Chapter 44: Sovngarde Awaits
"Are you sure your friend will be here?"
"Quite sure!" Luka says, skirting around a pair of drunkards as he opens the door to the Bee and Barb. "Unless he's on a job, of course. In which case, I suppose we will have to make due without him."
Cicero wrinkles his nose when he is hit with the nearly tangible scent of booze and body odor. He doesn't care for Riften because of the ever present stench of mildew and old fish, and the inn doesn't smell much better. It reeks of spilled alcohol, dirty dock hands, and of yeast from the barrels of ale fermenting in the basement.
He follows Luka through the crowd and they finally emerge from the throng of people near a pair of double doors framed by benches. There is an olive skinned Imperial sleeping on one of the benches, an arm thrown over his eyes and an empty bottle of mead resting on his chest. It is not an unusual sight in Skyrim, but it is usually the Nords who pass out anywhere, not the Imperials. With the war going on, one would think an Imperial might be too paranoid to sleep out in the open.
"Marc!" Luka prods the man. "Wake up, you lush!"
"Touch me one more time and I will shoot a fireball straight up your-" the mage cracks an eye, his demeanor changing the instant he sees Luka. He sits up, the empty bottle clattering to the floor as a brilliant smile lights up his face. "Well, look what the horker dragged in! I haven't seen you in ages!"
"Hello, Marcurio," he says cheerfully. "How is life treating you?"
"I can't complain." He looks to Cicero and asks, "Who's your friend? You two in town for a while?"
"This is Cicero," Luka says with a soft laugh. "And we're not here for long, no. We came here because we want to hire you."
"You can't afford me," Marcurio sniffs. "But I will hear you out. What do you need?"
"We need someone to help us explore Mzulft," Cicero says, his breath coming out in a rush. He is so full of nervous energy, it takes all his will to stave off a panic attack. He doesn't want to piddle around with conversations and negotiations. He wants to move. "Are you familiar with the place?"
"Well, yes," he says, his demeanor shifting to something more serious when he picks up on Cicero's anxiety. "I've been through it a few times. Usually with some treasure hunter who desired a little extra protection. Something tells me you're not doing this for treasure."
"No, we are not."
Marcurio dusts off his robes as he stands. "Let's go somewhere quiet to talk," he says, motioning for the two assassins to follow him outside. He leads them to the markets, which are empty and blessedly silent compared to the tavern. "Tell me what's going on."
"I have heard rumors about Mzulft," Luka says, taking the initiative. "Specifically that there are corridors that possibly lead to Morrowind and other places. Like to a fane at the top of a mountain."
"There are blocked corridors, yes, and I have no idea where they might lead. It's possible that some lead to Morrowind or to this temple you are seeking, but they are caved in or blocked by rubble. You would need a small army just to clear them out."
Luka smirks. "I am quite capable of creating a small army as long as the Falmer and bandits aren't too damaged when they expire. All I ask is that you keep their limbs intact so they are actually useful to us."
"Oh, right," Marcurio laughs. "How could I forget about your particular talents?"
"You do not mind? So many people take issue with raising the dead." Cicero tilts his head, considering the mage. He's cocky, handsome- too handsome, actually- and apparently someone who appreciates magic in all its forms. It is no wonder he and Luka are friends. If the situation weren't so dire, Cicero might feel a little bit jealous.
"Goodness, no! I couldn't call myself a true master of the arcane if I didn't appreciate the art of necromancy! I've tried to thrall a few corpses, myself. But no one can do it quite like our Luka. He's got a real talent for it."
Luka looks down at his feet, his cheeks turning pink. "It's nothing, really. I've just had a lot of practice."
"See? This is why I never compliment anyone. No one can accept it for what it is," Marcurio sighs. "Before I agree to this venture, I want to know why you're trying to get to this nigh unreachable temple. What's so important?"
