipped through the doors and promptly climbed to the arched black ceiling. The room was in a state of repair, and beams spanned the room, providing perfect means of movement across the entirety of the chamber. The old stone also made for good climbing.
She felt safer perched above, hidden so close to danger. It almost seemed strange, how effortlessly everything was coming to her. Or perhaps it was something else; it might be her, accepting something she'd resisted unknowingly across her whole life. She was quite sure she knew what it was, but she didn't connect with it yet. She didn't dare to.
When she heard footsteps thumping by outside, Viper froze and waited for the door to open. It did not. Besides, she berated herself, Dragonlords did not 'thump'. No doubt those passing men had been the dragon servants, once more on their needless rounds. They would not find the Listener. Darkness was her element. They would not find Viper, either. Not until she wanted to be found.
Time had been granted to her. Viper intended to make good use of it. She moved across the room, studying the empty scene under her. There was a small table beside the window, an unlit cluster of candles bound by its melted wax in the centre. There was also a bottle, an empty chaste goblet. This attracted Viper's curiosity, to a point when she ignored everything else in the room, descended from the ceiling, and approached it. The bottle was weighed with its contents when she tried to pick it up, and the faded label pronounced an old vintage. The date declared the wine was well matured.
Viper wondered why this was of such interest to her. Then she saw the cabinet, tucked away at the foot of the bed. She investigated that as well. She opened it; bottles were stacked on bottles, and the labels told a similar story.
Vylornar is fond of his wine, she surmised dryly, as she carefully reset all that she'd touched.
Again, footsteps outside, and Viper's heart sprang into her throat. But nobody came in. They went past. I cannot let myself be caught out again, she told herself angrily. Do not be slack. Be alert constantly. Her old thief instincts were kicking back in, thank goodness, after that little scare. Hyper-aware of her surroundings within and without, she returned to the table and tried to wonder why she felt the wine was an important tool.
Her fingers brushed the pouch at her hip, and it came to her.
She placed a blue-tinted bottle into her gloved hands and gently removed its stopper. The scent that first greeted her spoke faintly of wormwood, but after that it was odourless. Viper was quite aware of its potential, and what she had brewed it to be able to do. She placed a few drops onto her fingertip and rubbed it around the rim of the goblet. Then she applied a second layer. She decided not to place a third. If the poison stacked too much then there was the chance a smell and taste would linger, forewarning the unsuspecting of the threat.
She also placed a single drop at the bottom of the cup. Then she lifted herself into the roof-bound shadows again, positioned herself, and waited.
A few minutes passed by in apprehensive stillness. Then she heard the footsteps. Soft and steady, almost rhythmic, and she knew that the Dragonlord was here. Excitement flashed briefly through her, strong enough to make her insides churn; then she quelled it. The cup was marked. She knew it would succeed, with a certainty she couldn't explain. Perhaps this was how all assassins felt before the quarry stepped into their line of sight.
The door creaked open and Vylornar stepped into his chambers. Then Viper went cold. She had not anticipated Ollos to still be with him.
"You're certain you can't have Ausnahyol return me to Golgevild?" the Dunmer demanded. He was no longer speaking the dragon tongue, but Viper could feel the effects of the Vernaculum wearing away and wondered just how long she'd spent treading the shadows of Skyrim's most dangerous enemies. "I cannot take this," he went on, as Vylornar gently shut the door in their wake. "The humiliation of riding dumb horses."
"This is the price you must pay for losing focus, my friend," said Vylornar, ever courteous. "The dragons intend to shame you. Bear your shame nobly and they will come to respect you again. But they will not bear you."
"They honour debts, don't they?" Ollos growled, eyeing his Brother beadily.
"Debts, yes," Vylornar nodded. "But you can't force a debt upon a dovah. The debt will be on their own terms. That is the wisest approach to striking one with him. I have never asked Ausnahyol to take me anywhere. He will carry me for as long as he finds it fitting."
Ollos curled his lip. "Then that will be forever."
"I doubt it," Vylornar said pleasantly. "Ausnahyol is still a young specimen. He is still grateful for what I have granted him. He is an honourable friend. But there will come a day when our paths will diverge. Any Dragonlord's wingsteed will do the same. Zoornahldir and Cadmir no longer fly together. Zoornahldir has proven his worth and received new arrangements. One day Ausnahyol and I will share that fate. I have already accepted it—you, my friend, must accept your shame."
"I won't accept it," Ollos growled. "Acceptance of this degrading truth is weakness, to myself." He paced across the room towards the table, then turned back and pointed at Vylornar. "You'd better bring me good news from Aarhorvutah. When you find this thief, you'll bring her straight to me, alive, unspoiled, and well aware of what is going to happen to her. Turn the city to ashes if you must. I will have her."