"The Dragonborn is what's so important," Luka says, casting a nervous glance at Cicero. "The temple is high in the mountains and it is only accessible to dragons, I have theorized that one of the blocked corridors of Mzulft might lead us there. The Dragonborn is there, along with one of our friends. We want to help them."
"Ah, yes, I've heard stories about this Dragonborn! A Bosmer, right? I bet the Nords love that." Marcurio narrows his eyes, scrutinizing their story. "What is so important about this temple? Wait- no. I probably don't want to know. I do want to know how the Dragonborn got there if it's unreachable. Dragons, I assume?"
"Yes! She flew off on a the back of a dragon! She left poor Cicero behind-" he takes a breath, calming down when Luka lays a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "We must find her."
After a long moment of silence, Marcurio finally says, "I don't know if I believe you or not, but as long as you can pay my fee, I will offer my services. I know Mzulft well and I wouldn't mind exploring the areas that have been blocked for centuries. Can you imagine the treasure the Dwemer have left behind? Traps, too! But those are half the fun."
"We can pay," Cicero says, glad to have the man's help even though he is not terribly keen on working with anyone who isn't Brotherhood. "And you can have whatever treasure we come across. Cicero has no need for it."
"Sounds reasonable to me," he says. "Well, let's go. I get the feeling this is not something that cannot wait until dawn."
"It isn't," Luka says. "Thank you, Marcurio."
"Don't thank me yet," the mage laughs, he walks between them and throws his arms around their shoulders. "Now I want to know how a necromancer and a jester happen to befriend the Dragonborn, of all people. This is sure to be an interesting story."
Cicero is glad for the distraction, and he tells the mage a highly edited version of events. He tells him how the lovely, heroic Dragonborn helped poor Cicero when his wagon broke. They instantly became friends, and their friendship soon blossomed into a fiery romance. He claims they came to know Luka when he saved them from a group of vampires with an army of the undead. It is all lies, of course. But Cicero would have to kill Marcurio if he told him the truth, and he'd rather not waste a valuable resource just yet.
All conversation dies down by the time they reach the edge of the forest trail. The forests of Eastmarch are rife with bandits, and the two assassins and their hired sellsword have no desire to attract unwanted attention. But, on the off-chance that they do, Cicero will not complain. He has been itching to spill some blood. He is furious and terrified in equal measure. His mind keeps turning back to Lumen's confession, and it pleases him as much as it angers him. How dare she tell him she loves him only to fly off to her doom on the back of a dragon! How dare she leave him behind! He doesn't care how important she thinks he is to the Brotherhood. What's the point if the Listener dies? He's seen the death of one Listener and he'd rather not endure it a second time.
The loss of Alisanne Dupre was a devastating one. Cicero held a great respect for the woman. Not only was she the Listener, but she was an impressive assassin even before she'd been named as such.
But if he were to lose Lumen…
He sucks in a shuddering breath, almost afraid of the swell of emotions that threaten to overtake him. This is dangerous. It is foolish. This is exactly why assassins do not get involved. Death is always around the corner, and heartache is a distraction an assassin cannot afford. He'd been intrigued by Lumen the first moment he saw her in the Falkreath Sanctuary, and he cannot deny that he wanted to pursue her for a bit of fun and nothing more. But she is no mere dalliance, no passing fancy that he will get over in the span of a week. It galls him that she's gone to face Alduin without him. He needs to be fighting beside her, to make sure she survives, regardless of what happens to him.
"We're getting close," Marcurio says, his quiet voice barely audible over the din of insects and the rustling of leaves.
"What can we expect?" Luka asks.
"Falmer, obviously." Marcurio glances around for any sign of trouble. "Definitely bandits. These forests are rife with bandits. Any outlaw too stupid or too clumsy to make it in the Thieves Guild ends up as a bandit out in these woods. Riften seems to attract the unsavory types for some reason. I'm surprised the Dark Brotherhood hasn't taken up residence in the Ratway."
Cicero and Luka share a look, both smirking at Marcurio's comment. "Falmer and bandits are of no concern," Cicero says. "Just let Cicero lead."
The path leading up to Mzulft is clear of danger, much to Cicero's disappointment. But the ruin itself is spectacular sight. Large stone buildings and archways linked with tarnished brass pipes jutting out from the mountainside.
"It is bigger than Cicero expected."
Luka breaks into a hysterical giggle, his mind heading straight to the midden. "If I had a Septim for every time I heard that-"
"You'd have exactly one Septim," Marcurio laughs.
If the circumstances were different, Cicero would join in. But right now all he can think about is getting access to the ruin and finding Lumen. Turns out, getting inside is easy since the door has been left unlocked. The only problem now is finding the way to Skuldafn.
"Where should we look first?" Luka asks, his voice echoing as he steps deeper into the ruin.
"To the top, I think. But I can't be sure. There are so many blocked areas caused by cave-ins and Falmer doing whatever it is that Falmer do. It's hard to say which door will take you where you want to go."
"Between you and me, I think we'll be able to sense something. There is a portal to Sovngarde in Skuldafn. Surely we will be able to sense its magical ethers from this far away." Luka babbles on, lost to his excitement. "I hope Miss Lumen will let me study the portal. I've always been curious about the strange magics the ancient Nords used. So much has been lost to us thanks to the ignorance of our forefathers and the cost of countless wars. It would be a shame to come so close to such an amazing invention and not bother to learn how it works."
Marcurio looks to Cicero. "I know I said I would guide you through Mzulft, and I might actually explore this Skuldafn place if we can find it, but you are out of your mind if you think I am going to follow you to Sovngarde."
Cicero snorts a laugh at that. "Cicero would not expect you to follow us there. It sounds like a dreadful place, anyway."
"What Imperial wouldn't want to be around a bunch of angry Nord spirits that have been sent to Sovngarde by his kinsmen?"
"Cicero did not think of that," he admits, but he quickly waves the thought away. Angry spirits could complicate things, this is true. But Nords are often as reasonable as they are stubborn. If they see that he is not a soldier and he is there to aid the Dragonborn, surely they will not be a problem.
Luka leads the group, talking excitedly about the Dwemer, while Cicero and Marcurio neatly dispatch of the Falmer they encounter within. The dead creatures are effortlessly thralled with little more than a wave of Luka's hand before they even hit the ground. Once they have amassed a small army of undead Falmer, the trio and their thralls move deeper into the dark, misty ruins.
Rest does not come easy in a place like Skuldafn, nor does it come easy when one is overrun with anxieties.
Lumen takes a moment to wallow in her own self-pity when she realizes she's never truly belonged to herself. Malrian kept her until she escaped, and she so naively thought she did so of her own accord. But now she wonders if it's because the gods had claimed her? She leaves one master only to serve another, and another. Sithis has a claim on her, as does Akatosh. How many more gods will come calling for her soul when all is said and done? Will she ever be free? Or is she to remain a slave for all eternity, her service to one master ending only when another calls?
Her only comfort is that she is wrapped in Arnbjorn's warmth. An arm his pillowed beneath her head and the other is wrapped around her waist, and a leg thrown over hers. She has absolutely no desire to move, but she will eventually have to; her bladder can only be ignored for so long.
"Sleep well?" he asks.
"Well enough," she says, rolling onto her back to look at him. His eyes are clear and alert, a sign that he's been awake for a while now. "How long have you been awake?"
"Long enough," he says, mocking her earlier answer.
Lumen sighs, untangling herself from Arnbjorn's massive limbs. "What time is it?" she asks. "Roughly, I mean. I know there's no way to be accurate while we're inside."
"Early," he says, groaning as he stretches. "Not yet dawn.."
"How much longer do you think it will take us to reach the portal? Another day?"
"Possibly. This place is enormous and it would take ages to explore it in its entirety. The draugr are only here to slow us down."