Viper didn't dare move. She didn't dare breathe. She wasn't afraid; no, she was still excited. She even found it hilarious. She was now starting to see it as the world's greatest game of hide and seek. But Ollos had reminded her why she was here. Slavetrap remained in danger on her behalf. A message needed to be sent, to warn that the city remained under her protection. It was still hers.
"Obsessing like this clouds focus, Ollos," Vylornar reprimanded, crossing the room. "Keep your mind. Joorpaalrah has granted us new orders. He relies on you to bring him the answers he needs. We were all shamed this night, and rightly so; our new Brothers prove more and more of a disappointment." He sighed in a troubled manner. "Of the five, only two remain…how glorious we were when we rose. Astarr we expected to perish, but Analor and Nisenthril should have continued for many more long years, as befits a mer. Nisenthril was young but cunning and Analor…I remember when we fought the Empire together twice over, and when we finally destroyed it. All the corruption purged in the flame…it was a most beautiful time. For decades the five of us were the only ones that carried a dragon's respect. The armies we wielded, the havoc we purged…but those glory days may subside for now."
"We still remain," Ollos said. The two seemed lost in memory. "Skyrim is ours. Skyrim, the seat of our master's power. When we guard it, we hold power over all of them. The first of us are not dead when the first of us still live, still perform."
"Indeed, my Brother," Vylornar conceded. "I disapprove of the others, however. The younger, weaker ones that have flaunt themselves so. Cirroc…" He curled his lip. "Remind me why that mewling man was ever granted a golsekroz."
"He was once Merigard. He was a talented dragonslayer and had a gift for worming his way out of death's embrace. He was a dangerous man, so dangerous that Joorpaalrah found potential in him. When he offered a chance of greater power, Cirroc obeyed. Power was all he'd ever yearned for, a lowly sellsword as he'd been born. He is a weak little thing, but he can perform."
"He has been a Dragonlord for…how long?"
"Coming close to twenty years. Borissean has been our Brother for twice that length."
"He is thrice more worthy." Vylornar laughed softly to himself. "Borissean 'Bloodsand', they call him; Analor 'Nordsbane', Astarr 'Bonereaver', I the Firestorm…such odd things that mortals name us. Even Joorpaalrah, the Dread. I suppose that name is too much an effort for their groveling tongues to utter. It makes me wonder what they might call you."
"You think I give a damn about names?" Ollos muttered. "So long as I serve and reap, I'm contented."
"Careful now," Vylornar warned. "The dragons don't like contentment."
"True." Ollos paced for a few moments more, and Viper wondered if the topic was going to return to her. It didn't. "Some of the things the others shared," the Dunmer growled, "about…even the Falmer, those fetid crawlers having the nerve to fight against us. It is a ridiculous thought, and yet Lucifer would not lie about this, nor a dragon. None of us are liars."
"I'm more curious to know what use they'd have of the eggs."
Ollos made a derisive sound. "They'll have tossed them over the cliffs or eaten the unhatched offspring for their next feast. It makes no matter. No egg can be hatched without its mother." Vylornar nodded wordless agreement.
"For now the antics of the Snow Elves are of no concern to me," he dismissed. "You and I have business and it will take us separate ways, as they always have. Ausnahyol is waiting out the snowstorm before we remove ourselves from these cold old ruins. Sirrien has agreed to find Zoornahldir and inform him of Joorpaalrah's suggestions for us on his and Vulqostrun's way back to Morrowind. Aarhorvutah awaits my unexpected return and you have a mystery in the stonehold to solve." Vylornar now turned his attention to the wine on his table. "A drink before you depart?"
"No, I've rather lost my taste for it. Besides," Ollos continued darkly, "I'll need to keep my wits about me if I'm to ride back through those accursed mountains." He turned for the door, and halted. His eyes still smouldered with anger. "Every day," he demanded, "I want news of progress."
Vylornar smiled thinly. "Word will be sent to you, rest assured, kinsman. And progress will be made, very quickly."
Ollos nodded and was gone. The door shut heavily in his wake. Only then, in his presumed solitude, did Vylornar busy himself with serving himself refreshment.
Viper was still cold and she didn't understand why. It wasn't fear, dread, or anything dark and harrowing—indeed, she felt as if she were completely wiped blank of emotion, as though invisible eyes were watching her, and motherly hands were guiding her, assuring that all would be well. She needn't fret any more. Everything would slip into place and, commander of the moment, she would witness what she would witness.
The Guild remains in danger. Hawk-eyed, she watched the ruby liquid fill the goblet, the bottle replaced on the table, Vylornar take the cup in his hands and inhale the rising fumes. Excitement was quivering in her now. She waited, hoping against hope…but what fortune had offered her came to pass. The rim of the goblet met the Dragonlord's lips and he drank deeply.