They fall quiet when they go about their morning routine of washing up, eating breakfast, and finding a private, makeshift latrine. They break camp shortly after, and leave the relative safety of the room behind as they venture out into another part of the temple. All the while, Lumen cannot stop thinking of all that is expected of her. Her shoulders are tense with stress. She's afraid of stepping into a realm of Oblivion. She's afraid of fighting Alduin. She's afraid of failing.
"Arnbjorn," she says slowly, still piecing her thoughts together. "Do you know much about the legend of the Dragonborns? Is it something that is predestined before a person is even born?"
"It is said that the gods know who the Dragonborn is before he or she is even born," he says as he cleaves a draugr in two before it has the chance to fully wake. He fans the corpse dust away as he continues to speak. "But who can say if that is true? It's not like the gods have told us. So, perhaps you were always destined to be the Dragonborn, or perhaps the gods chose you after they watched you for a while."
"What about the Night Mother?" she asks as she casually plucks a circlet from a desiccated skull. "Does she choose her Listener before they're ever born?"
"That's a question for Cicero. Or maybe you could ask the Night Mother herself."
"She's not particularly loquacious unless someone has prayed to her," Lumen says, choosing her words carefully because she'd rather not upset Sithis or the Night Mother. "I've asked her a great many things, and she tends to remain silent. I think her link to the mortal world is a little more tenuous than anyone realizes."
"So what's with all the questions?"
"Oh, I don't know. I just think it's odd that both Sithis and Akatosh would place a claim on me. It would make more sense if Ulfric was the Dragonborn. The man trained with the Greybeards and he can use the Thu'um. I'm sure he wanted to be the Dragonborn. So why not him?"
Arnbjorn laughs. "Maybe Akatosh chose you because you don't have any lofty goals. If you consider the teachings of the Greybeards, then you know Ulfric has already misused the Thu'um."
"And I haven't?" she snorts. "I kill people for money. I kill for pleasure. I have used my Voice to kill. I'm not exactly a great example of what a Dragonborn should be."
"Maybe the gods don't mind because you kill for the thrill of it, not for wordly power."
"Killing is killing. It doesn't matter why you do it." Lumen shoves her dagger into the eye socket of a draugr. After fighting so many, the process becomes a bit monotonous after a while, so holding a conversation is rather easy.
"Maybe it matters to the gods."
Lumen doesn't respond, because when they step out onto the ramparts they are greeted with a veritable hoard of draugr. Some are firing arrows, others are coming after them with swords, and there's even one that can Shout!
"Shit!" Arnbjorn grabs her by the arm and yanks her behind a stone wall for cover. "Okay, we need a plan."
"I'll take out the archers," she offers, reaching for her seldom used bow. "The fight will be easier if we aren't being pummeled by arrows."
"Let me do it, tidbit. You can't hit the broadside of a jarl's longhouse."
"What? Oh, fine. Here." She roughly shoves the bow and a quiver at him. "You do it. I'll deal with the big guy in the meantime. I'll show him what a real Shout feels like."
With a plan set, the two assassins break cover; Arnbjorn running and firing at the archers, and Lumen running in the opposite direction, straight toward the deathlord. She quickly learns running full-tilt at a draugr deathlord is a terrible idea, because the creature unleashes a Shout that sends her flying backwards. She lands hard on her behind, coughing and gagging on the putrid stench of the walking corpse's 'breath'. The Shout is made of power, not air, but it still carries the scent of the foul creature's decayed innards on the wind.
"Ugh, gods," she groans, quickly getting to her feet and desperately trying not to dry heave. "You are a stinky bastard, aren't you?"
"Quit sassing the corpse and just fucking kill it!" Arnbjorn shouts as he lobs a few arrows at the approaching deathlord. He tosses the bow aside in favor of his axe, and he clashes with the draugr warriors approaching with swords raised. He did not have to help her, but the few shots he got in on to the deathlord is all the distraction Lumen needs in order to strike.
She throws a dagger, the blade burying itself deep within the draugr's ribcage. "Yes!" she hisses, readying another. The second dagger twirls through the air, but the blade misses, and the hilt smacks the draugr in the face. She can hear Arnbjorn laugh at her mistake, but it stuns the draugr long enough for her to remove his head with Dragonbane in a single stroke.
"Oh, how I wish Cicero was here to see that!" he teases, but there is no sting to it. "You'd never hear the end of it!"
Lumen's lips twist into a smirk as she collects her daggers and nudges the draugr's head off the ledge of the rampart with her foot. It shatters to pieces when it hits the ledge below, drawing the attention of a few stray draugr they bypassed as they explored the interior of the temple. "They never look up," she comments as she watches the confused draugr look around for intruders. "They only look forward. Look- they can't even swivel their heads. They have to turn their entire body just to look around, and they never look up or down."
"I never thought about that before," Arnbjorn says, glancing over the ledge before moving on. "But you spend centuries drying up in a tomb and let's see how agile you are when you finally wake up."
She ponders upon that for a moment. She knows very little about the draugr, only that they were servants to the Dragon Priests, and they gave their body and soul to protect the priests while they were living and long after they were dead. "That sounds like a terrible fate."
He grunts his acknowledgment of her words, but she can tell he has no interest in discussing the draugr. "I think we're safe up here if you want to take a break. We'll probably encounter another wave as soon as we go up another level."
"I'm fine," she says. "I'll rest when I truly need it. Let's go kill some more draugr."
Watching a serial-murdering necromancer work his magic has got to be one of the higher points of Cicero's life. They do, in fact, encounter bandits living deep within Mzulft. The bandits are no challenge for a seasoned assassin, a spellsword, and a mage who is overcome with excitement at the prospect of having new subjects to experiment on. However, the disgusting reality of what happens to a dead body when it is magically risen and starts moving about has got to be one of the lower points of Cicero's life.
"It is only natural, Cicero," Luka sighs. "All bodies purge when they expire. I usually raise them after this process, but we have to act quickly. We only have a few hours to use them until the rigor mortis sets in. I've never found a way to counteract that aside from just waiting for it to come and go, and then raising the corpse. But we're in a hurry, so..."
"Yes, yes. Cicero understands. Time is of the essence." Death is nothing new to him, and he has spent the better half of a decade caring for a corpse. But the Night Mother's corpse is sacred and blessedly clean compared to the corpses of the bandits. The newly dead are rather disgusting, in Cicero's humble opinion.
Marcurio chuckles at them, and if he is disgusted or disturbed by the walking dead in any way, he does not let it show. "Come on, you two," he calls out, beckoning them forward. "We're not too far from the corridor that might lead us to Skuldafn."
"And if it isn't the right one?" Luka asks.
"We try another one," come Marcurio's goodnatured reply.
Cicero hopes it is the right one, because he is done with this godsforsaken ruin. It's confusing and there are traps everywhere. He is unable to appreciate it as much as his two companions do. Marcurio marvels at the architecture and the "clever" traps and machines, while Luka concentrates on controlling his thralls.
It takes the three unlikely explorers and the thralls less than an hour to move enough rubble to clear a way though. Initially they thought the debris blocking the corridor was a result of a cave-in caused by an earthquake, but as they make more progress, they learn it is a result of the Falmer. Mud and gods-know-what-else has been packed against the rocks, effectively gluing them together. When they make it through to the other side, they find themselves in a giant Falmer den.
"Ooooh, I hate you." Marcurio punches Luka in the arm. "You always do this to me. You flounce into town and you're all, "Let's go on an adventure, Marc! There will be treasure, Marc! You won't regret it, Marc!" And I always regret it, because for some reason we always end up knee deep in Falmer!"
"Keep your voice down!" Luka hisses, rubbing his abused arm. "And I do not flounce!"