Viper smiled broadly beneath her cowl, and began to count. The danger is diminishing.
She waited until Vylornar had drained his goblet before she moved. Soundless as night, she lowered herself from the ceiling, dropped upon the ground, and for first impressions positioned herself in a chair across the room, facing him. The danger was diminishing with every passing second. She was still smiling to herself, absurdly proud of what she had achieved this far. Nightshade tingled on her lips, reminding her it was as impatient as the rising sun. Soon, she vowed.
Vylornar sensed that he was not alone. He accepted this most admirably; he became quite still, perhaps coming to terms with the reality of the situation dawning upon him, and asked very calmly, "How long were you here?"
Viper pondered over a suitable answer. The soundless response prompted Vylornar to turn his head, and then to turn around completely upon realizing one that wasn't his own was present in the room with him. Underneath his hood it was hard to discern his profile, but his eyes glowed ember-like beneath the rim of his patterned cowl.
She decided it best to keep quiet, for now. She adjusted her position slightly, in the form of tilting her head in a questioning manner. Her continued silence forced Vylornar speak again. "It's been a long time since I last saw that armour surface on the face of Tamriel," he continued, eyeing her up and down. "But I haven't forgotten who wears it, or what belongs to it."
Slowly, he set his goblet down.
"Assassin," said Vylornar, "are you here to take my life?"
Viper spoke softly. "I'm done with taking things, my lord."
She continued to feel no fear. She felt like someone else…or someone who she had always meant to be. The change she welcomed. This was beginning to turn surreal; it surely couldn't be so easy, or perhaps it was made so with the more dangerous the enemy. She rose cat-like onto the balls of her feet and wondered if this old Dragonlord was so susceptible to womanly charms as his Brother.
It was hard to describe him now. He remained excellently composed even if he had become cautious. "So what are you here for, my dear? Perhaps you'd like information upon your real target. Or perhaps you thought yourself fool enough to attempt my life in the process of murdering another. You should know," Vylornar continued, slowly advancing, "that you won't leave here alive after this. You might as well speak now. Enjoy these last few moments. Normally I wouldn't give my enemies this opportunity."
Viper was still counting. Fifty-one…fifty-two…fifty-three…
Fifty-four. Vylornar suddenly stopped. He looked down at his hands, and flexed them. His fingers moved well enough, but that hadn't been the response he'd been hoping for. He made a strange sound, a faint shuddering gasp, as though he'd received a nasty surprise—then he staggered backwards in, she considered, a display of very mortal weakness. He fell against the table and clutched it hard to steady himself. It can overwhelm at first, Viper mused. The more one fights it, the angrier the poison becomes. She allowed Vylornar to struggle, to accustom himself to the reality now flowing through his veins, before she asked him sweetly, "Is there something the matter, my lord?"
Vylornar kept his eyes hidden, his face turned towards the floor. He still spoke so neatly, but his former self-assured manner had departed. "What have you done to me?"
Viper chuckled. "It's remarkable," she said, "the damage that a few well-chosen plants can do when their potential is locked together. No man or mer may resist my poisonous influence, not even those who claimed to have left their mortality behind."
"I never left it behind," said Vylornar, regaining his posture. "I merely serve the higher cause."
"Immortality," Viper observed. "And look at the reward it reaps. Here you are at my mercy, my lord. You, who destroyed so many lives, the one they call the 'Firestorm'…but the fire's gone out in you, and you are now so very cold without it."
"I am not without power," Vylornar smiled. "My masters have not been without promise. I am so much more than a pyromancer. I am a lord among even the dragons. Their fire is my fire, and when fire burns it burns hot and high and hungry."
"It has gone out," Viper repeated, lowering her mask so he could see her smile. "Dragons are immortal, but not immune to the consequence of mortal creation. Poison. So low, so simple, and beautiful because of it. Gods think they can't be harmed by such small things born in the soil under them. They never suspect. You are no different. You think yourself a god among men, don't you, my lord? Taste what your pride has reaped you. There are bolder things than worms that crawl about in the dirt."
"You think you're the first to have tried this?" Vylornar inquired. "I've lived through many wars. I've succeeded countless confrontations, in number or alone. You may have stemmed the flow of my magic but do not think for one moment that death will come to claim me so quickly. It has not in the past. It will not now."
"Every man has his time," Viper answered.
Vylornar assented. "As does every woman."
Viper saw the gleam of the knife in his hand long before she anticipated the strike. She was already moving for him, clearing the distance between them in a few swift strides. She caught his wrist, glimpsed the tip pushing down for her throat, forced it aside as she thrust herself against the Dragonlord—and kissed him.
It was instantaneous and immediate.