"This is not nearly as bad as Blackreach," Cicero says cheerfully, readying his daggers. While the tiff between Marcurio and Luka is funny, because bickering that does not directly involve him is always funny, they have attracted the attention of the Falmer. Which is unfortunate because he would like for his entertainment to continue, but he supposes killing Falmer is entertaining in its own right.
"Remember that time you dragged me off to that grove full of spriggans?" Marcurio blasts a Falmer with a fire spell before finishing it off with his sword. "And we almost died?"
Luka rolls his eyes, directing his thralls toward the Falmer. "Oh, please. We did not almost die," he laughs. "It was fun!"
"You and I have very different interpretations of that word," Marcurio mutters, but he smiles anyway. "To be fair, this is not nearly as bad as that time we stumbled into that cave that was occupied by bears."
"No, it is not," Luka says as he sends an ice spike through a Falmer's chest. "That was terrible."
Cicero snickers at the image. "What did you two do?" he asks. "You obviously survived."
"We survived because we ran away," Marcurio says flatly. "I'll fight a spriggan or a Falmer over a damn bear any day."
The conversation wanes as the three focus on fighting wave after wave of Falmer. Eventually the Falmer thin out, some deciding they'd rather run away instead of fight the three humans who have decimated the majority of their tribe.
Finally, after endless traps, dead ends, stray Falmer, and the occasional pause to rifle through a chest, they come across what must be their exit. It is a large doorway blocked with rubble, but not so dense as the one before. The openings between the rocks are large enough to allow tiny flurries of snow through, as well as the odd beam of sunlight when there is a break in the clouds.
Cicero hangs back while the two mages inspect the blockage, both talking quickly and exchanging ideas on how best to remove the rubble. He does grow rather impatient after a few minutes of debate, because the answer would be so clear to them if they only took a few steps back.
"Surely one of you knows a spell that could force the rocks from the entrance, yes?" Cicero says, his impatience mounting.
Luka scratches his chin, considering the idea. "We could alter our telekinesis spells and use them to push rather than pull. It might take a few tries, but if Marc and I combine our spells we should be able to manage it."
"It might work," Marcurio says, glancing up at the ceiling. "My only concern is causing a cave in, but I think we can manage to avoid that if we're careful."
"Let's get to it, then."
Lumen falls to her knees, still shaking from the thrill of battle. Nahkriin's ashes scatter before her, leaving behind a mask, bits of jewelry and scraps of clothing. The damn bastard had been a tough match, but she and Arnbjorn won in the end.
"Are you okay, tidbit?" Arnbjorn makes his way over to her, limping, but otherwise whole.
"I'm fine," she huffs. "I'm not going to have any energy left to fight Alduin after all this."
"Just take some time to rest." He glances at the portal, and then back to her. "Sovngarde can wait."
"Can it really? If the stories are to be believed, then Alduin is laying waste to the Nordic afterlife. Doesn't that bother you?" She wipes her forehead, brushing away dirt and sweat, but surprisingly little blood. At least she's getting better at dodging. Cicero would be pleased.
"Your well being is my concern," he says, kneeling down beside her and checking her over for injuries. "If the spirits of Sovngarde cannot hold a dragon at bay, then what good are they?"
"I don't-" her words trail off when a very familiar figure ascends the staircase. She rubs her eyes, thinking her exhaustion and homesickness has finally got to her, because now she's having some very vivid hallucinations. If her eyes are to be believed, then Cicero and Luka are there in Skuldafn. But this can't be real, can it?
"Sweet Lumen!" the figure shrieks, bounding toward her and pouncing on her, wrapping her into a bearhug that is entirely too fierce to be anything other than real. "Cicero has found you!"
"What are you doing here?" Arnbjorn asks, and for the first time ever, he actually sounds pleased to see Cicero.
"We wanted to help!" Luka says. "So here we are!"
Lumen grabs Cicero's face, and stares into his eyes. "Is it really you?" she asks. "I'm not just imagining this, am I? I mean- I'm exhausted as fuck and I might be going crazy, but please tell me I am not so crazy that I've started to see things."
"You are crazy," Cicero giggles. "But I am real, my sweet. Your Cicero is right here with you, and he is never going to leave your side again. You- you are not angry are you? Cicero would not normally defy an order, but he was so worried about you! He had to find you! Please do not send poor Cicero away!"
"I'm not angry," she gasps. "But how did you get here? This place is supposed to be unreachable by land!"
"It wasn't easy." a new voice says, and Lumen turns her attention from Cicero and to an unfamiliar Imperial mage. "It's not a long story, nor is it an interesting one. But your friends here hired me to guide them through a Dwemer ruin. A ruin that happened to lead here, to this very temple! It's not as grand as flying on a dragon, I'll give you that, but it was an exciting journey all the same!"
Arnbjorn folds his arms, sizing up the stranger. "Who are you?"
"Oh, forgive me. Where are my manners?" The mage dips into a bow, offering them a cheeky grin. "I am known as Marcurio, Master of The Arcane."
"No one calls you that," Luka comments with a smile.
"Well they might if you'd stop ruining it for me!" Marcurio sniffs, dusting his robes off. "Anyway, pleasure to meet you, Dragonborn. Now if you don't mind, I see an unopened treasure chest with my name on it." With that, the mage wanders away from the assassins in search of loot.
"Hang on," Arnbjorn growls. "Are you telling me that we could have just walked to Skuldafn? There's a ruin that leads here?"
"Er, yes," Luka says, tugging nervously at his sleeves. "Although I had no idea the ruin would actually lead here. It was a shot in the dark."
"Oh, fuck me," Lumen says, just on the edge of full blown hysteria. "I could have walked here? I didn't have to organize a peace conference? I didn't have to get arrested or suck up to Ulfric? I didn't have to stop a war? I didn't have to catch a fucking dragon and fly the fucking thing here? I could have fucking walked?!"
Cicero slowly backs away from her, as does Arnbjorn, both men looking rightly terrified.
Luka bites his lip, not knowing how to deal with Lumen's anger. "I had no idea the ruin would lead anywhere! I swear! I didn't even consider the possibility until you had left for Skuldafn! I'm so sorry!"
Lumen flops on her back, clutching her sides as she laughs hysterically. Oh, to think of all the bullshit she had to go through just to get here! And she could have avoided all of it just by walking through a musty, old ruin! The Divines really have a sick sense of humor sometimes.
"Sweetness?" Cicero is at her side, brushing her hair away from her face and soothing her as best as he can. "Just think of all that you accomplished by doing things the hard way. You temporarily stopped a war. You killed Malrian. You caught a dragon and you convinced him to fly you here! You have much to be proud of! Cicero is certainly proud of you!"
Lumen wipes the tears from her eyes. "Oh, this is so stupid," she says through her laughter. "It's just my luck, isn't it?"
"I certainly wish we could have done things the easy way, but that's life." Arnbjorn shrugs before stepping over to Cicero and roughly clapping him on the shoulder. "For what it's worth, I'm glad you both are here. I have a feeling we're going to need some help."
"Really?" Cicero gasps as he cuddles up to Arnbjorn, who looks like he's regretting his decision to pay the jester a kind word. "Are you truly glad Cicero is here?"
"I am, but that can easily change." He shoves Cicero away. "I'm going to check the perimeter. Make sure no draugr sneak up on us while we prepare to go through the portal. In the meantime, I think you and Lumen have a few things to talk about." He smirks at Lumen, before grabbing Luka by the arm and dragging him away, giving Cicero and Lumen some much needed privacy.
"Do we need to talk?" Cicero asks, genuinely confused.
"Maybe." Lumen fidgets with her armor, feeling a bit awkward. She could strangle Arnbjorn right now. It's true that she and Cicero probably do need to talk, but that doesn't make it any easier. "Look, um- about what I said- before I left. I hope I didn't make things awkward for us. I just thought it might be the last time I would see you and I guess I just got caught up in the moment."