The knife slipped from his slackened fingers and clattered on the floor. The rest of him would have followed if not for the chair Viper guided him into. It was beside the table, and creaked as his weight fell heavily into it. He draped across the seat like a used cloak. She remained upon him, gazing over his frozen form. It was the look of terror in his eyes that seemed to hold her still. Did he taste the raw, fatal nightshade? Viper could; the poison was warm and tingling on her lips, but no harm was done to her. She wondered how the Dragonlord felt, and with nothing left to lose, if he showed it. She was curious, and moved his hood back to see his face.
She had not expected to see such a handsome profile revealed to her. Here she thought all the villains were ugly evil creatures, that all men twisted by the dragons were granted hideous altered appearances. But he still retained much of his elven appearance, the bronze skin, the slanted golden eyes devoid of the glowing flame, the high sharp cheekbones and tapered chin. There was a silver sheen to his hair. He looked no more a dragon than the Listener. Barely beyond mortality as another High Elf.
He had been nothing more but a pawn.
She could feel faint tension running through his body under her, and shook her head. "Don't try to fight it, my lord. The red tears will come easier if you don't."
Vylornar's eyes were scared, but his delivered words were calm. "Of course it would be you."
"Who else?" Viper traced the flow of his jaw with the tip of her finger. "I was of such interest to the rest of your number tonight. You couldn't stop talking about me. But you don't know everything about me. You've barely begun. Riften would have burned for nothing. I had no intention of returning there. You'd never have found me."
"So this is why," Vylornar whispered. "You kill me, you protect the Guild I otherwise would have destroyed."
He'd accepted his death, but his eyes never did.
"For the life of me," Viper told him, "I would have been gladdened to see my old Guildmaster burn at your hands. Nothing would have given me more savage pleasure." She suddenly found the hood a nuisance. She tossed it back and her dark hair came tumbling free. "But there are others innocent of my crime."
"So your Guildmaster betrayed you," Vylornar observed. "Then your vengeance is misplaced."
"This is no act of vengeance," said Viper. "You have done me no wrong. This is prevention…and a message."
"To whom?"
"Guess."
"Ollos." Vylornar rasped for air with growing difficulty as the serpent inside him began to attack his vitals. "My death will warn him of the consequences of a pursuit continued against you. A thief turned into an assassin, for the sake of exacting vengeance against the Dragonlord you stole from? Who has hunted you across the province because you took something that belonged to him?"
"I know what I took." Viper leaned close, to better see the lingering terror in Vylornar's reddening eyes. "I took his power. I took his authority. I took his respect. I took them all at once. But they were never meant to be his. Skyrim was never meant to be his, or yours, or Alduin's. You all betrayed the land, and betrayers…they have prospered from the reward of their treachery, until now. Now the betrayers will reap their consequences."
She grinned. "Be honoured, my lord. You are the first. You will not be the last."
"You will take their lives," he murmured.
Viper shook her head. "I told you before," she breathed, "I'm done with taking things. Now I give. Be at peace, Vylornar, for that is what I have given you."
It was taking sterner hold. He choked on his breath, on his own tongue, as his chest heaved feebly. A single scarlet tear trickled from the corner of his eye. This was not how he had intended to die, he must have thought. Done away with poison like some poor damned nobleman at an ill-fated dinner party.
Viper could feel his heart racing far too fast. Any moment it was going to give out, she told herself. "When you have passed from this world," she whispered to him, "the darkness will ask what it is that brought you to it. And you will answer; it was not by means mortal or immortal; it was not the relief of age, the deterioration of the body through disease or hunger, the victim of a spell, no; elven pride was the death of you. A serpent served her purpose this way and will do so again."
Vylornar shuddered once. His scarlet eyes rolled into his head. The racing heart became abruptly still.
Viper slowly stood. There was a faint ringing in her ears, a stillness that lasted inside of her. She continued to gaze upon her handiwork, barely registering the distant shrieking howl that swept suddenly through the fortress, which lasted for far too long and sounded far too alien to belong to any mortal man. She did not hear the deliberately sounded footsteps that approached, but she felt the hand that came to rest upon her shoulder.
Everything slipped back into focus. Viper turned.
The Listener had removed her mask. She was not smiling, although there was no disapproval about her. Quite the opposite.
"We are done here," she breathed. "Come, Sister."
Viper smiled again. Sister, not Sister-friend. How interesting. How welcoming.
She delved into the darkness once more, and both were gone long before Vylornar was found.
When he was, word spread like wildfire across not just Skyrim, but the entirety of Tamriel. On the first bright morning of Hearthfire, his honour High Dragonlord Vylornar Andorhlil was found dead in the shadow of the World-Eater, weeping a dozen crimson tears.
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