"Why would it make things awkward?" Cicero grabs her hands to hold her still.
"I don't know-"
They are interrupted by the sound of metal crashing against stone. "Uh, sorry," Marcurio says, struggling with an armload of treasure. He looks down at the golden goblet that fell to the ground, and then back to the two glaring assassins. "I'll come back for that later. My apologies."
Lumen scowls at the mage as he backs away. It's bad enough that Arnbjorn pretty much forced the two of them to have this little heart-to-heart, but not having the luxury of privacy is making it all the more difficult. "Anyway," she huffs. "What was I saying?"
Cicero fingers his dagger as Marcurio retreats to the relative safety of Luka's company, but his anger eases when he turns his attention back to Lumen. "You were concerned that your little confession would make things awkward between us," he says with a grin, clearly enjoying every moment of this. "Cicero would like to know why."
"It will make things awkward if you don't feel the same," she says, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.
Cicero laughs at that. "Do you truly think I don't?"
Lumen smiles, looking around at the temple before meeting his eyes. "No," she admits. "You wouldn't be here if you didn't."
He places a hand on her cheek. His smile is soft and genuine, no trace of mania to be seen. "Your Cicero loves you, sweet Lumen. He has loved you for some time now, and he will never stop."
Lumen cannot breathe. She cannot do anything other than freeze up, sinking in the wake of so much emotion. It is like a dam has been opened and she is caught up in the flood. She never thought she would be able to love and to be loved again. But Malrian is gone and he will not take this away from her, and soon enough Alduin will be joining him in the Void, and there will be nothing and no one to stand in the way of her happiness ever again.
Cicero takes her by the hand, helping her get to her feet. "Come, my sweet. Are you ready to kill a god so that we may return to a normal life?"
"I'm ready." Lumen grabs the staff Nahkriin dropped when he was felled. She glances over her shoulder to find Luka staring longingly at it. "Luka," she calls out. "Would you like to do the honors?"
"Yes!" he says, nearly tripping over the hem of his robe as he scurries over to her. "I mean- if you don't mind."
"I don't mind," she says, handing the staff over to the excited mage.
"Are you sure you don't want to come with us, Marc?" Luka calls out to his friend. "This is your last chance to change your mind!"
"I am sure. I have absolutely no desire to traipse around in a realm of Aetherius while I am alive. I'll have plenty of time to experience the afterlife when I am dead." Marcurio's expression softens the longer he stares at Luka. "Do be careful, won't you? I always enjoy our little adventures. I would be disappointed if you were to die."
"I'll be careful! I'm always careful!"
Luka bounds up the stairs of the platform, placing the staff into the etched rune upon the base of the stone. Light explodes all around him as the gates of Sovngarde burst open. The power raging from the portal is frightening in its own right, but with her brothers here, Lumen will not allow herself to be intimidated by what's to come.
Lumen stands upon the precipice, staring into the blinding light that rushes up to the heavens. She has never felt so calm in all her life. She should be terrified, but Cicero is standing next to her, his hand squeezing hers. Luka and Arnbjorn stand with them, ready for whatever may come next, be it death or victory.
Her family is with her, and she will not be afraid.
There is no time to consider her next move, and no reason to allow anxiety a chance to overcome her. She closes her eyes and steps forward into the light. Into Oblivion and onward to Sovngarde.
Notes: We're getting close to the final fight, guys! I'm excited! I'll be working on actually wrapping the story up fairly soon. I feel a little emotional about it. I've been working on this fic for ages! (Don't worry, there's a sequel in the works! Lumen vs. Miraak is on the horizon!)
I know a few of you have lamented about the lack of action/anything happening between Luka and Cicero. I haven't exactly seen a good place to work it in, and any fluff or possible smut needs to work with the feel of the chapter. Something will happen soon, though. I won't leave you hanging! I didn't expect those two to be a slow burn, but sometimes you just gotta let the characters do what they wanna do.
